Each person's life is like a door; whether we are inside or outside, whether our hearts are at peace or still filled with worries, when the sky, clouds, and water are shrouded in a gentle chill, and when the vibrant colors of spring burst forth at the end of the road, our hearts are filled with an indescribable emotion.
Oh, Tet (Vietnamese New Year) has really arrived!... ( Image for illustration purposes only - Internet )
The chill of the year-end days is like the smile of a young woman in her late teens or early twenties. That chill sows fresh spring seeds in the earth and sky, creating verdant banks and fields tinged with alluvial soil stretching to the horizon. Walking through the hazy mist and the gentle drizzle of a windless afternoon, my heart is filled with a wistful longing, a vague yet palpable memory, a longing deep within my mind.
Nostalgia takes us back to the crowded alleyways of our childhood memories. Those alleyways, crisscrossed with tree roots, were smooth and polished, the ideal place for the neighborhood children to play shop. In the last days of the year, when a light drizzle fell on the distant, buttery fields, and old buffaloes lay with their muzzles resting on smooth, rounded wooden planks, the children would use tree roots as "stalls," arranging and decorating them into stalls like those in a New Year's market.
Nhan and Lanh always vied for the position of selling spices. The two sisters had spent a whole year collecting and storing the spices needed for the Tet (Lunar New Year) feast. In my hometown, a pot of braised pork trotters is indispensable for Tet. And, to braise pork trotters, you can't do without thinly sliced galangal and lemongrass, blanched briefly and then ground into a paste to extract the juice. The incredibly distinctive aroma of this spice blends with the tender, sweet, and refreshing taste of the braised pork trotters. Nhan and her sisters displayed their "stall" of tiny jars of spices, from dried orange peel powder, shredded lime leaves, galangal and lemongrass juice, chili peppers, and fresh chilies... On the other side were Lanh and her sisters with their vibrant array of homemade flowers for Tet. A bustling row of bouquets made from colored paper, curled with scissors and then wrapped with steel wire or sharpened bamboo strips.
Branches of plum and peach blossoms, dotted with buds and glistening with dew, hastily cut from decades-old trees, were displayed in plastic bottles wrapped in red and green paper. The "stalls" were meticulously decorated and beautifully arranged... When everything was ready, the group pretended to wander from house to house, not haggling over prices, but instead rushing in to inhale the aromas, then hugging each other, laughing and exclaiming: "Oh, Tet has truly arrived!"
Tru Market and Bo Market are the daily source of excitement for children, and the eagerly awaited meeting place for many hearts...
Nostalgia takes us back to the three-room house with yin-yang tiled roof, a house filled with the laughter of loved ones when the warm spring breeze passed by. Nostalgia for a special market of the year, a market that has existed for a very long time, when the fragrant, fertile land on both banks of the Pho Giang River stretched out, egrets flying over the golden rice fields. The nineteenth day of the 12th lunar month (Trâu Market), the twentieth day of the 12th lunar month (Cà Bò Market). That special market was the daily joy and excitement of children, the anticipation of many hearts longing for a reunion, the poignant regret of those far from home, and the eager hope of returning. In the vibrant red and green of the clay figurines; in the dazzlingly colorful paper flower towers; in the rows of rice cakes, mung bean cakes, sticky rice cakes, and sweet rice cakes, hearts overflowed with love, faith, and aspirations. A yearning for peace amidst the ups and downs of life, a longing to return when the sky, clouds, and water are shrouded in mist, when the bustling market on the eve of Tet is vibrant with the dazzling colors of spring.
Nostalgia carries the sediment that settles in the river of time, bringing us back to old affections... ( Illustrative image from the Internet )
Nostalgia takes us back to the clear, crisp smoke, the smoke rising from the thatched roofs of the closely packed villages. On the thirtieth day of the lunar year, standing atop Thap Mountain, where our ancestors rest, a wave of longing washes over us as we gaze at the thin wisps of smoke rising from the rooftops. When was it that we last breathed that pungent, spicy aroma? When was it that we no longer saw the whole family gathered around the fire, beside the glistening water in the well, slurping up crab soup cooked with young jackfruit? It's been so long since we gathered leaves on windy afternoons, since we last jumped over piles of fragrant leaves with our friends. That special, exhilarating scent was a peaceful anchor for our hearts, a source of nostalgia that washed over us when the weather turned dry and cold.
These are the last days of the year, days when the fields are blanketed in a blanket of white, the autumn wind blowing. Days when the world seems to slow down. Slow down enough to remember, to let the heart beat with old affections, fragile yet profound affections, enough warmth, enough trust to firmly overcome the storms amidst the hustle and bustle of life.
When the river is tinged with a gentle drizzle, the fields stretch out in a milky hue, the scent of nature, of budding plants and trees, intertwines in the afternoon breeze, and spring, clad in a soft sky-blue cloak, passes through villages, houses, and street corners... that is when nostalgia carries grains of silt that settle in the river of time, bringing us back to cherished memories.
Slow down, so you can remember!
Late 2023
Tong Phu Sa
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