Kites and the sky of childhood

QTO - I was born in a coastal village, where white sand stretches endlessly, the blue sea embraces the village shore and rows of casuarina trees rustle throughout the four windy seasons. There, summer comes earlier, the golden sunshine pours down like honey, the wind carries the salty taste of the sea into every kitchen. My childhood grew up in days of hardship, lacking in all aspects, but because of that, joy is always built by hand, from things that seem to be discarded.

Every time the south wind blows, my father prepares to make kites. In the kitchen, filled with the smell of wood smoke, he displays the newly whittled bamboo pieces, the fresh scent of bamboo mixed with the scent of cold rice being pounded in a chipped porcelain bowl. My father skillfully bends the bamboo into a frame, then spreads a yellowed piece of notebook paper on it. His fingertips rub lightly, spreading the rice like a white glue connecting each strand of paper to the slender bamboo frame.

In the afternoon, my friends and I ran out to the sandy beach behind the house with our kites. The late afternoon sun dyed the sand a shimmering honey color, each grain of sand was hot under my bare feet, then cool when it touched the edge of the white-capped waves. The kite shook in my hand, beating like my heart at that moment - eager, nervous - then felt light as it flew out of my reach, tilting in the deep blue sky. The sound of the wind whistling through the kite string sounded like the music of freedom, guiding my childhood dreams to fly high.

Illustration: HH

One day, the wind was so strong that the kite was just a small dot in the salty clouds. We sat on the sand, our eyes following, our mouths tasting the salt, our ears listening to the sound of the waves lapping like an endless lullaby. When the sun set, we all rushed into the sea, the cool water embracing our skin, letting the waves wash away the heat and fatigue of a day of play. In the evening, under the yellow light of the oil lamp, the whole family gathered around a simple meal. In the laughter of my mother and the stories of my father, I felt my heart at peace, like a kite filled with wind still leisurely flying in the sky.

Many years have passed, kites today are made of durable fabric, bright colors, and elaborate shapes. But crowded streets, bright screens in the hands of children, have gradually made those afternoons of kite flying fade into memory. Occasionally, when I see a lone kite hanging in the afternoon sky, my heart sinks. I realize that human life is like a kite: To fly high, you need a string tied tightly to your hand, but to see the vast sky, you also need to know how to let it fly with enough wind.

The kite taught me a simple yet lasting lesson: know your roots, know who holds the string of your life, and have the courage to rise up, to sway, to catch the wind of your dreams. Because in the end, when the kite disappears into the clouds, what remains in us is not just its shape, but a whole sky of childhood, clear, salty, never to return.

Tran Tuyen

Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/van-hoa/202510/canh-dieu-va-khoang-troi-tuoi-tho-0424497/