Sea and forest in one heart

I left Tuy Hoa one early autumn morning. Under the dim, pale light of the waning moon, before dawn had even broken, the bus silently left the seaside town, speeding through a land where the sky was slowly changing color – from the azure blue of the waves to the deep green of the mountains and hills.

I pressed my face against the windowpane, letting the wind and red dust paint vague streaks on my heart. Something was unsteady inside me. Far from Tuy Hoa, I carried with me the murmuring sound of the waves, placing it amidst the windswept plateau, listening to my heart like a stringed instrument – ​​each vibration a memory, a moment of wistfulness. Deep within, I felt like a tiny bird that had just flown towards a new horizon, where the plateau beckoned with the resounding, heartfelt sounds of gongs and drums, yet turned back, longing for its peaceful nest in my homeland.

Illustration photo: Huu Nguyen

In my first days in the highlands, I felt like I had wandered into a fairytale land of red soil and the winds of the vast forest. Here, coffee plantations stretched endlessly like a green carpet towards the foothills. The straight rows of rubber trees stood like a silent army, guarding the city streets from the afternoon sun. I walked along roads named after heroes, unfamiliar names that I hadn't yet managed to engrave in my memory. From Vo Nguyen Giap Boulevard to Le Duan Street and then to the Department of Education and Training along Nguyen Tat Thanh Street, the ancient trees on either side silently intertwined their branches as if welcoming the traveler, whispering stories like endless epics of the vast forest.

There were nights, amidst the dormitories of the Teacher Training College, looking through the canopy of ancient magnolia trees, seeing the moon hanging obliquely like a silver boat against the sky, my heart would suddenly be filled with the sound of the waves from my hometown, awakening me to an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. I remembered those breezy afternoons, going to the beach with my daughter to fly kites. I remembered the crisp, rustling of the white sand under my feet. I remembered the gentle caress of the waves on my skin, like the hand of an old friend. I remembered the deep, resonant voices of fishermen calling their catch back to shore, the bustling, clamoring voices of the women selling fish at dawn. I remembered the warm, joyful meals, filled with laughter, gathered around my small family with my children…

Time, like a river winding its way through countless bends, has worn away the initial surprises. I began to see Buon Ma Thuot through the eyes of an insider: I loved the cool, hazy air in the early morning mist, the birds calling to each other in the treetops, the strong aroma of coffee like the secret love between earth and sky; I even loved the sudden downpours that came and went quickly, leaving behind a clear sky and the rich scent of damp earth; I remembered the fiery football matches, the late nights drinking under the moonlight in the quiet dormitories for civil servants working far from home like me; I even loved the way the people of Buon Ma Thuot spoke and laughed slowly, firmly like the earth, warm like the golden sun spreading across the hills… Buon Ma Thuot has anchored my soul with the vast embrace of the forest, with a profound affection like basalt rock sleeping peacefully under the seasons of rain and sunshine.

On my return to Tuy Hoa, the waves lapped against the shore like a silent reunion, the golden sand rustling underfoot, and the wind rushing into my chest like a joyful family member embracing a child returning home. Amidst the murmuring waves calling out my name, I heard another deep resonance within my heart, like the voice of an old friend calling me back during a joyful reunion in the highlands. I remember that first morning in Buon Ho, shrouded in mist. I remember the golden sunlight scattering over the straight rows of rubber trees like a long, lingering musical note. I remember the fresh, cool air of the town. I remember the faint scent of coffee in the breeze. I remember the tree-lined roads… I suddenly understood that my heart had been divided in two. One half leaned towards the sea, where childhood memories were filled with the murmuring blue waves, where friends, family, and loved ones lived each day in harmony with the ocean's rhythm. The other half belonged to the forest, a season of coffee blossoms covering the sky in white, a fragrant scent of fruit trees…

I am like a traveler between two realms of longing – I will keep going and coming back twice a week so that my heart is a meeting place of waves and wind, of mountains and sea, so that every time I close my eyes, I see both the ocean and the vast forest singing together a gentle, profound melody of remembrance.

Suddenly, the lines of poetry by Chế Lan Viên echoed deep within me: "When we are here, it is merely a place to live; when we leave, the land has become a part of our soul!"

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/xa-hoi/202512/bien-rung-trong-mot-trai-tim-b8305a7/