What lessons would a nation’s leader choose to leave for future generations?

In Letters to My Grandchildren, President Thongloun Sisoulith opens a window into his life through a collection of heartfelt letters written during official journeys abroad between 2014 and 2019. More than a family memoir, the book recounts an extraordinary journey from a humble childhood in a remote village in Huaphan province to the highest office in the Lao PDR.
Through vivid recollections of hardship, perseverance, education, and public service, President Thongloun shares the experiences and values that shaped his character and leadership. Readers will encounter the story of a young boy who crossed rivers to attend school, overcame poverty and adversity, and remained steadfast in his pursuit of knowledge and service to the nation.
Rich with personal reflections and life lessons, Letters to My Grandchildren offers a rare and intimate portrait of the man behind the presidency while providing inspiration for young people, parents, and leaders alike. It is a story not only of one individual’s journey but also of resilience, dedication, and the enduring belief that determination can transform even the most modest beginnings into a life of remarkable achievement.
The book comprises 12 chapters, and the Vientiane Times will present each chapter in the newspaper.
Chapter 2 - The Road to School
But as luck would have it, I managed to get across. About 30 metres from the rapids, I was able to dock the boat and tie it to a tree, then sprinted back to Nachon village, arriving after dark. When I got home, my parents were both relieved and shocked— how had their child managed to survive all that? It happened to be a Saturday, and the next day was Sunday. I meant to go help my parents with work as usual, but they would not let me go any where. They called our relatives and neighbors over to “call back my spirit” and share a cheerful meal together. Everyone asked me why I had taken such a dangerous risk… I answered: because I missed home, I missed my father, mother, and younger sister so much that I decided to take the chance. Many people warned me never to do that again—that longing is real, but if you run into danger and lose your life, it becomes a tragedy that cannot be undone. I felt guilty and admitted it hadn’t been a good or right decision at all even though I came safely through this crisis—giving my parents both a fright and great relief—my maternal grandmother in Sob Hao (who loved me with all her heart) was beside herself. She could not eat or sleep, and for two or three days she walked along the Ma River in tears looking for me, desperate to know where I was and what condition I was in. There was no news—no one could travel between Nachon and Sob Hao because of the floodwaters. After three or four days I was able to return to school as normal, and before class I ran to see my grandmother. Shewept with relief, and I hugged her, crying too, and apologized— confessing my mistake because I hadn’t told her I was leaving (I’d slipped away, afraid she wouldn’t allow it; the longing for my parents and sister was something I just couldn’t hold back).

By Times Reporters
 (Latest Update July 6, 2026)