Nam's old motorbike rattled across the bridge early one morning. A fierce wind from the river lashed against his sun-tanned face, making his eyes squint, always seeming to hide a smile. For ten years now, whether the sun blazed or the rain poured down, Nam had consistently left home at dawn, before the mist from the dike had even dissipated, to join the stream of people heading towards the city center. Nam suddenly remembered the second anniversary of the day he and Thao officially started dating.
Thảo woke up at five in the morning, her heart filled with joy. She chose her prettiest floral dress, spent an hour touching up her makeup, and added the orange-red lipstick that Nam had praised. She prepared a bag full of snacks, from packets of lemon-flavored dried chicken to sweet tangerines. In the imagination of this dreamy young woman, the "very special place" that Nam had promised must surely be a lush green meadow in the suburbs or a café nestled by a river...
However, after nearly an hour, traversing dusty roads and gray median strips, Nam signaled to turn right. In front of Thao wasn't the wooden gate of a resort, but a brass sign: National Institute of Hematology and Blood Transfusion. Thao froze in the increasingly harsh morning sun. She stared blankly at the sign, then at Nam, her voice trembling:
- Are you... are you hiding something from me? Are you sick? Or should we go visit someone?
Nam slowly took off his helmet, scratched his head, and chuckled, his gentle smile hidden behind a worn cloth face mask:
- No, that's not it. Today we're traveling with our hearts, my dear! Today is my scheduled blood donation. I want you to see the most important part of my youth.
Their date took place in a unique setting, with them seated on two long cushioned benches side by side. Thao watched her lover's crimson blood flow through the closed system of tubes, her initial shock and anger gradually turning into curiosity, and finally, a profound emotion.
"Does it hurt, Nam?" Thao asked softly, her hand trembling as she gently touched Nam's other arm.
- It stings a little, like an ant bite.
Where will my blood go, sir?
- It will go into bodies that are running out of hope. Thao, there are people out there for whom a unit of blood is not just medicine, but another day to see the sun, another chance to say goodbye to their loved ones.
Nam looked up at the ceiling, where memories stained red with the past began to flood back. It all started on New Year's Eve 2016 – the year Nam almost never saw another spring again.
That night, as the city buzzed with New Year's music, Nam lay motionless in an ambulance, the siren piercing the silent night as it headed toward the hospital. A horrific traffic accident had occurred on his way home from his part-time job. Blood flowed from his legs and head, soaking his white shirt. In his delirium from severe blood loss, Nam felt as if he were sinking into a dark abyss, where the sounds of the world faded further and further away.
But on that thin line between life and death, he felt a strange warmth flow through his veins. These were bags of blood from strangers, people whose names Nam had never known, whose faces he had never seen, warming his slowly cooling body.
Waking up after an 8-hour surgery, lying in a hospital room reeking of chemicals, Nam saw the patient in the bed next to him. It was a middle-aged man, his face gaunt, his eyes sunken from terminal leukemia. His young child, only five or six years old, sat on the floor sobbing because the hospital was short of his father's rare blood type. At that moment, Nam realized his own life had been saved by someone's kindness out there. And right beside him, another person's life was counting down hour by hour, all because of a lack of that red liquid.
"If I return healthy, I will repay my debt to this life!" - Nam told himself as he looked up at the drops of blood steadily falling into the IV bag.
And he has kept that promise steadfastly for a decade. At eighteen, he donated blood for the first time out of youthful curiosity, wanting to receive a teddy bear as a souvenir to give to his girlfriend. But since the accident, donating blood has become a "command from the heart" for Nam.
126 blood donations – 126 times he had to maintain an extremely strict diet and lifestyle to ensure his blood remained "clean" and "healthy." After each successful blood donation, Nam never went home immediately. He had a familiar "stopping point" that Thao jokingly called his "second home": the pediatric ward of the hospital.
