Memories of the roads

One day in March.

I, a teacher in my fifties, was with my students gathering material to film a video showcasing the scenic landmarks of my hometown, Định Quán, in preparation for our upcoming lesson. After they left, I lingered at the La Ngà Victory Monument, not only to admire the familiar scenery one last time, but also to better feel the emotions slowly rising within me. Thoughts of the roads seemed to flood my mind, as the present and the past unexpectedly intersected in a moment of profound silence.

A central road in Dinh Quan commune. Photo: Contributor

The path of history runs through the nearly 51-year journey of the people of Dinh Quan, a path of overcoming hardship and striving for progress. This winding road resembles the segments of each person's life, sometimes peaceful, sometimes bumpy, sometimes hidden behind layers of red dust from time. Sitting and resting on the steps of the La Nga Victory Monument, I recalled watching a documentary about the liberation of Dinh Quan on March 17, 1975. The images of convoys of vehicles, artillery, and people pouring onto National Highway 20 from small paths and alleys, advancing in an unstoppable flow, left a deep impression on me. All of this imprinted on my mind the image of this road, not just a path, but the direction of history. The liberation of Dinh Quan was also the beginning, opening the way to independence and national reunification on April 30, 1975.

I remember my father – the soldier, the wounded veteran who contributed his blood and bones to the battlefield to bring peace to the country. Looking down from above, the roads winding around the foothills of victory lull us into the deepest recesses of our hearts, where things never grow old. During the war, these roads were not only grand but also steeped in silent losses, for each footprint carried a part of a life left behind. But for me, the image of this dirt road evokes another memory, closer, more personal, connected to my father on a rainy, windy day.

My memories of my father are intertwined with his warm embrace and the roads he traveled. The first day he took me to first grade, the muddy red basalt road where the wheels sank deep into long ruts, was the most beautiful road for me because he was there. It was a road of bright, innocent smiles as I left my village for the first time to go to a completely unfamiliar place. He didn't mind the distance to take me to the district school, hoping his daughter would receive a proper education, and it was on those roads that his dreams were silently entrusted to my footsteps. When I cried and ran looking for him, thinking I was lost in the crowd, the dirt road, marked with my small footprints, seemed to stretch on forever, carrying with it the innocent fear of a child. When I sat in front of the bicycle, being driven home by him on the muddy road, my small smile like a sparrow nestled in his protective embrace, the road suddenly seemed shorter and filled with warmth.

Dad, is this road to our house far?

On the red basalt dirt road, deeply plowed by the wheels of the sugarcane-laden trucks of Cao Cang Farm, my father carried me through the first bumpy steps of my life, only for me to one day have to continue on my own path without him by my side.

When my father became seriously ill and could no longer sell his goods, the road to Dinh Quan district that I used to walk was now just for me, and each step felt like a touch of the reality that I was growing up without him. I, along with other children, traversed countless potholes and bumps in the muddy red soil, like rice paddies in the rainy season and dusty in the dry season, but I didn't give up, because at the end of that road was the school, the hope my father had once placed in me. The journey home from school with an empty stomach, the times I climbed onto ox carts, buffalo carts, and even trucks carrying sugarcane – all of it is etched into my memory, becoming indelible stretches of road.

Then my father left my sisters and me. The road home that day stretched endlessly in the incessant rain, as if extending both space and time in my grief. My path to the future seemed to close in that moment, when all my support suddenly vanished, but then the very paths I had traveled reminded me to keep going.

Decades have passed, and the country is undergoing a transformation, with the roads changing in sync with the new rhythm of life. The clean, beautiful concrete road encircling the La Ngà victory monument is like an embrace around the tranquil hill reflected in the river, both familiar and enduring. National Highway 20 is wider and longer, carrying the bustling flow of people and the hurried pace of life. The once muddy road to the sugarcane plantation has now become a spacious inter-provincial road connecting to Binh Thuan province, opening up new avenues for this land. The grid-like roads around the commune's administrative area, lined with lush green trees, vibrant yellow, or deep purple crape myrtle, add color to life. Concrete roads extend into the alleys, houses are more spacious, and life seems to open up with each new road. My hometown, Dinh Quan, is undergoing a powerful transformation, with its roads becoming wider, greener, and more vibrant. The cluster of three stacked rocks still stands there, leaning towards National Highway 20 like a silent witness, accepting all the changes of time. The country is turning a new page, and the roads continue to lead people forward.

Walking along the vast path of life, my heart still aches, for that road remains empty, a road where my father's footsteps are no longer heard.

Red Swan

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/dong-nai-cuoi-tuan/202604/ky-uc-nhung-con-duong-ca92ba8/