Yellow apricot blossoms on the eve of Tet

Under the shade of the apricot blossom tree in the front yard, one often feels time slow down. Not because the wind stops blowing or the sun becomes less intense, but because every year, as the twelfth lunar month approaches, looking up at the branches of the apricot blossom tree that have just "blossomed," revealing a few small, green buds full of promise, one's heart is flooded with old memories. Memories of past Tet holidays, memories of people who used to sit under this tree.

Rural women are plucking leaves from apricot blossom trees.

Today is the twenty-second day of the twelfth lunar month, tomorrow is the day we send the Kitchen God to heaven. When I was little, hearing the adults talk about the Kitchen God going to heaven filled me with anticipation, imagining that from that day onwards, Tet would rush into my house. Now that I'm older, that milestone still feels like a thread pulling my memories back. Every year, the apricot blossom tree is stripped of its leaves, leaving only bare branches, then silently begins to bud. It's like the people of my hometown, quiet but persistent. Standing there through countless seasons of rain and sunshine, witnessing children grow up and the elderly pass away, it patiently waits for the season of golden blossoms.

Under the apricot tree, the familiar scene repeats itself, but the people have changed. Several mothers are bent over, making pickles, salting shallots, and slicing radishes. The scent of sunshine mixes with the pungent yet comforting aroma of vinegar and sugar. Looking at their bent postures, I suddenly remember my mother sitting there, her hands moving quickly, her mouth reminding her children not to run around and knock over the jars of pickles. Now my mother is frail, and that work has passed to me, but each time I do it, it feels like I'm reconnecting with a past life.

Across the yard, separated by a hibiscus hedge, Grandma sat polishing her brass incense burner. The brass gleamed little by little, as if stirring up memories of the past. When I was little, I used to sit beside her and ask her all sorts of questions: how did Grandpa come home? Did he bring any gifts? Grandma would just smile gently and say that those who are gone only return through the memories of their children and grandchildren. Now she no longer sits there, but every time I see Aunt Chín polishing the burner, my heart aches, as if Grandma's presence is still here, beneath this plum tree.

In the U Minh Thuong region, people are busy plucking leaves from apricot blossom trees after the rice has been harvested and brought to the yard, bustling with preparations for Tet (Lunar New Year).

In the countryside, the Tet atmosphere permeates every corner. Families are pruning apricot blossoms, sweeping yards, and painting fences. Plump, green buds crowd the branches, evoking a sense of hope, like in the old days when we longed for Tet for new clothes, sweets, and the return of loved ones. Now, the longing is different; we only hope for the presence of familiar faces, the sounds of laughter, and a full meal with no empty seats.

The marigolds placed under the apricot blossoms have also bloomed. That yellow color always reminds people of Tet (Vietnamese New Year) of the past, of mornings going to the market with mother, carrying home heavy pots of flowers, their feet covered in dirt. Such small things stay with me all my life.

In the U Minh Thuong region, the rice harvest is just over, and the drying yards are ablaze with the golden rice reserved for family meals. Looking at the piles of rice, I remember the seasons before, when I was a child running barefoot in the fields, my feet stinging from the straw, yet I still laughed. Now the yards are still golden, only the people running back and forth are different. Time flows on like that, silently, leaving only a vague sense of emptiness whenever I look back.

Yellow apricot blossoms on the twenty-second day of the twelfth lunar month.

The apricot blossom tree stands still. It has witnessed countless Tet holidays, some with large gatherings, others with few people. It knows the laughter, the tears, the farewells, and the reunions. The green blossoms of today will one day turn bright yellow, just as memories fade, but the feelings remain.

Sitting under the apricot blossoms, listening to the wind rustle the clusters of buds, my heart softens. Tet hasn't arrived yet, the flowers haven't bloomed, but I can already sense the scent of the past in the air. It turns out that what stirs the heart isn't the golden hues of the first day of Tet, but rather these days of waiting. When the past and present sit together under the shade of the tree, silently, without needing to call each other by name, we know we've never truly been apart.

AN LAM

Source: https://baoangiang.com.vn/mai-vang-ngay-giap-tet-a476409.html