On the last day of July, Uncle Ba (Mr. Vo Van Nao, then Deputy Commander of Long Khot outpost) came to the temple again, lit an incense stick, and reflected: "That year, all we brothers hoped for was peace in our hometown, and we were overjoyed that our fellow villagers had a successful rice harvest."
Every July, every Vietnamese person feels gratitude, because the country and the nation have endured two protracted wars of national defense, fought with the blood of countless heroic martyrs. When the country was unified, and it seemed complete peace had finally been achieved, the border war broke out, and many more were lost forever, sacrificing their lives for the peace the nation enjoys today.
At historical sites across the country these days, there are white wreaths, respectful incense sticks, and the ringing of bells and the lighting of candles, praying for the souls of those resting in Mother Earth to find peace.
It's difficult to answer, and please don't ask why, after so many years, tears still well up in my eyes. Loss is neither small nor large, neither little nor much, because all pain is equally agonizing. Some people still have red eyes from hearing the old story, even after hearing it countless times, still feel heartbroken when they see the words "unknown martyr," and even after so many years, somewhere, a mother still longs for her son's return.
The country reorganized its administrative units, merging provinces and cities to further develop local strengths. Some provinces and cities in the southwestern border region also merged, creating a continuous strip along the national border. In some places, the boundary is just a field or a river, with patrol routes consisting of small boats gliding along the water. And so, in these heroic or peaceful times, the border guards continue to fulfill their duties.
On a drizzly July afternoon, somewhere along the country's roads, at the foot of the war memorials, beneath the gravestones, lay a pair of worn-out rubber sandals, along with a smoldering incense stick—perhaps left behind by a former comrade who had just visited. The border rain wasn't as fierce as in wartime memories, but a gentle drizzle, like a mother's lullaby. In the sound of the rain, green shoots stretched out, covering the motherland with greenery, awaiting a bountiful harvest.
As July arrives, people in the border region quietly gather at the martyrs' cemetery and Long Khot temple to light incense and recount old stories to the children: "Back then, our homeland was overgrown with reeds, yet those soldiers still managed to protect every inch of our land." The story may seem old, but each time it's mentioned, a wave of gratitude washes over us. Because there were days of torrential rain on the border, when some fell without even having the chance to leave behind their names…
Source: https://www.sggp.org.vn/lang-le-tri-an-post805746.html
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