Memories inside my grandmother's house captured through Aunt Six's old camera - Photo: Provided by the author
I was born in the early 1990s on an island in the middle of the tranquil Co Chien River.
There, houses are separated not by concrete walls, but by lush green reed fields, rows of longan trees, orchards of oranges, and small canals where boats plow through dense patches of water hyacinth.
In that space, my maternal grandparents' three-room house, built in the 1970s, with its old tiled roof and walls darkened by time, still stands strong and filled with laughter and conversation.
My childhood was closely tied to that house. I lived with my maternal grandparents not because of circumstances, but because I liked it. I liked being around my grandparents, I liked being with Aunt Six.
Every morning, Aunt Six would take me to kindergarten. During the floods, Aunt Six would carry me, cautiously making her way from my grandmother's house to the roadside, and then I and my friends would walk to school. I would skip to school, and Aunt Six would call after me, "Walk properly, okay?"
Every evening, I would lie beside my grandfather and listen to him tell fairy tales. His voice was deep and slow as he told stories like Tam Cam, Thach Sanh , and sometimes even stories from his own past.
I listened with wide eyes, imagining all sorts of things. To my grandmother, I was her favorite child. Even now, I still remember the pungent smell of betel nut on her lips, a scent so familiar that just thinking about it brings back my entire childhood.
On the days when my maternal grandparents had anniversaries, I and the neighborhood kids would go to the back porch, gnaw on boiled chicken feet, and listen to the adults talk about farming, their children, and grandchildren. But my clearest memories are of the Lunar New Year celebrations.
Back then, Tet didn't have so many sweets and candies, nor smartphones or social media. Tet was about anticipation, longing, and excitement starting very early. The whole family would begin preparing from the 25th or 26th of the twelfth lunar month. The kitchen fire would burn all day long. My maternal grandfather would chop firewood, my maternal grandmother would marinate the meat, and my aunts, my mother, and I would all work together to make sausages.
On the night of the 30th of Tet (Lunar New Year's Eve), the whole family gathered in our old but warm three-room house. I sat watching the pot of sticky rice cakes with my grandfather, dozing off along the way. Then, at the moment of midnight, the sound of firecrackers echoed from afar, the air was chilly, and my heart was filled with a joy that was hard to describe.
Aunt Six's new house, where my memories will never fade - Photo: Provided by the author
When I was in fourth grade, I moved in with my parents. My parents' house was about a 30-minute boat ride from my grandparents' house, yet every night my father would take me boating to my grandparents' to watch TV series. The small boat glided smoothly across the water, the rhythmic sound of the oars echoing in the quiet night.
Back then, there was no electricity. My maternal grandparents' house had a diesel generator, and every evening they would show TV series for the whole neighborhood to watch. Adults and children would spread out mats and sit in the yard, watching and chatting animatedly. On moonlit nights, after the show, my father would cradle me and curl me up in the boat.
I opened my eyes to the moon hanging in the sky, felt the cool breeze, and heard the gentle lapping of water against the side of the boat, like a wordless lullaby. In that tranquil space, I drifted off to sleep without realizing it, carrying in my dreams the scent of the river, the smell of my homeland, and the warmth of a home I had never left.
That house witnessed my growth, the happiest days of my life. My wedding day was also held here. But on that day, my grandmother was no longer with us. The house was still full of people, still bustling with activity, but deep down I felt a profound emptiness.
That house also witnessed the saddest days: the day my grandmother passed away, the day my grandfather died, the day my youngest uncle died before he even reached 60. Each time, the house became quieter, the old tiled roof seeming heavier with the sorrow of separation. But strangely, I never found it cold. Perhaps it was because loving memories had permeated every corner of the house, every old brick.
Now, only Aunt Six lives in the old house. In 2025, she decided to build a new house on the same plot of land that belonged to my grandmother. The new house is the culmination of a lifetime of hard work and saving, a wish she has cherished for many years. But for me, it's not just a new house. It's a continuation of memories.
This Tet holiday in 2026, we will gather in that new home. The house is different, more spacious, but I believe the spirit of our hometown remains intact. It will still have the scent of Tet, the laughter, and the feeling of peace when returning home.
For me, no matter how much time passes, that family home will always be the place that holds my childhood memories of the Mekong Delta – warm, sincere, and unforgettable.
We invite readers to participate in the "Springtime Home" writing contest.
As a source of spiritual nourishment during the Lunar New Year season, newspapers Youth Together with our partner, INSEE Cement Company, we continue to invite readers to participate in the "Springtime Home" writing contest to share and introduce your home – your warm and cozy haven, its features, and unforgettable memories.
The house where your grandparents, parents, and you were born and raised; the house you built yourself; the house where you celebrated your first Tet (Lunar New Year) with your small family... all can be submitted to the competition to introduce to readers nationwide.
The article "A Warm Home in Spring" must not have previously entered any writing competition or been published in any media or social networks. The author is responsible for copyright, and the organizing committee has the right to edit the article if it is selected for publication in publications. Youth They will receive royalties.
The competition will take place from December 1, 2025 to January 15, 2026, and all Vietnamese people, regardless of age or profession, are welcome to participate.
The article "A Warm Home on a Spring Day" in Vietnamese should be a maximum of 1,000 words. Including photos and videos is encouraged (photos and videos taken from social media without copyright will not be accepted). Entries will only be accepted via email; postal mail will not be accepted to avoid loss.
Entries should be sent to the email address maiamngayxuan@tuoitre.com.vn.
Authors must provide their address, phone number, email address, bank account number, and citizen identification number so that the organizers can contact them and send royalties or prizes.
Newspaper staff Youth Family members may participate in the "Springtime Warmth" writing contest but will not be considered for prizes. The organizing committee's decision is final.
The Springtime Shelter Award Ceremony and the Launch of the Youth Spring Special Edition
The judging panel included renowned journalists, cultural figures, and representatives from the press. Youth The judging panel will review the entries that have passed the preliminary round and select winners.
The awards ceremony and launch of the Tuoi Tre Spring special issue are scheduled to be held at Nguyen Van Binh Book Street, Ho Chi Minh City, at the end of January 2026.
Prize:
1st prize: 10 million VND + certificate, Tuoi Tre Spring issue;
1 second prize: 7 million VND + certificate, Tuoi Tre Spring issue;
1 third prize: 5 million VND + certificate, Tuoi Tre Spring issue;
5 consolation prizes: 2 million VND each + certificate, Tuoi Tre Spring issue.
10 Readers' Choice Awards: 1 million VND each + certificate, Tuoi Tre Spring Edition.
The voting points are calculated based on interaction with the post, where 1 star = 15 points, 1 heart = 3 points, and 1 like = 2 points.
Source: https://tuoitre.vn/mai-am-khong-bao-gio-cu-2026011215254502.htm
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