The war is over, your life is no longer miserable.

The work Air Defense Battlefield by Trinh Hai - Illustration photo

War was not strange to us. When my father and I were busy digging through the rubble of Bach Mai Hospital to find my mother's body, I cried like that, but my father did not cry. A moment later, my mother ran back and shouted, "It's Mom." Luckily, she had brought food to the firecracker tray so she was not in the hospital kitchen, where the American bomb had dropped.

When the American plane crashed into the pond in Ngoc Ha flower village, my father rode his bike to pick up things. There were a lot of people. Everyone was struggling to pick up and take apart things. There were only a few pieces of stainless steel, broken screws, some screws, some rubber pieces... I didn't know what to do with them, but it was better to have something than nothing in the house.

Dad stepped on a piece of broken dura, blood was everywhere. It hurt so much, but he didn't cry. People carried him to the hospital. I was afraid he would have to have his leg amputated, so I ran after him, crying like that.

Then Dad decided to leave Hanoi , go to Chi Linh High School, Hai Duong, to evacuate, to avoid B-52. Dad waved for a truck for the three of us to sit in the back of the truck, then loaded the stuff onto the bike behind.

At night, the car took my mother, my children and I across the ferry to Chi Linh. The road was dark. Seeing a light on the hill by the side of the road, the two drivers stopped the car and said: "There are lights over there, it must be the high school, ma'am."

My mother and I got off the bus, thanked them, and carried our things up the hill. It turned out that it wasn't the high school, but the Mat Son War Invalids Camp. Seeing that my mother and I were both hungry and cold, the war invalids cooked us some food. Then the commander ordered the three war invalids to take our bicycles to the high school, 2km away.

One had a missing arm, one had an eye patch, the other one didn't remember what happened, but he kept joking, "I was wounded once in Mong, and once in Khe Pass, sister."

When we arrived, we saw my father and some teachers were bustling out on the street looking for us. My father did not cry. The other teachers were very happy to see me and my mother: "Luckily we haven't strayed into Con Son. At this time of night, we could have been attacked by a tiger!"

But that afternoon, Dad cried. I knew about war, but I had never known what it was like to end a war. It must have been different, very different, for Dad to cry like that.

And it was different. One day my parents were away, I was at home looking after my younger brother when a gray-haired man came and asked if this was Son and Tung's house.

I was wondering whether I should tell him or not, what if he was a spy in disguise, then my mother would come running back from somewhere, hugging him tightly and crying like rain. It turned out to be my mother's real brother, Uncle Trong. He went to fight in the South, lost contact for a long time, my grandfather had already burned incense. Now that the war was over, he was able to return and come down here to find my mother and us.

My father also came running back. There were no cell phones back then, but information was not slow even when it came to rice. My father made coffee for Uncle Trong, and my mother helped my brothers and I try on new clothes. They fit perfectly.

Dad drank the first water. I drank the second water. My brother drank from the third to the tenth water. Mom smiled and said: "He just needs the water running through the filter so he has an excuse to add a spoonful of sugar, it's not that he likes coffee."

When Uncle Trong left, the neighbor, Aunt Tien, returned from a trip to Saigon. Many of her relatives were "inside" so she had to go in to "comfort" them so they wouldn't be scared.

"Oh my god. He was sitting there shaving his nails because he was afraid the cadres would call him up to get pliers to pull out his nails, then I came in and told him to leave it alone, it was okay. He leaned against me but still shaved. That's how terrifying their propaganda is." Even though he was a big talker, it was good.

He turned on the Akai loud enough for the whole neighborhood to enjoy. The Panasonic sliding TV was only turned on when there was a soccer match. The kids ate dinner early and came to watch, leaving their slippers outside. Those without slippers had to wash their feet before coming in.

For us kids, the match between The Cong and the General Department of Railways, or West Germany and France were all equally interesting. But being able to pronounce Mr. Beckenbauer's name correctly allowed us to show off to the girls in the neighborhood.

That afternoon,

The afternoon of April 30, 1975 was truly something so great that children like me had not yet fully experienced. There were no more bomb ruins, no more plane crashes, no more evacuations. Instead, there were reunions, the union of the two regions and together looking out to the world .

The war is not over yet. Life is still full of hardships. Our nation still has to face many new challenges. But considering the great flow of the nation, I can now confidently tell my children that:

"That afternoon, that afternoon of April 30, 1975, Peace and Hope returned to us. War and hardship were in the past." Another way of saying what my father told me that afternoon, that afternoon of April 30, 1975?!

Thank you readers for submitting your entries to the Peace Storytelling contest.

On the occasion of the 50th anniversary of peace, the Peace Storytelling writing contest (organized by Tuoi Tre newspaper, accompanied by Vietnam Rubber Group, taking place from March 10 to April 15) allows readers to send in touching, unforgettable stories of each family, each person as well as thoughts about the reunification day of April 30, 1975, about 50 years of peace.

The contest is open to all Vietnamese people at home and abroad, without age or occupation restrictions.

Peace Stories accepts articles of up to 1,200 words in Vietnamese, with accompanying photos and videos, and sent to email [email protected] . Articles are only accepted via email, not via post to avoid loss.

Quality entries will be selected to be published on Tuoi Tre products, receive royalties, and the entries that pass the preliminary round will be printed into a book (no royalties paid - no sale). The entries must not have participated in any other writing contest and must not have been published on any media or social networks.

Authors are responsible for the copyright of their articles, photos and videos. They will not accept illustrative photos and videos taken from social networks without copyright. Authors must provide their address, phone number, email, account number, and citizen identification number so that the organizers can contact them and send them royalties or prizes.

As of April 6, the Peace Storytelling writing contest has received 370 entries from readers.

Award Ceremony and Book Launch of Peace Stories

The jury, including famous journalists, cultural figures and representatives of Tuoi Tre newspaper, will review and award prizes from the preliminary entries and choose to award prizes to the best entries.

The award ceremony, book launch of Peace Storytelling and special issue of Tuoi Tre newspaper 30-4 are expected to be held at Ho Chi Minh City Book Street at the end of April 2025. The decision of the organizing committee is final.