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Mom said that my older sister's wedding should have at least twenty tables of guests to be considered proper. She's the only daughter in the family, and for over a decade she's been working in the city, taking care of everything, so her big day needs to be lively so she doesn't feel lonely. I laughed, "What does it matter, Mom? The most important thing is whether life after marriage is happy, not the formalities." My older sister just wanted a simple wedding with family and close friends, people she truly believed would come to offer their blessings.
A few days before the wedding, Được said, "Let me make you a wedding arch out of coconut leaves." Sister Hai was past her youthful prime, but still very beautiful, possessing the gentle charm of a mature woman. Back then, her mother was always proud to have given birth to the most beautiful daughter in the remote, marshy village. Though a country girl, Sister Hai had rosy cheeks, curved lips, and porcelain-white skin. Despite enduring the harsh weather like other farm girls, she still shone brightly, radiant like a spring flower. Several young men in the village repeatedly urged their mothers to propose marriage, but her father insisted that Sister Hai receive a proper education.
My older sister was bright and the best student in high school back then. My younger brother, Được, was three grades behind her; he was only in tenth grade when she graduated. But at school, the teachers always spoke of her as a role model. Được was very proud of her. He often boasted to his friends that his older sister was a top student at the provincial level.
Ever since my older sister got into university, the suitors in the neighborhood started to drift apart. People were wary of educated girls, convinced that she would marry a city man with a desk job, and that she was unlikely to return to the countryside to work in agriculture. Although they were heartbroken because my sister was known for being gentle, polite, skillful, and a good cook, they had to give up due to the many differences.
After finishing her four years of schooling, my older sister worked in the city. Her job was busy, sometimes she worked until late at night and still couldn't finish everything, so she rarely came home. Sometimes she'd only be home for a short while, quickly eating a meal before getting a call to leave. Each month, she would send half of her salary home by motorbike or by post for Mom to use at home. Whenever she sent the money, she'd call Mom to remind her not to skimp on food, to buy more vegetables and fruits to supplement vitamins. She told Mom to take the whole family for regular health checkups, and told Mom and Dad that it was time to rest. She kept repeating, "Mom and Dad have worried about us their whole lives; now it's time for them to enjoy their old age and hold their grandchildren."
The grandchildren here are Được's two children, a boy and a girl. After finishing high school, Được dropped out of school to take over the farming. His older sister said, "That's a good idea. If everyone works in an office, who will do the farming, raise livestock, and produce the food and material goods that feed society?" His sister laughed, "My education is in exchange for your rice and food. Farmers are the most essential force, no matter the era."
Working tirelessly from morning till night at the company, my older sister rarely had free time to make friends or get to know anyone. She only had a few college friends she still kept in touch with, but after graduation, they all went their separate ways. Her workplace was mostly female, and the men who were there had already settled down. And with her parents struggling back home, my older sister was constantly striving for success, thinking that her parents didn't have much time left to wait for her.
While her peers were all getting married and leaving the game, Hai still worked tirelessly, leaving early and returning late. Every time she attended a college friend's wedding or a high school friend's baby's first birthday party, Hai felt completely detached, because besides her boring job with numbers and deadlines at the office, she had nothing else to talk about. While her friends formed groups like "Moms' Club" or "Parenting Tips" and shared their experiences enthusiastically, Hai could only quietly deal with customer problems and complaints. Her friends would occasionally joke, "If you work so hard you don't have time to spend it like Lai, where will you put all that money?"
After years of saving, Sister Hai built a tiled house for her parents at the age of thirty. About a year later, Duoc got married. Sister Hai told her only younger brother, "Let me take care of it." On the weekend, she traveled a long distance to take Duoc and his wife to choose wedding attire and have their wedding photos taken. Paying attention to every little detail, she said, "It's a once-in-a-lifetime event." She took her mother to buy gold jewelry as a gift for her daughter-in-law, choosing only the newest and most luxurious designs. Her mother said that in her time, only a pair of hibiscus earrings were acceptable. Sister Hai gently replied, "We should adapt to the times, Mother."
People often say, "An enemy from afar is not as bad as a sister-in-law," but my sister-in-law, my older sister, is truly understanding. Every time she visits home, when it's just the two of us, she tells me, "No matter how much love or hate someone has for their wife, no one can surpass a husband in love." She wholeheartedly advises me on how to behave and live together properly. She says, "As a man, you should be forgiving, especially towards your wife and children."
Yet, even in her thirties, she remained single, and the neighbors began whispering that she was an old maid, too picky. She pretended not to hear, and her mother, worried, sometimes grumbled about the neighbors' gossip. She just smiled and said, "I'm too busy, Mom, I don't have time for dating." Her mother shook her head, feeling a little sad and resentful because her daughter was so well-educated and knowledgeable that the old country woman's words didn't sit well with her. Actually, she understood, very well, but for her, important matters of life couldn't be rushed. Perhaps the person she liked would come a little later, but it had to be the one her heart had always been waiting for.
When things settled down, with both sons and daughters, and a comfortable and harmonious family, her father told her, "You've taken care of the family enough; now think about yourself." She neither nodded nor shook her head, but gradually slowed down her pace of life. She worked more moderately, and paid more attention to her diet, sleep, and rest. Her childhood dream was to travel . But she didn't particularly like bustling, crowded places. During short holidays, she would ride her motorbike along country roads, sometimes taking a ferry to a precarious islet in the quiet and somewhat melancholic Hau River to find fruit orchards. During longer holidays, she would go to the mountains and the sea, often to remote places, sometimes even border islands, in a way unlike anyone else. She said, "Every day I'm caught up in the industrial cycle, so I just long for unspoiled and genuine nature."
During those trips, she met Viet, and they came together naturally, as if they were meant for each other. One might think that two souls so alike would easily become bored, but Hai smiled and said, "I believe I've met the right person."
On her wedding day, Hai looked radiant in her vibrant red phoenix-patterned ao dai, her figure graceful and relaxed. Love made her face more beautiful, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Watching her shyly beside the man who was the love of her life, her cheeks welled up with tears, hesitant to see her off. Her eyes were wet, but her heart was filled with joy because Hai's waiting had been rewarded. After the wedding, she returned to the mountain town with her husband to run a coffee shop and an art gallery. Viet said he would still let Hai choose the life she wanted. Even though he was a man, in that moment of sending his daughter off to her husband's home, he couldn't hide the tears in his eyes. He asked, "So, I've lost my daughter?" Hai, with tears in her eyes, tightly grasped her father's hand: "No, that's not it, you've gained a son-in-law."
Source: https://baophuyen.vn/sang-tac/202505/hanh-phuc-muon-e374bcb/
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