“I am one of the boat people that people read about.” 

In 1981, Bui fled Vietnam as part of the wave of refugees known as the “boat people,” escaping political upheaval in search of safety and possibility. His first stop was the Philippines, where he lived temporarily before sponsorship allowed him to resettle in Arlington, Virginia, joining family already established in the United States.

From there, Bui attended Virginia Tech, laying the educational foundation for a career that would later take him across the globe. His migration was not a single movement, but the beginning of a lifelong trajectory shaped by mobility.

In 1984, Bui moved to Charlotte, North Carolina, for a position at IBM. The transition marked a cultural shift.

“It was, for me, a typical Southern town – kind of slow-paced.” 

Coming from Northern Virginia’s density and diversity, Charlotte felt markedly different. Ethnic infrastructure was limited. Vietnamese food, community networks, and cultural familiarity were largely absent. Yet, as in earlier transitions, Bui adapted, learning to navigate unfamiliar environments while gradually building a sense of place.

Bui’s early life in Saigon was shaped by layered linguistic and political influences.

He attended a French school originally designed for children of embassy personnel, where the curriculum mirrored that of France and was taught entirely in French. Admission expanded to Vietnamese students who demonstrated proficiency, creating a unique educational space that blended colonial legacy with local participation.

In eighth grade, Bui chose English as his foreign language. After the war, Vietnam’s geopolitical alignment shifted, and he was required to study Russian instead as the country became closely tied to the Soviet Union. Language, in this context, was not simply a skill but a reflection of political power and global orientation.

Outside the classroom, his exposure continued. With an uncle working in customs, Bui encountered foreign-language materials that sparked an enduring curiosity.

That curiosity persists today, as Bui is now learning Spanish, adding to a linguistic repertoire shaped not only by personal interest but by historical forces and global movement.

Since arriving in North Carolina in 1984, Bui has spent nearly four decades in the state, including over two decades in Chapel Hill.

Despite its small size, Chapel Hill stands out to Bui as cosmopolitan. He has formed friendships with individuals from France, Britain, and Nigeria, reflecting the town’s academic and international character. Its geographic positioning between mountains and coastline offers both accessibility and balance, shaping a community that feels simultaneously local and global.

Bui’s experiences extend beyond Chapel Hill. In Kenansville, a rural community, he encountered a different kind of openness. Residents, many of whom were farmers, shared fresh produce and eggs. These gestures reflected a form of community generosity grounded in everyday exchange rather than formal networks. Through these interactions, Bui came to understand Southern hospitality as something practiced quietly and consistently in daily life.

Awareness of Vietnam, however, remains uneven across the state. In Chapel Hill, Vietnamese cuisine is widely recognized. Elsewhere, familiarity can be limited. Over time, digital connectivity and social media have broadened exposure, but disparities in cultural understanding persist.

Even now, the Vietnamese population in Chapel Hill remains small.

“Fewer than 20 around here,” 

Bui notes, referring to families outside the university context.

In contrast, cities like Charlotte and Raleigh have much larger and more established Vietnamese communities. This difference makes Bui’s experience in Chapel Hill feel distinctly shaped by both presence and absence. Vietnamese culture is visible in certain spaces, yet largely diffuse in everyday life.

This tension between visibility and invisibility defines Bui’s experience in North Carolina.

In 1992, Bui began a new chapter, joining the United Nations and leaving North Carolina for five years abroad.

The opportunity emerged through a job listing in The Economist, seeking a French-speaking engineer. His work took him first to Africa, where he spent 2.5 years, and then to Switzerland for another 2.5 years, two vastly different environments linked by global institutional work.

“They said they would send me to a place that was always sunny, so I spent 2.5 years in the Sahara Desert, 800 miles from the nearest town.”

In extreme isolation, daily life required careful management of food, water, and supplies. These conditions cultivated habits of efficiency and restraint that persisted long after his return.

Bui also experienced cultural exchange in quieter ways. An Italian colleague taught him how to cook carbonara, a skill that remains with him today and reflects the interpersonal nature of global connection.

Living across resource-scarce and resource-rich environments reshaped Bui’s perspective. Returning to the United States, he saw everyday conveniences differently, not as given, but as structured privileges.

“Vietnamese food and dishes have become a lot more mainstream in the last 15, 20 years.” 

Reflecting on how accessibility has changed since he first arrived in the U.S, he notes that any good-sized town—and certainly any city—will have Vietnamese restaurants serving dishes like phở and bánh mì, staples that were once difficult to find. When he moved to Charlotte in 1984, the only ethnic restaurants were Chinese, Italian, and French. 

Phở remains a central part of his daily life, just as it is in Vietnam. 

“It’s what we eat pretty much every day in Vietnam for breakfast.” 

His wife always makes phở at home, and while he enjoys eating it, he hopes to one day learn how to make it himself. For the most part, he can find the Vietnamese ingredients and dishes he enjoys, though some items, like durian—beloved by many Vietnamese—are harder to access in Chapel Hill.  

Still, not every restaurant serves Vietnamese food the way he remembers it from home. 

“You can find a lot of so-called restaurants which have more of a Chinese or non-Vietnamese bend… so if you eat phở, it’s not the right taste.” 

When traveling to a new city, he has a simple trick for finding authentic Vietnamese food: 

“If you happen to be in a city where you know nobody, go to a nail salon because I can guarantee that it is owned or operated by Vietnamese folks. Those folks know which restaurants are good in that area.” 

Food has always been tied to memory, and one of his strongest childhood recollections is of his mother making thơm ướp đá đường during the hot summers. The simple, refreshing dessert of pineapple marinated in sugar and served over crushed ice was a treat that helped beat the heat. Now, even with access to more Vietnamese ingredients and restaurants, these homemade flavors remain some of his most cherished.

Mr. Bui has noticed a shift in how people think about food. 

“People pay more attention to healthy foods… in comparison to 40 years ago. 40 years ago, you didn’t really care what you ate or drank…information about healthy food has become more widespread.” 

Access to nutritional knowledge and dietary awareness has grown, influencing the way people eat and what they prioritize in their meals.  

In the past, food choices were often driven by convenience, availability, or tradition, with little thought given to long-term health effects. Now, with a greater emphasis on well-being, people are more mindful of ingredients, portion sizes, and balanced diets. He has observed these changes not only in mainstream American cuisine but also notably in traditional Vietnamese food, where fresh herbs, lean proteins, and plenty of vegetables have always played a key role. Dishes like gỏi (Vietnamese salads), phở, and spring rolls naturally incorporate a variety of vegetables and fresh greens, making them both flavorful and nutritious. While modern dietary trends emphasize fresh, whole foods, he notes that Vietnamese cuisine has long embraced this approach, proving that traditional meals can also be some of the healthiest.

Mr. Bui shares that he would introduce the concept of Vietnamese pronouns to someone new to Vietnamese culture. One of the most distinctive aspects of Vietnamese culture is its complex system of address terms. Unlike English, where "I" and "you" are standard, Vietnamese has many ways to refer to oneself and others, depending on age, social status, and relationship.  

"Picking the wrong combination can be insulting."

Pronouns in Vietnamese are deeply tied to respect and hierarchy. The way you address someone spells out the relationship through speech, signaling whether they are older, younger, a peer, or someone of authority. While this nuance is second nature to native speakers, it is often overlooked by those unfamiliar with the language. Understanding these subtleties is key to showing respect and navigating Vietnamese social interactions properly.