[E-Magazine]: The Sound of Dawn

Wake up earlier to listen to the sounds of dawn and reflect on life. Then you will pick up everyday stories full of emotion.

Morning. The first chill of the season seeped through the cracks in the door, swirling and dancing around the warm blanket. The lazy body curled up like a worm, turning to the right to press the blanket against my side, then to the left, raising both legs, and with a quick fold, the blanket wrapped tightly around me – so pleasantly warm. Outside the window, birds chirped, the wind whistled, and leaves fell. On the stone steps, dry leaves rustled. Further away, someone was playing music early, probably for exercise, the bass drum rumbling and thumping.

Wake up! If I stay curled up in bed, I'll become like a caterpillar; the "sound of dawn" will forget me and go to someone else. If I go back to sleep, the dawn will abandon me – I'll turn into a withered leaf, limp and falling to the ground, unable to resist even the slightest, indifferent breeze.

Starting the day by struggling to get out of bed, I realize that the most difficult part of the beginning is actually the time it takes... from the bed to the floor. Indulging yourself and being lenient with yourself means missing the dawn. Furthermore, every beginning is always difficult – the first difficulty is overcoming your own inertia.

The rustling sound of the toothbrush brushing in her mouth suddenly faded. Her mother's cough drifted over from the next room. The seasons were changing, and the elderly were prone to respiratory illnesses. All the years of joy, sorrow, happiness, and hardship... of a lifetime had passed, now hidden within each wrinkle, then bursting forth in her cough. It sounded poignant, yet tinged with joy. Mother was still there, walking alongside her child through life; her cough was a reminder of her presence – and still better than a soft groan or wheezing.

Stepping outside for a few exercises, I listened to the sounds of the city enveloping me. The rumble of motorbikes climbing the hill; the roar of cars, the screeching of tires on the road. I saw a couple riding a motorbike – loaded with crates of fruit in front, behind, side, and lengthwise, the wife perched precariously, her height reaching her husband's shoulder. Their clothes were dirty and tightly wrapped to protect them from the cold wind, and I felt a pang of sadness for their plight. They must have toiled through the night at the wholesale fruit market, packing up their goods early in the morning to transport back to their stalls in their hometown. Making a living is always a difficult problem for many. They are dedicated, hardworking, and dare not slack off; they stay up late, get up early, tighten their belts, yet somehow they can never become better off.

From afar, the sound of the train whistle echoed, bouncing off the tall buildings, weaving through the narrow alleys and deep lanes. This whistle was so familiar. It was a greeting from the train arriving at the station, or perhaps a farewell before continuing its journey.

Outside, the street was filled with the rustling of tarpaulins being pulled open, the clanging of bowls and chopsticks from the breakfast stalls. The owner's gruff voice urged her workers to hurry, so they could serve customers finishing their night shifts before heading home to sleep. The sound of aluminum ladles stirring the steaming broth filled the air. At the corner, a motorbike taxi driver waited for customers, smoking a pipe. He must have been smoking for years, as his puffs were rhythmic and neat, then he would comfortably tilt his head back and exhale a thick, milky white smoke. Sometimes, happiness is simply a good, leisurely smoke in the morning.

Perhaps it's time for me to take a step back – wake up earlier to watch the sunrise, listen to the sounds of dawn, and reflect on life.

Content by: Pham Minh Tuan

Graphics: Mai Huyen

Source: https://baothanhhoa.vn/e-magazine-thanh-am-cua-binh-minh-270820.htm