And somehow, the scents from the earth and the river have crept into my memory. These pleasant, gentle scents evoke familiar images in me. Perhaps scents are easily lost, yet they are also the last things to linger in memory. Because deep impressions and memories of people we've met and places we've been often begin with unique, unmistakable scents. We can easily return to the past when we recognize a familiar scent somewhere, guiding our minds.
Once, while wandering through the suburbs, I was greeted by the sight of rice paddies ripening in the season, and ponds dotted with swaying water lilies. The entire countryside was permeated with the pristine scent of the earth, the fragrant aroma of ripe rice captivating my heart. Along the roadside, patches of dry grass and straw lay exposed to the early spring sun. Fresh mud clung to the green lotus leaves, and a few blossoms bloomed shyly beside butterflies. All of this evoked an incredibly familiar, rustic scent, far removed from the smell of asphalt and city traffic that had faded into the distance. That moment made me intensely nostalgic for the scent of my mother's countryside, as comforting as the sweet milk that nurtured my growing soul. And I felt as if I were standing under the sky of my homeland, all the initial unfamiliarity gradually disappearing. Only a gentle, peaceful feeling remained, like a cool stream flowing through my heart.
Illustration photo: Minh Quy. |
Sometimes my feet long to return and run amidst the vast fields, gently treading on the soft, smooth mud. To run to the winding village dike, stand by the riverbank, and fill my lungs with the nostalgic scent of the countryside. I want to carry with me the fragrance of the harvest, the scent of the heavenly grains, the hazy smoke rising from the reeds, the aroma of ripe fruit in the riverside garden, to lighten the dreams of city life. Far away, a yearning flickers within me to lie down beneath the old bamboo grove, to be a young shepherd boy engrossed in turning the pages of a new book, the scent of fresh ink mingling with the fragrance of grass and trees.
“Sometimes I suddenly remember a strange laugh. A sad folk song about pomelo and crape myrtle flowers. A dried mud stain on a stone. No one said goodbye. I also remember the sound of a train whistle.” These simple verses by poet Tran Vang Sao, in “A Poem by a Patriot,” suddenly resonate in my mind. A profound longing, needing no explanation, stems from small things. It's as if magic makes one no longer feel alone, and their heart yearns more for life and people, opening the doors of the soul to the light of their roots.
Within me, nothing is richer than the memories of windswept rivers, fragrant fields, and my mother's tireless figure throughout the seasons. Nothing compels me to return more than the reddened eyes of my mother at sunset each time she saw me off. Nothing fills me with strength more than waking up in my mother's house in the morning, amidst the gentle scent of burning wood and the joyful chirping of birds outside the window. I grew up in the fresh, airy countryside, and realized that for months and years, the scent of the fields had woven itself into every fold of my mother's clothes, her hair, and her worn-out hat. My mother's sweat fell, allowing each seed to sprout—seeds buried deep in the warm earth, seeds of conscience, seeds of kindness in each of her beloved children.
And so, the scent of the countryside in my heart is always imbued with the smell of my mother's sweat, the scent of her hard work that shaped me, a scent that wafts through folk songs with mustard flowers, betel nut trees, and rice stalks. Even if I were to anchor myself amidst towering skyscrapers and the deep shadows of the city, my soul would always remain a rustic soul, speaking with the accent of my homeland, cherishing it nine times out of ten. And deeply embedded in every inch of my heart is the scent of the fields, the straw, and the gentle fragrance of the alluvial soil flowing downstream.
Tran Van Thien
Source: https://baoquangbinh.vn/van-hoa/202503/huong-dong-noi-2225239/
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