From a young age, I was familiar with the image of my mother meticulously preparing offerings to take to the temple on the 15th day of the seventh lunar month, no matter how busy she was, to pray for peace and well-being for the whole family. After the ceremony, she would gently pin a pale pink rose onto her dress, then softly bend down to attach a vibrant red rose to mine. In that moment, I felt the warmth of my mother's hand, and a sweet happiness welled up in my heart, a feeling I didn't fully understand when I was a child.
Looking around the temple grounds, I noticed some people wearing white roses, their faces tinged with sadness. Curious as a child, I looked up and asked my mother why there was such a difference. My mother smiled gently, patted my head softly, and said quietly, “The rose symbolizes gratitude, filial piety, and the appreciation of children for their parents. A red rose is for those who still have both parents, a light pink rose is for those who only have one parent, and a white rose is for those who have lost both parents…”
Listening to my mother's explanation, I looked around in bewilderment, my gaze settling on those silently pinning white flowers to their chests. Their faces were somber, their eyes filled with an unspeakable sense of loss. I was young, not fully understanding the pain, but my heart ached, as if an invisible void had opened before me. A fleeting thought sent a shiver down my spine: One day, my parents would no longer be with me, and I too would have to pin that white flower to my chest. In my naive imagination, I saw myself sitting silently in a corner of the temple, weeping for an irreplaceable loss. That thought tightened my heart, filling me with both anxiety and fear, afraid that I wouldn't have had the chance to express all my love, to repay the immeasurable kindness my parents had shown me.
As a child, I lived under the protective care of my parents without ever appreciating it. Back then, I naively thought that everything they did for me was taken for granted, their duty as parents, forgetting that behind it all was a world of love and silent sacrifice. I remember times when I was stubborn and mischievous, my mother would just smile gently, sometimes sternly reprimanding me, or softly comforting me. But behind those smiles were tears of sorrow, countless nights of silent worry for her child who refused to grow up.
Now that I've grown up and have my own family, every time the Vu Lan festival comes around, memories from years ago flood back. The image of my mother tenderly pinning a vibrant red rose onto my dress is still vivid, but at the same time, the sorrowful gaze of those who carried white flowers that year has never faded from my memory. It is this that makes me more deeply aware of the fragility of life and understand that parents cannot be with us forever.
Amidst the hustle and bustle of life, I sometimes unintentionally forget that my parents are growing older every day, and what they need isn't anything grand, but simply simple care and the warm presence of their children. Each Vu Lan season, looking back, I remind myself to cherish every moment I have with my parents, so that later, when I have to wear a white flower on my chest, I won't regret the things I didn't get to do or say.
And perhaps, that is the greatest meaning of the Vu Lan season – not only a time to remember the gratitude owed to one's parents, but also a reminder for each child to return home, to slow down, and to love more while their parents are still around. I understand that the red rose on my chest today is not only a source of happiness, but also a responsibility, a personal promise to give my parents the utmost respect and love. Because one day, when the red rose fades, when I am forced to wear a white flower on my chest, that love and filial piety will still remain, shining brightly in my heart, like an endless flow that nothing can separate.
Ha Linh
Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/202508/bang-khuang-mua-vu-lan-e8c0845/
Comment (0)