I can already hear the wind of Tet...

The weather changes, the north wind starts blowing, most fiercely in the late afternoon. During this season, you have to drive slowly and carefully on the road because the wind can be so strong it threatens to knock both you and your vehicle over. And then there's the dust.

The wind blows dust everywhere. Driving without glasses means you're guaranteed to get dust in your eyes, which is a real pain. Once, I forgot my glasses in a hurry and had to squint while driving to avoid getting dust in my eyes, which was extremely dangerous. So since then, I always remind myself to carry my glasses with me.

On the way home in the late afternoon, the wind blew fiercely, and I sighed, thinking to myself, "Time flies so fast, almost Tet (Lunar New Year)." I don't know why the wind this season feels so cold, as if it's carrying water on its back. Even standing on the veranda, a gentle breeze brushed against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. Mom said, "It's Tet already, honey." Another year is over. I pondered, analyzing how much sadness, joy, and worry were in that light, soft remark accompanied by a soft sigh. People say old people love Tet, but I see Mom secretly hiding her sadness every time Tet comes around. She still smiles, but her smile seems tinged with worry. She still longs for her children and grandchildren to come home for a reunion, but there's a hint of fear in her anticipation. Even the most resilient yellow leaf on a tree cannot escape the worry of the day it falls to the ground.

I knew my mother's secret sorrow, but I didn't dare ask, fearing I'd stir up more sadness in her heart. I pretended not to know, trying to coax her into buying this and that to forget her hidden sadness, but she brushed it all off: "I'm old, why eat so much? I'm old, I don't go anywhere anyway, so why bother with clothes?" My mother isolated herself in the sadness of old age, secretly, trying not to let her children and grandchildren know. She was afraid her children would worry about her.

I wondered, "Does Uncle know Mom's feelings? Why does he keep blowing on them so carelessly?" Uncle didn't answer me; every afternoon he would still relentlessly blow on the banana trees behind the house. Whenever a banana tree tried to sprout a new leaf, Uncle would aggressively rush over and blow until it was completely torn apart. Mom sighed, complaining, "If they tear everything up, what will we use to wrap the cakes for Tet? Should we just find something to put them back together?" I laughed at Mom's overthinking: "Tet is still a long way off, Mom, why worry so early? If they're torn, we can just buy more leaves at the market. A few hundred thousand dong worth of leaves will be enough to wrap cakes. The important thing is whether anyone will eat them!" Mom glared at me sharply: "Why would anyone eat them? For Tet, we need a few cakes to offer to our ancestors, and then share two or three with our relatives to celebrate. You kids are always thinking only of yourselves, completely forgetting about your family and relatives." Then my mother went on and on, talking about what would happen if she were no longer around someday, and how future generations of her children and grandchildren wouldn't know who was who to recognize as relatives. I could only sigh; two generations have two different ways of seeing and thinking. I couldn't blame my mother, but it was also difficult to force myself to agree with her.

I've never seen a season as unbearable as the northerly wind. The fog is thick and dense. The wind gets increasingly fierce. The weather is erratic, scorching hot during the day and freezing cold at night. Everyone suffers from runny noses, coughs, headaches, and sore throats. My mother also has insomnia due to joint pain. She gets up before two in the morning to boil water, cook rice, and sweep the house. Even though our finances are better now, she still maintains the habit of cooking rice for breakfast. I tell her, "Mom, there's plenty of breakfast food, why bother cooking rice?" She glares at me, saying, "We're used to a comfortable life and spending lavishly. We need to be thrifty and save up for emergencies, otherwise we'll have to run around borrowing." With her words, I just have to give up; what more can I say? Old people's nature is just like the northerly wind; through countless seasons, they remain stubbornly defiant, rushing in, roaring across the tin roof, and disappearing into the banana grove. Our house faces west, so during the northerly wind, we get the full brunt of the onslaught. Because my mother always closed the house doors, complaining that if she opened them, dust would fly in and make the house very dirty. So, the wind would angrily stomp on the corrugated iron roof as if trying to blow it off. But how could it? People in this area know the wind's temperament, so they've reinforced the corrugated iron roof with two layers of metal.

This morning I saw Mom taking out the pots and pans to scrub them with sand. She explained that she does it whenever she has free time, because she doesn't want to rush and not finish in time for Tet. She said a dirty house during Tet brings bad luck for the whole year. I asked, bewildered, "Mom, there are still three months left, why are you so eager for Tet so early?" Mom glared at me and said, "Damn you! Three months is like three steps, and by then, you can see the fire is already burning strongly!"

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