When asked about the other two authors, I was startled because, compared to them, I felt like a small tree secretly growing by the fence, then stealthily blooming, in contrast to the two towering, majestic trees in the schoolyard. Those were my teacher, Professor Huynh Nhu Phuong, and the writer Pham Cong Luan, a "Saigon scholar" whom I always admired.
Author: Truong Gia Hoa
Photo: Provided by the subject
When I asked her why she chose me, her answer couldn't have been simpler: "I went to a bookstore and read your books, and I liked them, that's all." Well, it's all fate, thanks to our shared love for Ho Chi Minh City that this lovely encounter happened.
The beloved city has become a part of my very being.
I have a hometown in Trang Bang, Tay Ninh , filled with grandparents, parents, and hundreds of loving connections. On April 30, 1975, my parents were in Saigon preparing to "warmly welcome their child," but the excitement, nervousness, and tension were overwhelming, and my mother couldn't "concentrate on her work."
So, we packed our bags and went back to our hometown. Thirteen days later, my mother gave birth to me thanks to the help of a local midwife, not at Tu Du Hospital as planned. I am a child of peace ; even my nickname at home is a symbol of peace: Dove.
My father said that at the time he didn't think much about it; simply, stopping the fighting meant stopping the death and destruction, and life was so precious. My father named his children to commemorate a special event. Similarly, in 1979, when my younger brother was born, the country was facing countless difficulties, and the rations distributed to teachers included sorghum, so now, I have a younger brother named Cao Luong (Sorghum).
My parents were always worried about raising Pigeon and Sorghum in such deprived conditions. Strangely, my sisters and I were just happy, because we didn't know anything to compare; we simply grew up like plants. There were still sparkling stars, joyful rains to remember, to cherish for a lifetime. And with that mindset, when I went to university, I returned to my hometown, using the sound of car horns as the melody of my 17th year.
A new journey begins. Thirty-three years later, as Ho Chi Minh City kicks off the celebrations of the 50th anniversary of national reunification, I suddenly realize that the time I spent living in the city was double the time I spent in my hometown. But if you ask me how much I've "lived in the city," I don't know; when I meet someone I've just met, I'll say, "Well, I'm from the countryside..."
It's not that I'm being ungrateful, but it seems like many people are like me. Everyone carries a hazy hometown behind them, and a city that has become ingrained in their being. They're caught between two places; in the city, they miss their hometown, but after a few days back home, they yearn for the honking of cars at red lights, the calls of the old woman selling bread who loves listening to bolero music in the late afternoon to escape the sun. Her calls echoing in Tan Phu are truly special: "Bread for sale! Handsome but tactless! Always selling, always selling!..."
Some works by author Truong Gia Hoa
Photo: Provided by the subject
Every day I still wait to hear the familiar street vendor's cry, and I burst out laughing, each laugh feeling like the first. Each time I laugh, I love Tan Phu, and Ho Chi Minh City, even more. Having been born in this city, my heart must have many compartments. That's what makes this place so spacious, making this city gentle and not cramped or harsh.
I was born in 1975, and then my child was born in 2000. I find this a fascinating coincidence. Whenever my birthday approaches, reading the newspaper or watching TV helps me remember my age. My son is the same; whatever year it is in 2000, that's his age. How lucky for someone as bad at calculations as me!
Reaching rock bottom reveals just how precious life is.
For a time, I wrote for the "Sharing Living Spaces" column in the magazine Architecture and Life . I wrote about my small space and my reflections on life and love. Then, quite naturally, the vine of words reached out to the streets and soul of Saigon. My love for this land seeped into the pages, week after week, month after month. And then, unintentionally, two out of my three collections of essays were written for Saigon - Ho Chi Minh City, written under the protection of this land.
You know, at the age of 40, amidst a sea of flags and flowers celebrating the 40th anniversary of national reunification, I received terrible news from the hospital. Everything might have been closed, forever. But miraculously, now, sitting here writing for the 50th anniversary publication, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my good fortune. Ten strange years of my life have just passed. There were times of despair, times filled with emotion. Painful but resolute, hitting rock bottom to realize how precious life is.
Life is so precious, I want to reiterate this because during the time Ho Chi Minh City was struggling with Covid-19 , I was desperately caring for my mother in the hospital back home. Every passing moment was filled with anxious waiting and prayer. I watched a short clip of deserted, desolate streets in the twilight. Tears welled up in my eyes because of my sorrow. The city is truly sick, and severely so.
When my mother was somewhat stable, I crossed the border and returned home using a special pass. The city was devoid of smiles. Without people, the city was truly desolate. But that was also the moment I believed Ho Chi Minh City would overcome this.
Just as I have often known my own weakness and fragility, but through some kind of kindness, some kind of primal energy of this city, I have overcome the darkness of my life. I believe that millions of people will light a bright lamp, a lamp of fierce life for the city. Or, more gently: Saigon, let's breathe slowly and deeply!
Today, I'm 50 years old, and Ho Chi Minh City is celebrating 50 years of national reunification. To be honest and easygoing, I think I have another 50 years to live and am imagining a centenary celebration… Well, that's because I've lived here for quite a while, so, well, let's just leave it at that!
Truong Gia Hoa was born on May 13, 1975, in Trang Bang, Tay Ninh province. He graduated from the University of Ho Chi Minh City. He has worked as an editor for several publishing houses and newspapers such as Saigon Marketing , Ho Chi Minh City Law , etc.
She currently works as a freelance writer and seamstress.
Published works include: "Mother and Brother's Waves " (poetry collection), " Will You Dream Tonight, My Child?" (essays, awarded by the Ho Chi Minh City Writers Association in 2017), "Saigon's Old Threshold, Sunlight Falling" (essays), "Saigon Breathes Slowly, Takes Deep Breaths" (essays)...
The essay "Fragrant Leaves" by author Truong Gia Hoa has been selected for inclusion in the Grade 8 Vietnamese Language and Literature textbook, part of the "Creative Horizons" series.
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Source: https://thanhnien.vn/50-nam-dat-nuoc-thong-nhat-dua-con-cua-hoa-binh-185250429160352639.htm
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