Father, the smell of kitchen smoke and the aroma of tea in the early morning

In that distant childhood, every time the rooster crowed, my father would wake up, stir the cold ashes, chop wood, light the fire to boil water for tea. The sound of dry wood burning slowly mixed with the sound of boiling water made the lid of the kettle hit the rim of the kettle, as if waking me up from a deep sleep. I tiptoed towards the small kitchen that was brightly lit by the fire while it was still dark outside. Here, my father's thin figure was imprinted on the wall, next to the pot of hot tea with the scent of jasmine, my father was meticulously peeling each ear of corn, selecting beans to wait for the day to plant the crop.

Like every day, month after month, father lit the fire in the early morning with the scent of tea, talking about food, clothing, rice, and money for his beloved children: "Tý's mother! Tell the driver to come and sell the corn to raise enough money to pay for your child's tuition. As for the final year, no matter what, I will try my best to help him graduate from school."

And then, we were still busy making a living, until one morning, suddenly realizing that our father's figure was thin and his hard-working hands were no longer strong enough to light the fire and boil water to make tea. So, even though we had grown up, each in a different direction and out there with so many worries, I still felt a deep longing for the smell of kitchen smoke and the taste of hot tea in the early morning. That was the taste of love, of sacred fatherly love. That scent seemed to wake me up, and as long as I still loved him, I would definitely return.

Thi Hoang Khiem

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/202511/cha-mui-khoi-bep-va-huong-tra-buoi-som-mai-f61062a/