That notebook does not record business transactions, nor does it log revenues or expenses; it is a list of people who once turned to him for help with drug addiction recovery. Some have returned to their families, some have secured stable jobs, some remain here, and there are names marked by a quiet dot. Nguyễn Thành Long gently closes the notebook.

“I can’t even remember how many people I have helped... But every time I see someone quit drugs, I think of my younger brother.”

Having spoken, he turns his gaze toward the hill ahead. More than twenty years have passed, but the death of his younger brother remains intact in his memory like a scar that never heals.

Local residents in Búng Lao call him by a very familiar name: “Uncle Long the rehab guy.” Few know that before becoming a pillar of support for misguided souls, he himself was an addict - even a hopeless one. Originally from Thanh Hóa, his family followed the migration wave to Điện Biên to establish a livelihood during difficult years. Life took a harsh turn when his parents separated; his father left, leaving his mother behind with four sons.

As the eldest brother, Long dropped out of school very early to help his mother earn a living. His childhood days lacked schoolyards or complete classes like his peers, replaced instead by hired workers, days accompanying adults to upland fields, and heavy chores far exceeding a child’s strength. Bad associations soon caught up with him, bringing along opium and heroin. The downward path sometimes begins with very small steps; Long became addicted, and his three younger brothers subsequently followed suit. A family of four sons, all entangled in drugs. Every time he recalls that period, Long usually falls silent for a long time, perhaps because no words can fully capture what his family went through.

Inside their impoverished home, everything vanished piece by piece - the pig was sold, the bicycle disappeared, and even the table and chairs were taken away. The poverty that already haunted the family became utterly extreme due to drugs. Yet, the deepest pain lay with his mother; she shouldered the burden of life while helplessly watching her four sons being swallowed daily by addiction. There were nights she sat waiting for her children until dawn, and days she wept until her tears ran dry. And there was an afternoon that Nguyễn Thành Long says he can never forget for the rest of his life. That day, his emaciated mother fell to her knees, clasping her hands together in front of her son: “My child, give it up...!” Those words have echoed in his mind his entire life.

Yet back then, a mother’s love was still not strong enough to drag him out of the muddy depths of the abyss. He went into rehab, relapsed, tried again, and failed repeatedly. That was until the ultimate tragedy struck - his biological younger brother died right before his eyes. That day, both brothers had decided to quit drugs, purchasing medicine to detox by themselves at home, fully understanding that if they did not stop, death would inevitably claim them sooner or later. But fate chose only one; his brother did not make it.

Nguyễn Thành Long shares that there are nights he wakes up because his brother’s face still surfaces in his memory. “I always think that the one who died should have been me,” a statement he repeats multiple times during our conversation, not out of self-pity, but because it is a profound, genuine torment. Following his brother’s funeral, he looked at his elderly mother sitting silently before the newly erected altar, incense smoke curling inside the tiny house. For the first time, he realized that drugs do not just kill the addict; they destroy their loved ones too. That was the final time he resolved to rehabilitate - there was no turning back, no second chance. Long does not remember exactly how long he wrestled to overcome the severe withdrawal symptoms, only that it was the longest period of his life.

There were nights Long could not sleep, days he felt as though he was losing his mind, and moments when he simply wanted to give up. Yet, the images of his mother and younger brother held him back. After months of battling himself, he triumphed, breaking free from drugs, his old self, and the dark shadow that had haunted nearly half his life. Life did not transform overnight; he still had to work as a hired laborer and carefully scrape together every penny of capital. But at least, from that day on, he lived by his own honest labor. Years later, as his family’s finances gradually stabilized, he expanded his business, but the past never truly left him. Every time he sees an addict wandering aimlessly on the street, he sees his former self. Every time he encounters a mother searching for her child, he remembers his own mother.

And so, he began helping addicts - initially just a few individuals, then dozens, and eventually hundreds who sought his help. They came from within the province, from Sơn La, Hanoi, the South... Word of mouth spread; they came not because they believed in a specific medicine, but because they believed in a man who had successfully stepped out of the darkness. They turned to Long after exhausting almost every other rehabilitation avenue to no avail. Neither a doctor nor a psychologist, what Long possessed was the raw experience of someone who had drowned deeply in drugs and navigated his own way out of that abyss.

