This afternoon, I strolled through a peaceful little alley, a rare spot where a trace of the past still lingers. Even though the summer sun was at its brightest, simply sheltering under the shade of trees leaning over the ancient wall instantly dispelled all weariness. Amidst the buzzing of cicadas and the breeze carrying the earthy scent mingled with the fragrance of fallen betel nut blossoms, I suddenly recalled a distant memory, pure and intact as if it had happened just yesterday.
My childhood was devoid of toys and luxurious trips . Back then, my father worked far away for long periods, sometimes only visiting home once a year. My mother was also busy with her teaching career, with exams and classes keeping her occupied from dawn until dusk, then she would tirelessly work on her lesson plans until late at night.
My childhood was almost entirely spent in the protective embrace of my grandparents. I grew up nourished by their sweet, unconditional love, the warmth of roasted sweet potatoes, the rich aroma of lotus seed tea, and the ethereal, misty fairy tales told by my grandmother.
In my hazy dreams, I saw myself running and jumping amidst the green canopy of the garden, my bare feet treading on the fragmented sunlight filtering through the leaves. The breeze from my grandfather's hand felt like a cool ocean current, gently carrying me through the stifling heat of the dry central region. Occasionally, he would slowly sip his strong green tea, the sound of the earthenware cup lightly clinking against the wooden tray echoing in the tranquil atmosphere of the rural midday.
Back then, my grandfather was like a living encyclopedia, someone who could answer all my questions. His world was confined to his small garden, where jasmine always bloomed fragrantly among the fruit-laden trees. When the summer sun softened, we would both tend to the plants together. I toddled beside him, holding a small watering can, imitating his thoughtful gestures. Through my grandfather's stories, I learned to love the sound of birds chirping among the leaves and dreamed of distant lands from wartime tales.
Meanwhile, my grandmother busied herself in her small, simple kitchen, always filled with the lingering scent of evening smoke and the rich aroma of familiar food. Taking my mother's place when she was away, she cared for me, from my clothes to my daily meals. I vividly remember those late afternoons standing at the gate waiting for my mother, when she would quietly slip me a fragrant, ripe guava or a warm, freshly baked pastry. She would often playfully scold my grandfather for "spoiling you too much," but she was also the one who would quietly wake up in the middle of the night to tuck me in with the thin blanket, fearing I might catch a cold.
Time passed silently, and I grew up in their loving embrace, like a tiny sapling watered by the purest dew. But the harsh laws of nature: while the years strengthened me, they also took away my grandmother's strength. Her hair turned white like the clouds in the sky, my grandfather's posture became increasingly hunched, and his steps were no longer as nimble as before. As I began to venture out into the wider world, exploring new horizons, my grandparents' space gradually narrowed, quietly remaining by the old porch.
Then one day, the bamboo bed suddenly felt strangely spacious. My grandparents, hand in hand, crossed over to the other side of life's slope like leaves falling from a branch to return to their roots, carrying with them the innocent, pure sky of my childhood, sending it into the realm of illusion.
This afternoon, wandering down the old alley, watching the sunlight cast long shadows on the mossy walls, my heart ached with an unnamed sorrow. I remembered the pungent smoke from my grandmother's kitchen, the clacking of the bamboo fan that woke me from my midday nap, and my grandfather's hunched back beside the fragrant jasmine bushes. Now, I am a mother with my own home, bravely navigating the long, stormy journeys of life. No longer the child who sulked whenever I stumbled, and no longer the one patiently waiting for me at the warm dinner table on evenings when I came home late.
A late afternoon breeze unexpectedly swept by, scattering a few tiny flower petals onto my shoulder. Looking up at the clear blue sky through the leaves, I smiled softly, knowing that my grandmother had gathered a lifetime of hard work, carefully cultivating it into the most refreshing breeze, sheltering my childhood and allowing me to grow up in peaceful years, though difficult, filled with sweetness.
Source: https://baotayninh.vn/gio-tu-tay-noi-150369.html
![[Photo] "Hanoi Lotus Festival" honors the lotus flower that has been associated with Vietnam for thousands of years.](https://vphoto.vietnam.vn/thumb/1200x675/vietnam/resource/IMAGE/2026/06/27/1782516943048_sen-ha-noi-2026-minh-duy-1-jpg.webp)
