Waiting for Tet (Lunar New Year) in a foreign land.

Mr. Le Tra My, a resident of Tan Thanh commune who works at a wood manufacturing company in Ho Chi Minh City, is packing clothes in preparation for returning to his hometown for Tet (Lunar New Year). Photo: LE PHUC

The last winds of the year blew through the row of rented rooms; the chill wasn't too pronounced, but enough to make one realize another year was drawing to a close. Outside, the stalls selling apricot blossoms had set up on the sidewalk, and the sounds of trucks carrying Tet goods were more bustling than usual. In our 30-square- ^meter rented room, my two children sat discussing what gifts to buy for their grandparents, while my wife flipped through her monthly expense ledger. Tet, it was very close.

My hometown is Tan Thanh commune. My family owns 7 acres of rice paddies, where we also raise shrimp and crabs. It sounds like we have enough to live on, but in reality, we face countless difficulties and constant worries. The shrimp ponds yield good harvests one year and bad harvests the next. In years with unfavorable weather or outbreaks of disease, we work for nothing. After much deliberation, my wife and I decided to rent out our land and move to Ho Chi Minh City with our two children to work as factory workers. I work at a steel manufacturing company, and my wife is a kitchen staff member for a garment factory.

When I first left, I simply thought I'd work for a few years, save up some capital, and then go home. But life swept me away before I knew it. A few years stretched into many years. The work at the factory was steady but hard. Every day, I worked 8 hours just to make ends meet. To save more and send money back home to support my parents, I had to work overtime. Some days I finished work late, exhausted, and when I got back to my rented room, I only had time to quickly eat a bowl of cold rice before going to sleep. The next morning, the cycle continued.

Having lived in the city for a long time, I've become accustomed to the industrial pace, the noise of machinery, and even the clock-in/clock-out schedules. But as the year draws to a close, the feeling in my heart changes. Walking past the markets, seeing the yellow apricot blossoms, the cakes and candies on display, I suddenly feel a deep longing for my hometown. I remember the small road in front of my house, the times when the whole family gathered to wrap banh tet (traditional Vietnamese rice cakes), and the days leading up to Tet when neighbors came to visit and greet each other.

For migrant workers, Tet (Lunar New Year) is not just a few days off; it's a whole lot of planning. Returning early means risking losing wages, while returning late means worrying about not having enough time to prepare for Tet shopping, about running out of bus tickets, about Tet passing by too quickly… Every year, my wife and I discuss this back and forth. Some years we try to work until the 27th of Tet before returning home, other years we ask for a few days off early so our children can have a more complete Tet celebration.

A friend of mine from An Bien commune, who works in a woodworking company, messaged me complaining: "This Tet holiday, I'll probably have to work until the 27th of the lunar month before going home. Taking a break early means I'll be short on money, but working too late makes me anxious." I've heard this very before, because it's a common sentiment among many workers. Almost every year, workers have to weigh the pros and cons between money and family time.

In the boarding house where I rent, everyone is restless these days. Some are packing things to send back home, others are selling off old belongings, and some are inquiring about bus ticket prices. Some rooms are already locked because the tenants went home early. Others still have their lights on until late at night, because they're trying to work a few more days. Everyone has their own circumstances, but everyone shares the same feeling of missing home and waiting to return.

Sometimes I think that although life in the countryside isn't very prosperous, my heart feels lighter. There, I farm and raise shrimp, and when I feel tired, I can rest. In the city, everything is measured in hours. If you don't work, you don't get paid. Without overtime, it's hard to make ends meet. The hardship isn't just physical, but also the constraints.

Even so, working far from home has taught me many lessons. I've learned to be more thrifty, more resilient, and more responsible for my family. My two children have also gradually adapted to their new life. But every time I hear them ask, "When are we going back to our hometown, Dad?", my heart sinks.

What many workers look forward to during Tet (Lunar New Year) is not just the few days off, but the feeling of returning to their rightful place in the family. Back home, I'm no longer a factory worker standing at a machine all day, but a son, a brother in the family, a familiar face in the neighborhood. Just being able to share a meal with my parents, visit my grandparents' graves, and listen to some village stories makes the year's hard work seem lighter and fills my heart with joy. A colleague of mine from Go Quao often jokes, "Because of the need to earn a living, I have to work far from home. I don't mind working as hard all year, as long as I can come home for Tet." Therefore, he actively works overtime to save money, so that at the end of the year he can bring money back to his wife and children to celebrate Tet.

I met many workers from An Giang province, just like myself. Some, due to circumstances, stayed in the city for Tet. They said, "It's Tet everywhere," but I knew everyone felt sad inside. Celebrating Tet away from home, even with sticky rice cakes and apricot blossoms, still lacked something very familiar.

The buses at the end of the year are always crowded. The workers' luggage isn't much, but it contains a whole year's worth of hard work. Some bring a few gifts for their parents, others just a few new clothes for their children. But everyone carries with them the excitement of returning home.

It's only when you're far away that you realize how important and sacred your hometown is. Even though the income is better in the city, the feeling of peace still lies in where you were born. It's the place I return to whenever I feel tired or lost.

LE PHUC

Source: https://baoangiang.com.vn/cho-tet-noi-dat-khach-a476258.html