Walking alone through the streets in the afternoon.

I returned to my hometown on a drizzly summer afternoon, when the first scent of magnolia blossoms filled the air. Sitting in a cyclo, slowly circling the streets, listening to the cool breeze rustling the yellow leaves of the sấu tree, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. After so many years away, memories I thought I had long forgotten, yet, just by stepping onto the old streets, everything came flooding back, as vivid as if it had never faded.

Illustrative image.

My childhood city has changed so much. Many roads have been widened, sidewalks are spacious, and shops and restaurants are bustling with bright lights. The streets are youthful, vibrant, and lively. But amidst all that noise and color, I still recognize familiar faces from the past. The solemnity of the old houses, their moss-covered tiled roofs and half-closed blue-painted windows. The old kapok and tamarind trees with their mossy trunks, entwined with parasitic vines. At the Cua Dong intersection, the last kapok blossoms of the season are burning brightly with regret before falling to the earth. And I feel as if I'm seeing myself from a long time ago, holding a half-eaten ice cream cone, running after my friends flying kites at the end of the street.

After leisurely strolling through the streets, I returned and stood silently before the gate of my old house, where the bougainvillea trellis would cascade down in a waterfall of pink and purple blossoms every summer. The old pale yellow whitewashed wall, where my sisters and I and our friends used to doodle, was now painted a glossy light gray by the new owner. In the brick courtyard, the long wooden bench where my mother used to sit knitting under the brightly blooming yellow crape myrtle tree was gone. The small garden in front of the house, with its clumps of roses, chrysanthemums, and impatiens, was also gone. But strangely, I could still faintly smell the sweet fragrance of osmanthus flowers, a gentle reminder that memories had never left me.

I walked down the small street, where countless afternoons I'd skipped naps, playing marbles and hacky sack with my friends. With each step, memories flooded back like a slow-motion film. Stopping beside the old bicycle of a flower vendor, I chose to buy a bunch of white lilies. These pure, delicate flowers only bloom for a short time during the transition from spring to summer, yet they still stir the hearts of many.

The streets have changed, and my hair is now tinged with the mists of time. Yet, every time I return, walking through the heart of my hometown, I still feel like a child again. I know that everyone will grow up, change, and have to leave the place they once belonged to and were attached to. But the city of my childhood will always be there, like a part of my flesh and blood, a realm of memories that will never fade with time. So every time I return, I am moved to realize that the streets may have changed, but in my heart, they will always be the old streets, gentle, warm, like the embrace of a bygone era. And I am left with a wistful feeling by the poignant melodies: "Walking alone through the streets in the afternoon / Silently remembering your name / Outside, the soft sunlight is gone / Outside, who still knows your name?"

Lam Hong

Source: https://baonamdinh.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/202504/chieu-mot-minhqua-pho-61766d2/