In the sanctuary Long built, these misguided individuals pool their rice to cook together, work alongside one another, and share every meal and life story. More importantly, they are listened to and understood. Only those who have writhed through withdrawal, tasting despair and agony to their very bones, can deeply empathize with each other during their darkest hours. Free of dogmatic lectures, Long helps them with pure sincerity, rooted in the belief that no matter how lost a person has been, they can always rebuild their life. This profound empathy serves as a mental remedy, giving many the fortitude to overcome temptation and reclaim themselves.

Inside his modest office, Nguyễn Thành Long carefully preserves numerous certificates from his training, ranging from a certificate in “Processing Medicinal Ingredients and Preparing Traditional Medicine” issued by the Hanoi Medical Intermediate School to credentials related to social work and addict support. He learned to listen, to understand, and to help a despairing person regain faith.

“I always tell them that rehabilitation is not an overnight matter; the most important thing is the genuine desire to change.”

Beside rehabilitation support, he also finds ways to secure employment for post-rehab individuals. In his view, many relapse not because they wish to, but because upon returning, they face joblessness, a lack of trust, and inevitably fall back into their old environments. From this philosophy, the Long Minh Cooperative was born.

At the far end of the farm stands the small house of Giàng A Mùa, which was recently renovated. Mùa struggled with drug addiction for many years. Back then, his wife worked the upland fields to raise three children while he drowned in continuous addiction cycles. The day he sought Long, Mùa had virtually nothing left. Today, he possesses a stable job, an income, and his family by his side. Standing before his new house, Mùa smiles gently, “If I hadn’t met Long, I probably wouldn’t be who I am today.”

Not far away is Nguyễn Xuân Đức, whose more than twenty years of addiction once stripped him of everything. The day he arrived in Búng Lao, he was nearly empty-handed. Today, he serves as the Director of the Long Minh Cooperative - a transformation even he never dared to imagine. “Long didn’t just help us rehabilitate. He helped us believe that we still have value.”

Over the phone, I speak with Phạm Thành Trung in Lai Châu, a young man born in 1996 who spent nearly 17 years mired in drug abuse. He expresses frankly: “I escaped drugs thanks to Long; today, I consider him the person who gave me a second life. Father Long.”

At the beginning of 2025, the Long Minh Cooperative was officially established. Breeding pens for spotted deer, reproductive horses, and bamboo rats, along with medicinal plant cultivation zones, gradually took shape across the Búng Lao hillsides. Yet, the most precious element here is neither the livestock herds nor the revenue. It is the people - individuals who were once left behind by life. Those who once believed they had no second chances now have jobs, incomes, faith, and a reason to live decently.

Nguyễn Trung Chính, Vice Chairman of the Búng Lao commune People’s Committee, noted: “The Long Minh Cooperative in Quyết Tiến village is an effectively operating economic model in the locality. The cooperative expands into multiple fields such as cultivating medicinal plants and livestock farming, while simultaneously generating employment for many people. Notably, the cooperative has created conditions for post-rehabilitation individuals to participate in production labor. This model is demonstrating immense efficiency in terms of both economics and social significance.”

That recognition is perhaps most clearly reflected through the transformations in the lives of those who once lost their way. Behind each person helped is a family salvaged, children regaining a father, and mothers who no longer spend long nights anxiously waiting for their sons. Above all, these are individuals who are reclaiming their value day by day through honest labor.

Dusk falls rapidly over the Búng Lao hills. Calls for dinner echo from the collective kitchen. The “workers” return one after another after a day of labor, filling the small courtyard with bustling laughter and chatter. Nguyễn Thành Long stands silently, observing everyone. Under the freshly lit yellow lamp, the face of the man who has stepped into his fifties reveals the marks of time. Perhaps in that very moment, he remembers his younger brother who was left behind - the brother to whom he always feels indebted. It is a debt that cannot be paid with money, nor settled with an apology. It can only be repaid by pulling one more person out of the darkness. Then another, and another...

Amidst the land of Búng Lao today, many still call him “Uncle Long the rehab guy.” But to those who once lost their way, he is simply the person who reached out his hand at the exact moment they thought their lives held no further chance to begin anew. After all, the most precious thing a human being can bestow upon another is not money or material possessions, but faith - the faith that after days of being lost, there is always a way back home.