Prof. Ha was still new when I started my PhD, and he was only a few years older than me. From the very beginning, I was impressed by his academic achievements and the fact that he had already become a professor.

I still remember those moments in his class and the questions I asked him afterward. It was the hardest course I had ever taken, so I paid extra attention to truly understand everything—even solving one problem using two different derivations.

When I consulted him the following semester about taking another one of his courses, he said, “You did very well in my last course. This one is easier; you don’t need to take it.” I was surprised, encouraged, and grateful. He knew his students individually and spoke for their benefit.

Years later, I bumped into him after church, where he was strolling with his toddlers, who had just learned to walk. His face still had the same warm smile, and his eyes still shone the same light. We had a little chat and I learned that my church and his home were in the same neighborhood. I didn’t know then that this would be the only and last time I saw him after leaving campus.

Years passed. That Sunday after church two years ago, unsure why I wanted some time alone in nature. I debated between the river and that nearby park, then headed toward the park, only the second time in my twelve years of attending that church. As I walked past the spot where I had once bumped into Professor Ha, the memory of that moment came back to me, and I wondered how he was doing.

Sitting down on a bench by the lake, I opened my phone to search for another professor’s email to request a meeting regarding a project I was working on. That was when I came across the news—it was the one-year anniversary of his passing! I was shocked! He was only 49. My tears burst out, and I felt that my planned time alone had been meant as a quiet moment to mourn someone I deeply respected—someone who had shown me kindness—on the first anniversary of his passing, at a place where I had shared brief but my only personal interactions with him. I sat beside the lake for a couple of hours, allowing myself to grieve and reflect.

I’ve had many struggles through the years and have been close to death myself. I used to be unsure whether death would actually be “better.” Now, with a firm understanding that life is a gift, I pray that his loved ones continue living life to the fullest and cherish every moment on this planet. I believe that would be the heart of Prof. Ha as well.

About half year lately we just know of this sad news, deepest condolences to Ha’s family.

Ha's talent of communications engineering and football will be with us forever. Rest in peace.

(AIT friends and IEEE ComSoc Thailand chapter)

My deepest sympathy to the whole family 

Daniel Li

Đường về Sa cát vắng bóng anh

Cỏ cây như cũng muốn hết xanh

Một chuông điện thoại đinh tai óc

Muốn nơi hay tiếng lệ tuôn rơi

(Tiễn anh Sep 17,2022)

Mong gia đình, chị Hạnh, Namca,Nammi,NamVinh và ông bà 2 bên, sớm vượt qua đau thương mất mát.