Grandma's roof in the windy and sunny season

My grandmother's house is located deep in a red dirt alley, where every afternoon the wind still blows through the banana bushes, rustling as if telling stories I have heard by heart.

Illustration photo

That day, my childish steps ran across the yard, stepping on the green moss that my grandmother always warned me, "It's very slippery, be careful not to fall." A stubborn child like me never listened, because I knew that if I tripped, my grandmother would run out, one hand to support me, the other to brush the dust off, and her mouth lovingly mumbled, "You're so naughty."

In my memory, my grandmother’s house was always brightest at noon. The sunlight shone through the porous tiled roof, falling in small streaks onto the floor. I sat there, arranging bamboo sticks in a long row, pretending to be a train, while my grandmother chewed betel and looked at me, smiling that gentle, toothless smile that I would never forget, no matter how many more beautiful smiles I saw later.

At night, my grandmother told me stories. I lay my head on her leg, listening to her stuttering voice recalling old stories: the story of the stork wading along the riverbank, the story of the soldier who had not yet set a date to return, the stories of the poor Tet holidays that were still full of laughter. I fell asleep to the voice as soft as the cotton blanket my grandmother used to cover me with on cold nights.

Then one day, when I grew up, that roof began to get old, and so did my grandmother.

The serious illness dragged my grandmother into bouts of forgetfulness. She sat on the porch, her eyes searching for something lost in that hazy space. There were days when I came home, she looked at me for a long time, then asked: "Whose child are you?"

I smiled, but my heart ached: "This is my youngest child, my grandchild."

Grandma nodded slightly, not knowing if she believed me or just stopped asking because she was tired. In that moment, the house where I used to run and jump suddenly felt too big, too empty, as if it was missing a piece of its soul.

The last year my grandmother was still somewhat conscious, Tet came, she trembled and took out a red envelope from her pocket. There wasn't much money inside, it was wrinkled because it was folded early: "Grandma gave it to me. As long as I remember, I will give it to you..."

That was the last Tet that my grandmother could call me by the nickname "Little Ut".

A month after New Year's Eve, my grandmother passed away, as light as the last leaf of the season falling from a branch. People said she went to a faraway land, where the storks she used to tell me about were like a door leading to a gentle sky.

The day my grandmother passed away, the wind blew through the old tiled roof, making sounds I had heard throughout my childhood. I looked back at the house, at the kitchen corner where my grandmother sat preparing betel leaves, at the bamboo chair my grandmother used to lean on every cool afternoon. Everything was still there, only my grandmother was missing to make it warmer.

Since then, every time I return, I still open the faded wooden door, step into the house where there are no more old people's voices but full of the lingering scent of memories. I sit in the same place where I used to lie and listen to stories, put my hand on the cold tile floor, and suddenly hear my grandmother's voice: "Run gently, child, it's very slippery."

Grandma's roof is no longer lit at night, but for me, it's still bright. Bright because of the years my grandma nurtured my childhood with love as soft as the noonday sun falling through the tiled roof. Bright because I still remember clearly the last lucky money envelope. What my grandma left me was not money, but a gentle reminder: "When you grow up, remember to come home wherever you go, okay?"

I still return there every year in the cold wind of early spring. To light incense, to listen to the wind through the banana trees, and to know that there are homes that, even though people have left, are still the warmest shelter in someone’s life.

Invite readers to participate in the writing contest Spring Warmth

As a spiritual food for every Tet holiday, Tuoi Tre newspaper and its partner INSEE Cement Company continue to invite readers to participate in the Spring Warm Home writing contest to share and introduce your home - your warm home, its features and the memories that you will never forget.

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 with your family... can all be submitted to the contest to introduce to readers nationwide.

The article "Spring Warm Home" must not have participated in any writing contest, and must not have been published in any media or social networks. The author is responsible for copyright, the organizer has the right to edit, and the article will receive royalties when selected for publication in Tuoi Tre publications.

The contest takes place from December 1, 2025 to January 15, 2026, inviting all Vietnamese people regardless of age or profession to participate.

Articles on Spring Warmth in Vietnamese should be a maximum of 1,000 words, and should be accompanied by illustrative photos and videos (illustrative photos and videos taken from social networks without copyright are not accepted). Only accept articles via email, not via post to avoid loss.

Contest entries should be sent to email address maiamngayxuan@tuoitre.com.vn.

Authors must provide their address, phone number, email, account number, and citizen identification number so that the organizing committee can contact them and send them royalties or prizes.

Tuoi Tre newspaper staff and their families can participate in the Spring Warmth Writing Contest but will not be considered for prizes. The decision of the organizing committee is final.

Spring Warmth Awards Ceremony and Launch of Tuoi Tre Xuan Magazine

The jury, including famous journalists, cultural figures and representatives of Tuoi Tre newspaper, will review and award the preliminary entries and select the winners.

The award ceremony and launch of the Tuoi Tre Xuan magazine are expected to be held at Nguyen Van Binh Book Street, Ho Chi Minh City at the end of January 2026.

Prize:

1 first prize: 10 million VND + certificate, Tuoi Tre Xuan newspaper;

1 second prize: 7 million VND + certificate, Tuoi Tre Xuan newspaper;

1 third prize: 5 million VND + certificate, Tuoi Tre Xuan newspaper;

5 consolation prizes: 2 million VND each + certificate, Tuoi Tre Xuan newspaper.

10 readers' choice prizes: 1 million VND each prize + certificate, Tuoi Tre Xuan newspaper.

Voting points are calculated based on post interactions, where 1 star = 15 points, 1 heart = 3 points, 1 like = 2 points.

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KHAI DONG

Source: https://tuoitre.vn/mai-nha-cua-ngoai-trong-mua-gio-nang-20251205111541624.htm