One often sees a tall, thin man, wearing a faded T-shirt, sometimes still dusty from the road, weaving through the hospital corridors. He always carries a few bags of gummy bears, some cheap plastic dolls, or coloring books still smelling of fresh ink.
Uncle Nam is here! Uncle Nam has arrived!
The children's cheers echoed from the hospital rooms. All the children here had bald heads from chemotherapy, their skin pale from anemia, but their eyes still sparkled with joy whenever they saw Nam. Nam sat down on the floor, awkwardly opening the gift bags and distributing the gifts to each child. One little girl, named Bong, was only 5 years old but had already spent three years in the hospital.
"Uncle Nam! Did you bring any honey for me today?" Bong asked, looking at Nam with her big, round eyes.
The children here call these shiny yellow platelet sacs "honey." They believe that this special kind of honey, when injected into the body, will give them the strength to fight off the "monster" of disease that is gnawing away at their bodies.
- Yes, of course! I just left a lot of honey at the doctor's office. The doctor will bring some over for you, Bong. You have to be good and eat all the honey so you'll get better quickly and go back to school, and then go to the park with your mommy, Tam!
Bong smiled, a smile as clear as the early autumn sun, even though her hands were covered in purple needle marks from IV drips. Nam looked at that smile, his heart aching. He knew the donated blood wouldn't cure her completely, but it gave her a little more time to smile, to play, to live her childhood a little longer.
One bright, sunny August afternoon, Nam received a phone call from the familiar number of the hospital.
- Mr. Nam? Little Bong... little Bong wants to see you one last time.
Nam felt his limbs go numb. The car keys almost slipped from his hand. He sped through the crowded streets, his heart pounding as if it would leap out of his chest.
In the small room at the end of the pediatric ward corridor, Bong lay there, tiny and fragile like a leaf about to fall from a branch. The medical equipment around her ticked with a dry, cold rhythm. Seeing Nam enter, her eyes slowly opened:
- It's Uncle Nam, Bong... Uncle brought you some bear-shaped cookies...
Bong whispered:
- Uncle Nam... thank you... for the honey. I... I can't go to school anymore... but please remember... please don't be sad! Please continue giving honey to other children... so they can go home...
Bong passed away on a bright, sunny afternoon, the same color as the platelets Nam had donated to her for the last time. That day, Nam didn't cry in front of her family. He was busy helping with the funeral arrangements and comforting her mother, who had fainted. But as he wheeled his motorbike out of the hospital gate and stood under the old crape myrtle tree, Nam buried his head in the handlebars and sobbed uncontrollably.
Kindness sometimes cannot prevent death; that is the harshest truth Nam had to face. But it was at that very moment that he realized something even deeper: kindness makes life more precious than ever. He donated blood not to save patients from death—that was impossible—but to sow seeds of kindness into the world. To let them know that this world still holds much warmth, that they are not alone in their fight.
Today, Nam is preparing for his 127th "trip".
He checked his paperwork, ate a large bowl of pho as the doctor had advised to ensure he had enough strength. Thao saw him off to the gate, no longer nagging or questioning him like she had ten years ago. She handed him a glass bottle of water:
- After donating, remember to drink some orange juice to regain your strength. Come home early this afternoon, and I'll make your favorite sweet and sour pork ribs and crab soup.
Nam started the engine, and the old motorbike rattled along the familiar road towards the city center. Ten years of his youth had passed; wrinkles had begun to appear at the corners of his eyes, and his hair was streaked with gray, but the passion in his chest remained as strong as it was when he was a twenty-year-old lying in the ambulance all those years ago. His small motorbike gradually disappeared into the bustling crowd on the bridge. The early morning sunlight shone down on the river, reflecting a golden hue on everything, like drops of honey from life.
The city still bustles, people still come and go, but somewhere, life has been renewed, beginning with an outstretched arm and a heart burning with red.
Source: https://baotayninh.vn/chuyen-du-lich-cua-trai-tim-149161.html
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