It turned out she was gazing intently at a single gray hair that had just fallen into the sink. I looked out the window; the sun was still shining brightly, and the wind was blowing through the branches of the trees leaning against the porch. The trees were growing so fast, reaching upwards amidst the hustle and bustle of human life.
From early morning, my father would get up and cough. My sisters and I would hurriedly brush our teeth, wash our faces, and then cycle to school. And so it went, a never-ending rush back and forth, without noticing how much we had changed in the mirror. Today, looking at my sister, I wondered: When did we lose our youth?
As a child, I only wished to grow up quickly, as fast as someone trying to cross a muddy road. I grew older, moved up a grade, became a university student, then an engineer… but I still wondered: Have I reached the stage of youth yet?
One time, when I visited home and found the house deserted, I went around to the back and found my parents busily transplanting young banana saplings in a row. It was then that I truly understood the saying, "Young people plant custard apples, old people plant bananas," and I wondered: Could my parents really be getting old? That night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking of the tender young banana leaves fluttering in the wind. The late spring breeze, like an invisible clock hand, touched those tender leaves, marking the harsh milestones of time. But then, the very next morning, like everyone else, I was swept up in the hustle and bustle of life, sometimes forgetting the things I had pondered and reflected upon.
I've been busy, so I've been going back to my hometown less often, and I've created this as a cover for myself. One night, lying there listening to the wind rattling the windows on the upper floor, I wondered how the garden at home was doing. I called home to ask, and my mother replied regretfully, "The house is fine, but the wind was too strong; the banana trees have all fallen, right when they were bearing fruit." It's true that for the elderly, trees are a symbol of hope. With the banana trees downed, they now pin their hopes on the newly planted custard apple trees.
Once, when I was away on a business trip, my son Tít called and said, "Grandma and Grandpa's custard apple trees are about to bear fruit, so we have to cut them down, Dad." Actually, I could have just gone to the supermarket and brought him a whole bag of fresh fruit. But those custard apple trees were where my mother placed her hopes. Every day, she happily tended to those trees, which might take several years to bear fruit.
My mother lived with the children's childhood, while I had forgotten that precious thing in my life. Then little Tit continued: "But I'm not sad, Dad! I support Grandma and Grandpa cutting down the custard apple trees to widen the road to the upper hamlet, so the children will have a closer way to school, avoiding the steep slope."
Time flies by so quickly. Today, I returned home to find the children excitedly calling out to each other as they cycled to school on the newly opened road. In the old days, the road my sisters and I used to take to school wasn't like this at all.
Now, the banana trees are gone, the custard apple trees have been cut down, and my mother has also passed away on the other side of the hill, carried away by the white clouds to the realm of impermanence. Suddenly, my son whispered to me, "Dad, you have so much gray hair. I'll pluck it out for you tonight!" I smiled, patted his shoulder—the strong shoulder of a young man—and gently said, "Never mind, son, time will eventually pass."
Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/gap-lai-thanh-xuan-post323701.html
Comment (0)