Wildflowers

The biting cold of winter is finally coming to an end, giving way to the vibrant blossoms of spring. Tiny green buds open their eyes to gaze upon the vast world . Migratory birds return to their nests, animals call out to their mates, and young shoots on branches open their eyes... All things sing a song of love. Everything is busy changing into new attire, welcoming spring. And so are the wildflowers.

I decorate my garden and house with wildflowers. I don't even know when I started loving wildflowers. Was it when I was a child, running around chasing grasshoppers and crickets in the fields, and enjoying the sight of those tiny wildflowers, as small as I was? Or was it when I started playing pretend, using flowers as ingredients for cooking, as makeup, and to adorn the bride's hair and the groom's suit when playing wedding games?

It could also be from encountering the mesmerizing purple water hyacinths, the pure white cosmos flowers, the delicate pink blossoms of the maidenhair fern, or the golden hues like drops of sunlight resting on the green carpet of the wild jasmine. And the hibiscus hedge someone planted, red like the setting sun. The white water lilies, like the dress I wore to school, growing near the sunflowers, as big as my thumb, round like pretty white candies. Or the thunderflowers (called water lilies in many places), purple and pink like the sunset? ... I don't remember anymore.

I just knew that if I didn't see them for a day, I felt like something was missing. So I often invited my childhood friend Phuong from the neighborhood to admire the wildflowers in the fields. We talked about dozens of random things every day without getting bored. One day, Phuong showed me the coriander flowers that had just bloomed in her garden. This was the first time I had ever seen coriander flowers. Each flower was like a white star, about the size of the head of three toothpicks, giving the viewer a feeling of fragility. I bent down, gently touched my nose to the flower, and closed my eyes to feel its slightly pungent scent.

Suddenly, I felt as if the flowers and I were embodiments of each other. The flowers weren't flamboyant in color, nor did they possess a captivating fragrance; they were simple, rustic white, just like me. I didn't inherit my mother's beauty and skillful hands. I inherited my father's handsomeness. Unfortunately, my father's face was only beautiful on a man's body. I was like a rough backdrop, allowing my close friends to show off their beauty when they walked together. Despite all the curious, judgmental, and unfriendly glances directed at me, I confidently strode forward.

Sometimes I even offer them a polite smile as a greeting. Why should I feel inferior and withdraw into my shell with an invisible fear because of those strangers? I may be ugly, but I listen to my parents, I'm praised by my neighbors, and I have many good friends. I'm optimistic in every thought. Because Phương had told me before, "Being born ugly isn't a crime! There's no need to bow your head! You didn't want to be like this anyway. Only those who live bad lives should be ashamed. Criticizing and belittling someone's appearance is also a crime."

"They're the ones who should bow their heads, not you!" Phuong's advice saved me from pessimistic thoughts about appearances from that moment on. I engraved this saying and the image of my beautiful friend, both in appearance and character, deep in my heart, accompanying me through times with an always optimistic demeanor, like a wildflower defying the world's judgment, proudly offering its blossoms to life.

From that moment, I understood that it's not just knives, scissors, or metal tools that are sharp. Because human words can sometimes be even more dangerous and terrifying. They can save or drag people down into despair at any moment. Therefore, I always think carefully before saying anything that might affect someone else's mood. And of course, I always speak little in a crowd. But I'm not insignificant. Like the pungent scent of Vietnamese coriander, unlike any other flower.

Phuong laughed and called me sentimental. I told her she was insensitive. We argued and quarreled, but our anger didn't last long. Later, Phuong got into university and went to Hanoi to pursue her dream of becoming a French teacher. We drifted apart from then on. Every time I see coriander flowers, my heart aches for this lovely friend. Memories come flooding back like blossoming petals. Perhaps you've forgotten the song I composed myself, using only my mouth. Back then, we didn't study music like we do now. The title is "The Nostalgia for Coriander Flowers." Even now, whenever I think of you, I still hum: "Looking at those flowers reminds me of you. I remember your radiant smile, like a flower... Do you, far away, still keep in your soul those pure white petals here?...". The feeling of not being able to admire wildflowers is just like the feeling of missing you, Phuong!

(By Vu Tuyet Nhung/ tanvanhay.vn)

Wildflowers