The blue shirt of March

In March, the sun rises very early. I don't know why, but every time I see that golden sunlight stretching across the road, my heart feels wistful, a deep sense of nostalgia. I know I'm missing the blue volunteer shirt.

Back then, we were so young! The kind of youth you'd find in eighteen-year-olds living far from home, frugal with every packet of instant noodles, bunch of vegetables, and can of rice. Yet, when we heard about a volunteer recruitment drive, the whole group chipped in to buy a volunteer uniform, a bucket hat, and the cheapest pair of sneakers we could find. After buying them, we all tried them on and admired ourselves in the mirror.

The first time I put on that shirt, I stood still in front of the mirror for a moment, and strangely, I felt like a completely new version of myself. I've worn so many different colors of shirts in my life, but for some reason, that shade of blue remains beautiful in my memory, sparkling sweetly. Later, every time I recall my innocent self from that time, I naturally smile, realizing that I once had a vibrant youth.

On the morning of the mobilization, the entire sky was filled with a vibrant green. Hundreds of young people, all wearing the same color shirts, stood in long lines under the March sun. We sang, laughed, and chanted slogans non-stop. The vehicles were packed with people, backpacks crammed under the seats, some of us squeezed together, our legs numb after two hours of winding, steep mountain roads, yet we still sang the song "Youth Following Uncle Ho's Teachings." That's what youth is like. It makes you forget all the burdens, only to remember one thing: You are truly living life to the fullest.

During our time in the village, the green uniforms quickly blended in. The village was perched precariously on the mountainside. There was no electricity. The road was all red dirt, slippery, and required walking. Even clean water had to be fetched by walking for almost an hour down to the stream, carried back in cans. On the first day, the whole group stood silently, looking around. Then, without anyone prompting them, one by one, we rolled up our sleeves and started working. I remember those afternoons digging irrigation ditches, our shirts soaked, mud splashing up to our necks. I remember our hands blistering and then becoming calloused. One day, it suddenly started raining while we were roofing, and no one in the team ran to take shelter because we wanted to keep up with the schedule. We worked in the rain, our clothes soaked, even our bucket hats wet. We were exhausted from working in the rain, but everyone had a bright smile on their face.

But perhaps the memories of teaching are what I cherish most. The classroom was temporarily set up in the village's cultural center. Under the dim yellow light of oil lamps, with the encouragement of the team, the villagers came and sat neatly on plastic chairs with the children, timidly holding pens and carefully writing each letter. Strangely, none of us had ever stood on a podium before, but that day everyone was as enthusiastic as a real teacher. I remember a little girl named My, dark-skinned with blonde hair, one of the most diligent students. At the end of the session, when submitting her homework, she softly asked me, "Teacher, will you be teaching tomorrow?" My eyes welled up with tears; I wished we had more time, so that the lessons could happen more often.

The blue uniform, the color of an entire generation of young people who once left their cramped rented rooms, climbed onto mountain roads, worked with hoes and shovels until their hands were blistered, and then returned home in the evening to stand before the blackboard with chalk. That uniform followed my footsteps, transforming me from a shy person into someone who dared to step out of my comfort zone, teaching me to open my heart, to be tolerant, and to understand that life isn't just about looking out for oneself.

Now, every time March comes around, I remember that shirt. So many cherished memories flood back. I am secretly grateful to life for allowing me to be so young, to have lived so freely, and to have worn such a beautiful blue shirt.

NINH LE

Source: https://baokhanhhoa.vn/van-hoa/sang-tac/202603/mau-ao-xanh-thang-ba-7a72a3e/