The Letter with the Yellow Leaf

"Sixty, that's all!" That's something I had only thought to myself, but I said it out loud at a recent class reunion and noticed many of my friends' eyes light up with joy.

That way of speaking seemed very effective in helping people escape the fear of old age. But as the gathering ended, the afternoon sun gilded everything, and as I stepped out into the yard to pick up a fallen leaf, I felt as if I had just received a letter from a golden leaf—a letter announcing a great and universal law of heaven and earth, of nature. Well, I accepted it, didn't I? Sixty is an age full of contradictions, isn't it? People often jokingly say "aging out of sync," referring to this period of the zodiac; ignoring worldly affairs but listening to oneself every day, every hour, every minute.

Without darkness, how can we see the light of day? Without a time of good health, how can we notice our bodies stirring with weakness, fatigue, and aches? Therefore, when we can no longer lift a potted plant or a bucket of water, instead of letting sadness and weakness gnaw at us, we should rejoice that we were once strong and considered those pots and buckets as insignificant as a rabbit.

In the literary world, there's the writer To Hoai, who lived to be ninety-five years old, having spent sixty years writing and publishing "about one hundred and sixty books." This suggests that the ages of sixty, seventy, and eighty were his most productive periods! Therefore, it would be embarrassing and mortifying for his descendants, who are "about sixty" years old, to be burdened by old age!

Or take the writer Ma Van Khang – Nguyen Thanh Long, author of "Silent Sa Pa," who writes more and better as he gets older. "I have twenty novels and two hundred short stories, that's all!" Just looking at his new short stories regularly published in newspapers makes me think of a "sunlight recorder" that uses burn marks to determine the sunlight. That's how people live positively; they define what is good and worthwhile. No one would be foolish enough to judge the value of their life by trivial aches and pains in their joints, or fluctuating blood cholesterol or blood pressure…

I always follow those examples to focus on my work, to live happily, to wholeheartedly pursue my dreams and love, and to be fearless. Whenever I face myself, I often tell myself this, but sometimes, like after this 43rd anniversary class reunion, I remind myself to read the letter in my hand to realize that my clock is ticking down. Life is limited, so we must cherish every second and minute we have left to live meaningfully, to work and live with genuine sincerity and using the best possible methods.

I had a friend who lived a very respectable life. He did everything he could, never procrastinating, especially paying off his debts. He even prepared for his own funeral and other ceremonies, carefully instructing his family. His philosophy was, "Life is impermanent; don't die with regrets and worries. If you cried when you were born, you should smile when you die!" But on the day he passed away, I witnessed his last tear, smeared with sorrow, his family burdened with countless unresolved worries. A person's life isn't simply about two times two equals four, but even being as respectable as possible is a great effort. Being born a human is a blessing, and being a complete human being is a special privilege.

I remember reading somewhere the philosophy of meticulousness: "Five years, six months, seven days," meaning that when you reach fifty, you should only plan your work and life for a year; at six, plan by month; and at seven, the most important unit of time is the day. Otherwise, there's a risk of leaving things unfinished, incomplete, or unfulfilled.

I held the golden leaf in my hand for a long time, examining it closely. Only then did I realize that besides the radiant golden color covering its seemingly perfect surface, there were a few spots, damaged and healed scars—beautifully scarred areas. Suddenly, I nodded, realizing, as if I had just read an important message from that golden leaf letter: Nothing is perfect! Imperfection itself is a kind of beauty in humanity. Don't we see how the world of art, music , and painting is created from those unfinished love affairs?! Thinking this, my heart felt lighter, more peaceful, and I understood more deeply the message the golden leaf letter was conveying: be forgiving of yourself, and everything will pass quickly. Live sincerely in every moment, and be forgiving—of—yourself!

And behold, on the yellowed leaf, there was a postscript written in strong, leaf-vein-shaped strokes: When we are busy pursuing our dreams, we will see how wonderful this world truly is.

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