Afternoon alone on the street

I returned to my hometown on a drizzly summer afternoon, when the scent of early magnolias wafted through the air. Sitting on a cyclo, slowly cruising around the city, listening to the cool breeze rustling the yellow dracontomelon leaves, my heart suddenly felt so peaceful. After so many years of separation, memories of a time I thought I had long forgotten, yet, as soon as I stepped foot on the old street, everything came rushing back, intact as if it had never faded.

Illustration photo.

The city of my childhood has changed so much. Many roads have been widened, the sidewalks are wide, the shops are bustling and brightly lit. The street is youthful, vibrant and bustling. But amidst those sounds and vibrant colors, I still recognize the familiar silhouettes of the past. The quietness of the old houses, the mossy tiled roofs and the half-closed green painted windows. The old cotton trees and dracontomelon trees with moldy trunks, entangled with mistletoe. At the Cua Dong intersection, the last cotton flowers of the season are burning regretfully before leaving their branches and falling back to the motherland. And I feel like I saw myself in a distant day, holding a half-sucked ice cream stick, running tirelessly after my friends who were flying kites at the end of the street.

After a leisurely stroll around the city, I returned and stood silently in front of the gate of the old house with the bougainvillea trellis that poured down a waterfall of purple and pink flowers every summer. The pale yellow painted wall where my sisters and I and our friends used to draw doodles had now been painted a shiny gray by the new owner. In the brick yard, the long wooden bench where my mother used to sit and knit under the bright yellow banyan tree was no longer there. The small garden in front of the yard with its rose bushes, chrysanthemum bushes, and spider lilies was also gone. But strangely, I could still faintly smell the sweet scent of magnolia flowers, like a gentle reminder that the memories had never left me.

I walked through the small street, where I had missed many naps at noon, following my friends to play marbles and shuttlecock. With each step, memories came flooding back like a slow-motion film. Stopping by the flower seller’s old bicycle, I chose to buy a bouquet of white lilies. The pure, innocent flower only appears for a short time during the transition between spring and summer, but still makes many people flutter.

The streets have changed, and my hair is now stained with the mist 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, will change, will have to leave the place they once belonged to, attached to. But the city of my childhood is always there, like a part of my flesh and blood, a memory that never fades with the years. So that every time I return, I sob and realize that the streets may change, but in my heart, that street is always the old street, gentle, warm, like the embrace of a time long gone. So that I am moved by the poignant melodies: "Afternoon alone passing the street/ Silently remembering your name/ Out there is no longer soft sunlight/ Out there, who still knows your name".

Lam Hong

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