Night light

In August, the weather turns mild and cool as autumn approaches. At night, the city seems to don a new coat, shimmering under the streetlights that line every street. Seen from above, these streaks of light resemble multicolored threads, skillfully interwoven and winding through the streets and alleys, creating a magical, fairytale-like atmosphere.

The lights suddenly went out. The shimmering colors faded, giving way to a hazy space under the moonlight. I stepped into the room, it was pitch black. I didn't look for candles. I just sat quietly, my eyes following the faint streaks of light filtering through the crack in the door. The darkness mingled with the dim light, suddenly transporting me back to my childhood, to nights spent by the flickering yellow oil lamp… That small light had illuminated so many nights, nurturing me as I grew up with my childhood dreams.

Those days! Over 40 years ago. That was a time when the country was still facing many difficulties, and electricity was a dream for many families, including mine. All daily activities and necessities depended entirely on the rationing system. My mother carefully saved every penny, buying lamp oil for my siblings and me to study. Under that yellowish light, we recited our first lessons… Reflecting on that time, I understand that thanks to the light of those days, we have now reached new horizons.

I fondly remember those nights studying and falling asleep by the lamplight, the flame singeing my blonde hair, only to wake up startled by the smell of burnt hair, my face smudged with soot in the morning. Even now, many nights in my dreams I still wake up startled by the smell of burnt hair, the pungent odor of spilled oil on my books, and the memories still haunt me. As I grew older, I gradually understood that each time I relit the lamp, the oil ran out faster, just like my mother's heart, silently sacrificing herself for our growth. My mother grew older, her hair turning more gray each day, wrinkles deepening around her eyes, all so that we could have the happiness we have today.

I remember those August nights, the cool autumn air, with occasional gentle breezes caressing my skin through my thin clothes. I shivered at the sensation, but I was also incredibly delighted by the bright moonlight shining down from above. The wind carried the faint scent of guava, custard apple, and other ripe fruits. That's all we children longed for. On those moonlit nights, without needing to call each other, as if by prior arrangement, we children would gather from all the alleys and streets to the cooperative's yard to play and have fun with many childish games.

The clear, crisp laughter made the moonlit night even more joyful, echoing on and on. What we loved most was catching fireflies and putting them in penicillin vials; the flickering light, sometimes a sudden burst of brightness, made the children stare at each other with wide eyes. No one knew how to describe it, but we all understood it was a dream: Light!

On clear, star-filled nights, we would lie stretched out on the grass by the roadside, gazing up and counting: one, two, three… until our mouths ached. Then each of us would claim a star for ourselves, each believing our star was the biggest, the brightest…

Time flies by. We've reached our teenage years. The games of our youth have gradually faded. The moonlight no longer shines brightly, the stars seem to diminish, and the fireflies have vanished. We've all gone our separate ways, each to a new horizon. The one thing we have in common is that wherever we go, we're overwhelmed by electric lights. Over time, we've become accustomed to them; the electric lights seem to be taken for granted, readily available. Tonight, even with the power outage, I still feel a light that never fades!

Source: https://baolaocai.vn/anh-sang-dem-post883012.html