In the corner of the kitchen, Dao was busily cooking rice, her cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the fire, the flickering flames from the burning firewood gradually increasing in preparation for the evening meal. When the fire was burning brightly, Dao sat up and looked out the window; spring had truly arrived.
The biting cold winds of the border region had given way to a gentle spring rain, a light drizzle like dust on the moss-covered yin-yang tiled roofs. Many Tet holidays had passed, and the images of her parents were now just blurry, flickering glimpses on her phone screen from distant Japan. The night before last, her father called, his voice choked with emotion. He said that the mechanical workshop had many overtime shifts this year, and plane tickets were as expensive as several months' salary, so they probably wouldn't be able to come home until next year. Hearing this, Dao was deeply saddened. Her father's words were no different from last year. Next year, but Dao didn't know which year he was referring to. The sadness lingered like a heavy stone in her chest, but she didn't dare cry in front of her grandparents. Dao silently hid her feelings by doing the daily chores.
Every day in class, seeing her classmates proudly showing off the new clothes their parents bought them for Tet (Lunar New Year), Dao could only hide her feelings of sadness in her lessons. She couldn't remember how many Tets it had been since her parents bought her new clothes; her old, worn-out uniform was her only comfort and encouragement. In that moment, Dao's eyes welled up, stinging even more than when she went to the fields with her grandmother to pick chili peppers. Dao's wish wasn't for new clothes to wear for Tet, nor for an abundance of treats and sweets. She only wished for a Tet reunion with her whole family. Something she hadn't been able to experience for many years since her parents went to Japan to work.
The spring rain had stopped, giving way to warm sunshine. Dao quietly and meticulously wiped each banana leaf, helping her grandmother wrap a few more small sticky rice cakes "to save for Mom and Dad to eat when they come home." Her grandmother looked at her granddaughter's thin back, sighed softly, and quickly wiped away tears—whether from the smoke or from love for her granddaughter, only she knew. When the sticky rice cakes were neatly placed in the pot on the glowing wood-burning stove, Dao stood up and took a broom to help her grandparents sweep the yard and clean the grounds of the old stilt house. Back home, her father used to do these chores every year. Dao remembered that while her father was cleaning the yard, her mother would pick peach and plum blossoms from the garden at the foot of the mountain. In just one morning, under her parents' hands, the house would be ablaze with the colors of Tet. And now, Dao was doing that work for them. The small hands of the fourteen-year-old girl carried each heavy sweep of the broom. After finishing cleaning the yard, Dao went to the water tank to wash the cleaning rags. Then she went inside and meticulously cleaned every bottle, jar, table, chair, and even the TV stand. Picking up the dusty photo on the shelf, Dao burst into tears upon seeing her family together so warmly. In the photo, Dao was smiling brightly, arm in arm with her mother, her father beside her, and her grandparents sitting in the seats above. Dao remembered that the photo was taken before her parents flew to Japan for work. As she gently wiped the photo, Dao wondered when such a happy moment would ever happen again. For the sake of making a living and securing the family's future, her parents had to travel far from home. Dao loved her parents dearly, but she couldn't do anything more. The only thing she could do was help her grandparents with daily chores and study hard, achieving good results to repay them.
On the last day of the year, time flew by in the blink of an eye. While sitting and wrapping cakes with my grandparents, the sun was still shining, but before we could finish cleaning up, the sun had already set. In the late afternoon, as the mist began to drift over the limestone peaks, a rare taxi appeared at the foot of the slope. The car swayed as it made its way along the muddy road before stopping right in front of Dao's wooden gate. The barking of dogs echoed throughout the valley.
Dao quickly dropped the cleaning cloth on the table and ran out to the porch to watch. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw two figures wearing thick puffer jackets, dragging bulky suitcases, clattering into the yard.
"Dao! Mom and Dad are home!"
The familiar call, shattering the tranquil mountain air, left Dao frozen in place for a few seconds. Then, like a spring suddenly snapping, she burst into sobbing tears, her bare feet running down the wooden stairs. Her parents, their faces haggard and their eyes dark with sleeplessness after a long flight and a muddy mountain pass, had eyes that sparkled with an unusual light of happiness. They hugged their daughter, now almost as tall as her mother, tightly, inhaling the scent of wood smoke clinging to her hair to ease their longing.
My grandfather slowly walked out onto the porch, leaning on his cane, his hands trembling with emotion, while my grandmother rushed over, wiping away tears and smiling toothlessly: "You're really back! Our ancestors have blessed us, and finally our family can celebrate the Lunar New Year!"
The chilly air suddenly transformed into a warm, comforting embrace. The whole family hurriedly carried their belongings into the house, their laughter and chatter filling a corner of the forest. That night, the small kitchen glowed with a warm fire, the flames dancing on the polished wooden walls, bearing the marks of time. The aroma of sticky rice from the mountain fields, the scent of boiled banana leaves, and the familiar smell of kitchen smoke mingled, creating a fragrance that could be called "Home."
Dao sat nestled between her parents, her hand clinging to her mother's dress as if afraid this was all a dream. She gazed intently at the small gifts her parents had brought from afar: a watch for her grandfather, a woolen scarf for her grandmother, and brightly colored packets of candy. Dao happily told her parents about her first-semester report card, about the pig in the sty that had just gotten fatter, and about the nights she missed them so much she cried but didn't dare say anything.
When Dao heard her father recount his arduous work in a foreign land, the nights he worked overtime in sub-zero temperatures to save every penny to send home, she suddenly burst into tears. This time, she wasn't crying out of sadness, but out of compassion and emotion. She snuggled into her father's arms, leaned on her mother's shoulder, letting her tears of happiness soak her mother's dress.
For the first time in many long years, the New Year's Eve dinner table of Dao's family was truly complete with all its members present. The clinking of bowls and chopsticks, the murmuring of stories, and Dao's infectious laughter echoed through the vast darkness of the mountains. That laughter, that warmth, not only warmed the small stilt house but also ignited the flame of hope and love, dispelling the cold of winter and awakening the vibrant spring in everyone's heart.
Source: https://baolangson.vn/dieu-uoc-cua-mua-xuan-5073581.html
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