3 places that remind us of what life is about: hospital, prison, cemetery

Rather, those three places are three mirrors reflecting the most fundamental values of life: health, liberty and time. Often we only realize we have the most precious things... after we have lost them.

Hospitals are where we face life in its most fragile form. I once texted a younger sibling who was in crisis due to a broken relationship and a deadlocked job: "If you have time try dropping by the Oncology Hospital or Cho Ray Hospital for a day." Because I wanted her to witness another slice of life - where every day, hundreds of people are struggling to fight against illness to catch their breath.

I once sat in a hospital hallway, waiting for my MRI results. Next to me was a little girl, about 10 years old, bald and lying in her mother's arms. Her mother was holding a form asking for support for medical examination and treatment costs. Both mother and daughter were silent. No crying, no complaining. The little girl's eyes were directed towards the ceiling, the mother was staring blankly at the crowd of patients in front of her.

At another hospital, I once saw a tall man burst into tears like a child when he received the news that he had late-stage cancer; I also saw a young couple hugging and smiling brightly because the wife's test results showed that her tumor was not malignant.

Life is there, appearing in its most fragile and naked form. You will realize that as long as you can breathe, walk, eat and sleep by yourself you are already a very lucky person.

We often demand too much from life, forgetting to thank this body - the silent companion who endures stress, late nights, toxic food... Only when it speaks up in pain do we wake up to the fact that we have been living too carelessly with ourselves.

Prison is a place where people relearn the concept of freedom.

I once went to a prison to visit a relative. I still remember the cold clang of the iron door closing behind me, the scrutinizing eyes of the guards, and the pungent smell of the confined space. It was a place where every step, every small action was watched. A place where even a plastic spoon had to be counted, a hug with a loved one needed permission and had to be done quickly.

One prisoner told me: "I don't expect much... I just wish that one day I could sit alone at a roadside cafe, listen to old music, watch the traffic pass by..."

People hangout by the West Lake in Hanoi, where plastic tools are placed to serve a tea shop's guests. Photo by VnExpress/Tung Dinh

People take freedom for granted until it is taken away. You can wake up late, go for a walk, eat your favorite food, argue and then make up, post whatever you want on social media - that is freedom.

But just one wrong decision, one moment of impulsiveness, one touch of something you shouldn't touch - you can lose everything.

Prison does not just imprison the body; it also imprisons memories, beliefs and the future. A person who has made a mistake can spend decades trying to set it right.

Some people say prison is where people pay for their mistakes. I think prison is also a place to remind us to live consciously because even the smallest choice can lead us to a place of no return.

Finally, the cemetery is where time stops and quietly reminds us to live life to the fullest.

I often visit the cemetery during Lunar New Year or when I have to say goodbye to a relative or acquaintance. On the rows of neat tombstones, I read the names, birth years and death years of each person. Some died before the age of 30, some lived to be 90. But then they are all the same: lying quietly in the ground as if there had never been a storm or glory during their lifetime.

A friend of mine once wrote: "In the cemetery, all titles become meaningless. All is dust. What remains is: who will remember you and for what?"

The cemetery taught me a profound lesson: life is short. No one knows if tomorrow will be here or gone. You can be so angry with someone that you don't want to talk to them. But one day, standing in front of that person's grave, you wish you could say one more word, even if it's just "sorry" or "thank you".

When I sent my mother to the grave, I remember wishing if only I could hug her more, tell her I love her more clearly, spend more time with her. But there is no "back" button.

Hospitals teach us to cherish health - something no one can give us and the loss of which makes all our dreams become distant.

Prisons teach us to cherish freedom - something that seems natural, but can easily be traded away if we are not conscious.

Cemeteries teach us to cherish time - because one day we will all lie in the ground, without having time to say the words we left unfinished.

*Nguyen Tuan Quynh is a businessman and book author.