I'm Bui Viet Anh a senior in the Information Technology specialized class at Nhan Chinh High School in Hanoi. I believe good code shouldn't just run correctly, it should reach a real person.
About Me
For the past three years, one question has guided my work in computer science: what can technology do for the people it usually forgets? That question led me to children with cerebral palsy, first through a sensor-equipped pediatric walker, then through CereAware, an AI system that helps detect early signs of cerebral palsy. It also led me back to the swimming pool, where Aqua Guard, a computer-vision system that detects drowning, was born.
Away from the screen, I'm a swimmer, a "dan bau" player – a Vietnamese instrument with only one string yet a hundred voices – and someone who sketches ideas on whatever paper is closest. I hope to study Computer Science, focusing on Artificial Intelligence and assistive technology.
Products
Three products, one principle: build with people, not just for them. A pediatric walker for children with cerebral palsy, CereAware, and Aqua Guard.
Activities
The clubs I've founded and led, my volunteer days at rehabilitation centers, and a "dan bau" stage in the middle of a walking street.
Research & Awards
Research labs, smart-home sites, aviation data and competition floors, where I learned to find the signal in the noise.
Beyond the Screen
Water, the basketball court and my sketchbook keep me in tune.
​Intro: Boot Sequence
My Story
A computer doesn't wake up all at once. It runs a boot sequence – loading one small program after another until the whole system comes alive. I think people work the same way
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I wasn't born knowing that one day I would write code for children with cerebral palsy. I became this version of myself one small file at a time: a broken toy I refused to throw away, a swimming lesson I almost quit, an afternoon at a rehabilitation center I can still replay in detail. These are the files that loaded first.
The Start
As a kid, I couldn't leave anything with screws alone. A broken remote-control car, the TV remote, an old alarm clock – all of them ended up in pieces on the living-room floor because I needed to know what was inside. I rarely managed to put them back together, and a few screws usually went missing. My parents eventually got used to it.
The Realization
Only later did I realize that this feeling – turning an idea in my head into something that actually runs – was what led me to the IT specialized class. Even now, every new project I start begins the same way it did back then: with the question, "What's inside?"
The Epiphany
The family computer was my biggest toy. I spent hours figuring out what every button did, and I was over the moon the first time I wrote a program that printed "Hello, World." It was just a few words on a black screen, but to me it was the first time a computer had listened to me.
Learning to Breathe
I wasn't a kid who loved water from the start. In my first swimming lesson, I swallowed half the pool, clung to the wall and refused to let go. My coach told me one thing I've never forgotten: "Don't fight the water. Learn to breathe with it." It took many lessons before I could float, and many more before I could swim a full lap.
Swimming taught me something I later found again in programming: anything hard becomes easier when you break it into small rhythms – one stroke, one breath, one line of code.
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Swimming also made me notice things others miss. At a crowded pool, I once saw a young child struggling just a few meters from the adults, and no one noticed right away. Those few seconds later became the question that started Aqua Guard: if human eyes can't see everything, can a machine help them see?
The Day My Code Got a Face
In 2024, I visited a rehabilitation center for children with cerebral palsy for the first time as a volunteer. Until then, "cerebral palsy" was just a term in a textbook.
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There I met a little boy – I'll call him Bin. Bin laughed easily and loved watching me draw, but every time he practiced walking, he had to grip a heavy metal frame that didn't fit his small body, while his teacher supported him and kept an eye on several other children at once. I watched him fight for every step, sweat on his forehead, and asked myself: what was the point of all my years of programming and electronics if I couldn't do anything for him?
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That night, I opened my notebook and drew the first sketch of a lighter walker sized for young children, with sensors that respond when a child loses balance. That was the moment my code got a face – and the moment I knew what I wanted technology to be for.
From One Child to Many
The walker helped a few children, but the more I visited the center, the more I heard parents say the same thing: "If only we had known sooner."
I started digging into the data and found that many children are only identified with cerebral palsy at around [1.8 to 5.6 years old], while the golden window for intervention is in the earliest years of life. That gap stayed with me for a long time.
A walker can only help children who have already been diagnosed. But if I could help parents recognize the signs earlier, I could reach many more. That question pulled me from mechanics and sensors toward data and artificial intelligence – and it became the direction I want to pursue for the long term in Computer Science.