Creativity has always been part of who I am. It’s not something I try to summon—it lives inside me, and over the years, I’ve simply learned how to let it rise, flow, and evolve with me. Even as a child, I saw the world through a creative lens. I vividly remember drawing on the underside of my dad’s office desk—on the hidden wooden panel right where he sat. That was my secret little canvas, my first creative hideaway. I’d also pull out old Chinese textbooks and practice calligraphy on the desk’s edge. It wasn’t just play; it was the beginning of a lifelong relationship with expression.
Growing up in Vietnam, I went to a private school where we studied both Mandarin and Vietnamese. Our classrooms were massive—100 students in one room—and yet, I found a way to shine. I loved handwriting, drawing, and entering any creative competition I could. Handwriting contests, art competitions—you name it, I was there. I often came first, not just for the glory, but because it lifted a burden from my parents. With six siblings, school fees were a big load. But if you ranked first in your class, your tuition for the following year was completely covered. Winning wasn’t just a personal achievement—it was a gift to my family. That gave my creativity an even deeper purpose.
When we moved to Australia, my creative life didn’t stop—it transformed. In high school, I pursued 3-unit art and developed a deep love for detail. I gravitated towards pastels and coloured pencils, pouring hours into every stroke and shade. I also explored sculpture, design, and home renovation. I loved decorating spaces, shifting furniture around, turning blank walls into stories. Even in adulthood, when my family and I opened four retail stores, creativity remained central. We didn’t just sell furniture and giftware—we designed it ourselves. My hands were always making, shaping, curating.
Oddly enough, I never made a business out of my art. Instead, I chose to shine the light on other artists. I believe in helping creatives rise—guiding them, nurturing them, and celebrating their journeys. But I never stopped creating. My creativity simply found different channels: drawing, design, writing.
Writing, especially, became a companion. I began blogging back in 2003, long before it was trendy. I wasn’t a strong writer at first, but that didn’t stop me. I didn’t aim for perfection—I focused on progress. My imperfections weren’t failures; they were opportunities to grow. Every blog post became a lesson in clarity, courage, and finding my voice. Over the years, I kept writing. I journaled, shared stories, reflected. Writing helped me process life. It helped me stay grounded.
In high school, I was also drawn to poetry and songwriting. I’d listen to Chinese music and think, This would sound beautiful in English. So I started adapting those melodies into my own songs, writing English lyrics that carried the same emotional heartbeat. I didn’t share them widely. I wrote them for me—for the release, the comfort, the creativity.
Then, as life got busy, that part of me paused. But it never disappeared. Four years ago, something stirred again. I felt the tug, that old creative itch. So I returned to songwriting—and it felt like coming home. I realized how healing it was for me. Writing songs calmed my spirit and cleared my mind. It became my way to unwind, to breathe, to dream.
But this time, I wasn’t just writing for myself. I began writing for other creatives—for artists, designers, and makers who, like me, sometimes struggle to stay inspired or seen. I wanted to give them anthems—songs that remind them who they are and why they create. Music became my way of supporting them. I found words for their hopes, melodies for their journeys.
And just last month, something magical happened: I released my first official song into the world. It’s now streaming on all major music platforms through DistroKid, a platform that helps independent musicians publish their music seamlessly. For me, this wasn’t just about releasing a track. It was about honouring the full circle of my creative life—drawing on the desk as a child, writing lyrics in high school, helping artists find their light, and now creating music that reflects it all.
So how do I keep my creative juice flowing?
I stay curious. I surround myself with beauty—nature, art, conversations, culture. I take time to notice the little things: the shape of a cloud, the rhythm of a street performer, the quiet joy of watching my dog chase the wind. I listen to music from all over the world. I revisit old memories. I honour my inner child who still draws on invisible desks.
I don’t pressure creativity; I invite it. I treat it with kindness. I let it show up how it wants—sometimes in a sketch, sometimes in a melody, sometimes in a blog post or a furniture design. And when creativity pauses, I rest with it. I trust it will return. Because it always does.
My creativity is not something I chase—it’s something I live with. It’s woven into my story, my family, my identity. Whether I’m helping others shine through ArtSHINE or releasing music that uplifts fellow creatives, it’s all connected. Creativity flows when I stay open, stay grateful, and keep showing up.
And that’s how I keep my creative juice happening—by remembering where I started, honouring how far I’ve come, and never stopping the dance between passion and purpose.
