TINA HA GIANG
I grew up hearing about karma as something far away—something that catches up with you in the next life. “Be good now, so you’ll be rewarded later.” Or “If you wrong someone, you owe them a karmic debt that must be repaid.” These were spoken as quiet warnings or sacred truths.
But over time, I’ve come to believe that karma isn’t waiting for us in another world. It’s already here. It lives in what we do, how we speak, how we move through the day. It’s the echo of our actions—and it’s instant.
In the Vietnamese traditions I grew up with, karma is often tied to reincarnation—the idea that what you do in this life shapes where you land in the next. This powerful teaching stretches our sense of responsibility beyond self. But I’ve come to think of reincarnation in a different way—not just as what happens after we die but as what happens while we live.
On my third date with a man, he asked me if I believed in reincarnation. I smiled and said, “I’ve heard of the concept, and I think it’s a good one—it encourages people to do good.” Then I paused. “But I haven’t seen it,” then added. “Though I’m open to being convinced.”
That moment stuck with me—not just because of the question but because it reminded me that we all carry ideas we haven’t quite settled. And sometimes, life does the convincing.
These days, I think I am convinced.
I believe we reincarnate all the time. Every time we truly change—after heartbreak, grief, illness, growth, we become someone new. And each new version of ourselves carries the karma of who we were before. We don’t need to wait for another life to feel the effects of what we’ve done. Karma is already at work—in the next conversation, the next decision, the next breath.
I saw this most clearly when I went home to Vietnam for my mother’s funeral.
She wasn’t famous. She owned a small shop in Chợ Ông Tạ—on a crowded and busy street, yet a place where people remember kindness more than status. But on the day of her funeral, I was stunned. People I didn’t know lined both sides of the Catholic church to greet the funeral procession as if she were a celebrity. Afterward, many came up to me quietly and said, “Your mother helped me.” Some even shared how she helped them in their moment of need.
These weren’t dramatic stories. No big speeches. Just quiet kindness: meals shared, money lent, words offered when needed most. Somehow, some way, she had helped many people she met. She never told me. I never knew. That’s karma, too.
In Vietnamese, there’s a saying: “Đời cha ăn mặn, đời con khát nước.” When the father eats salty food, the child ends up thirsty. It’s a moral warning: if one generation lives selfishly, the next might suffer the consequences.
But I believe the opposite is also true.
When someone lives with quiet generosity, those ripples move forward, too. They don’t just bless the person who gave—they return to the people who come after the next generation. Does it sound like our destiny was determined at birth?
Speaking of birth, I’ve always believed I was born under a lucky star, which is the reverse of the familiar Vietnamese saying: “tôi sinh ra đời dưới một ngôi sao xấu” (I was born under an unlucky star).
It’s true—I’ve been lucky my whole life. Whenever I’ve felt cornered, desperate, or stuck, someone always seems to appear—offering help, opening a door, showing me a different perspective, or a way through. For a long time, I thought it was just luck or coincidence. Now I believe it’s karma—not mine alone, but the kind my parents quietly built.
I remember one day, when I was still a child, my father took me somewhere on his Vespa. We were weaving through the streets of Sài Gòn when an older cyclo driver accidentally clipped the side of our Vespa and fell. He was shaken and worried that he had damaged the Vespa and kept apologizing.
My father calmly parked, helped the man up, and asked if he was okay. Then he asked how much the man made in a day, took out that amount in cash, gave it to him, and gently suggested, “Why don’t you go home and rest today?” Standing there, I saw such gratitude in the old man’s misty eyes.
That was it. No drama. No complaints. No lectures. Just quiet compassion. No explanation for me either.And now, as I reflect on my so-called “luck,” I wonder if it’s not luck at all. Maybe I’m still being carried by the karma my parents created.
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Do you believe in karma?
If you’ve ever experienced karma in an immediate or surprising way—good or bad—I’d love to hear about it. What did it look like in your life? What did it teach you? Feel free to share in the comment section or write to us. Let’s start the conversation.
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From the same author: https://www.toiyeutiengnuoctoi.com/category/tac-gia/a-to-h/ha-giang/
