The monsoon is coming

( Quang Ngai Newspaper) - When I was little, my mother in my hometown often said that I was like a weather forecaster. Because before the monsoon season came, I always got sick. Sometimes I had a high fever, sometimes I had a runny nose... When I grew up, I was still like a weather forecaster like my mother said. Even though I got sick less, I could clearly feel the change every time the monsoon season was about to come. Yesterday, my whole body ached and I felt tired. And today the monsoon season has come...

The monsoon is just a weather phenomenon that happens year after year, but I don’t know why I still feel nostalgic every time I mention it. It is the first winter wind carrying the gentle figure of a mother, busy with her pants down and up, worrying about her young children. Before the monsoon, taking advantage of the sunny weather, mother took out blankets and clothes to wash until they were dry and fragrant. At night, the wind blew strongly, the sisters curled up in warm blankets, smelling faintly of laundry detergent mixed with the scent of mother’s love, and slept soundly. Mother also prepared thin sweaters and scarves right at the foot of the bed for the children to wear early the next morning.

When the monsoon comes, I remember the early mornings when my mother woke up, the fire in the kitchen was already red hot, the pot of corn was boiling, and fragrant smoke was billowing. The monsoon season is also the season when corn ripens. She boiled corn early in the morning and then carried it to the market to sell. The first corn of the season, each grain was round, ivory white, and smooth, a breakfast that many people loved. In the evening, my mother prepared the corn to grill. The green-husked corn lay on the hot coals, crackling. I helped my mother arrange the coals, put a skewer in the middle of the corn, and fanned the coals to make them burn evenly. Back then, each corn sold did not make much profit, but I knew my mother had to work hard and save to earn money to take care of my siblings and me. And every time the monsoon comes, I miss and long for the moment when I carried corn to the market with my mother to sell, and was rewarded with the first corn of the season, sticky, fragrant, and sweet.

When the monsoon comes, I remember the years when I was a student at the beloved village school. Back then, everyone's family was poor, so every time the monsoon came, we were very scared. We were afraid of not having warm clothes to wear, going to class with only a short-sleeved shirt, the wind blew and we shivered. The fear of winter coming haunted everyone. I still remember the "initiative" of the teachers at school, during recess, they took advantage of the opportunity to light a fire to dispel the cold of the early winter wind. Both teachers and students sat together, around the crackling fire, telling stories and singing cheerful songs. In the eyes of the poor students, a small fire was burning with a lot of hope for a brighter future.

The monsoon season is here, remembering the nights lying next to my mother, listening to her sighs, hiding a deep sadness that is hard to express. On the other side of the rickety wooden bed is the sound of my father turning over with so many worries as winter approaches. The roof will definitely need to be repaired to avoid the cold wind. The soft straw mattress of winter will also start from the first monsoon. Those are the days when my father painstakingly weaves each dry straw strand tightly and creates a unique mattress. My father's way to work is also windier with the heavy bicycle wheel. The hard work of a construction worker is waiting for my father ahead. My mother's degenerative spine disease becomes more serious when winter knocks on the door...

Tonight the monsoon winds blow into my memories as if they were longer, each gust of wind is a thread of memory. There I was happy with my loving family. I curled up in a warm blanket and longed for a memory with the sweet monsoon winds...

MAI HOANG

RELATED NEWS:

Source