Collect love

There are afternoons that slowly pass by, leaving me feeling uncertain and uncertain in the steady tapping of the pendulum of an old clock. And then the years just pass by? Will the pure memories we have kept for so long just be forgotten? Everyone has memories to leave behind, memories to cherish, dreams to nurture. In my dreamy nostalgic space, the scent is specially preserved, cherished with deep longing, embraced whenever my heart suddenly feels restless and uncertain...

Illustration: LE NGOC DUY

I remember, you once asked; “What are you hiding in your eyes? Why do I feel so down every time I get lost in them!” Perhaps you caught those sudden moments when the old scents had secretly returned to me. There were scents that were clearly present, intact as if they had just been touched yesterday; There were scents that had been lost for a long time, but one day suddenly returned with tears; There were scents that haunted me with nostalgia, urging me to want to go back and find them again...

The smell of childhood lingering on the winding village road is hard to name. It seems to be the smell of new straw, the smell of smoke from someone burning rice straw in the distant fields, carried by the wind. The scent of areca nut, the scent of grapefruit in sunny gardens... Or it could be the smell of young mud from the river, the strong smell of buffalo dung... I call it the smell of the countryside, the smell of nostalgia! In the blue smoke of the afternoon drifting up, the smell of the countryside spreads into the vast space. As the afternoon gradually falls, the countryside kitchen is filled with joy with a pot of sour soup cooked with river fish and star fruit. The smell of a hard-working, poor childhood that raised us up. It is not easy to forget.

The day I returned to live with my grandmother in a vast white sand village, I retained a new scent. The smell of my grandmother's sweat working hard every day on the scorching road, catching fish and shrimp in time for the morning market to sell to raise my grandchildren. My grandmother's lullaby every night when I missed my mother and cried seemed to have a special scent too.

I snuggled into my grandmother’s armpit, daydreaming: “Why do I feel like my grandmother smells like my mother?” My grandmother comforted me with her loving scent: “Every afternoon I stand at the back alley. Looking back at my mother’s hometown, my heart aches all afternoon.” On rainy days, I followed my grandmother on the way to the market. The smell of cassava, sweet potatoes, and grilled corn in the poor village market followed me forever.

The day I left home for the city, I reluctantly carried with me the scent of my mother, of my younger siblings, of the thatched house at the foot of the hill. At night, lying in the dormitory of the Army Corps, I missed the salty, bitter smell of her sun-burnt hair, the smell of old clothes, the smell of a charcoal stove. It seemed like my mother had no time to take care of herself, her thin clothes were worn out all year round, she was busy from morning to evening...but I loved that smell of hard work in the sun and rain so much.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of the city streets and the many strange scents, I still remember with tears the scent of grapefruit, lemon, and the gentle scent of soapberry lingering on my silky hair. I still wash my hair with soapberry every day, despite my friends calling me a 'country girl'. To me, that elegant, graceful scent never fades in my memory, and many years later I still can't help but miss it.

Hue City in a season of love has the scent of ylang-ylang shyly on the street corner. My first love has the scent of longan, the scent of mango on the mossy, ancient phoenix flower street, has the sweet scent of lotus emanating from the Imperial Citadel on a clear moonlit night... All are still there, as if never lost.

The day I carried my child to the sunny and windy land, I continued to pass through many scents of love. The years in the damp dormitory, in the summer I could clearly smell the sun, in the winter I could smell the mold of the old walls. Every day, after the time to get dressed and step onto the podium, I returned to the small kitchen, smelling porridge, flour, milk and even the smell of urine that when they grew up and went far away, I remembered with a pang in my heart...

When the children grew up, left home to earn a living, leaving their mother alone, I kept another scent, an unclear scent, hard to name, just blending together and rising passionately. I called it the scent of waiting. I waited for a train whistle to sound during the days before Tet; waited for the night bus to come back so that the three of us could have a year-end meal together. And somewhere a lingering scent of incense lingered, pulling everyone back to the sacredness of their origins, stirring up memories of their ancestors, and tightening our hearts for the separations after the reunion...

On the journey of each person's life, there are countless memories and loves that are filled with ups and downs, changes. Months and years pass by. Sometimes, feeling desolate, I suddenly want to rely on my memories to search and collect every fragrant memory. Many times, I feel worried, afraid that one day my heart will forget the old scents.

Thien Lam

Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/gom-nhat-nhung-yeu-thuong-193950.htm