Mother and the River of My Homeland

( Quang Ngai Newspaper) - After every journey of wandering back and forth, people long to find solace and comfort in their homeland. Perhaps just a few sweet memories are enough to soothe and calm the worries and anxieties. I have relied on my village in this way whenever my heart ached with longing and I hadn't yet had the chance to return...

My longing for home begins with a longing for my mother. Whenever I miss her, I often think of the river in my hometown. A river that flows tirelessly, silently and kindly, whether clear or muddy, full or empty, always remaining faithful, just like my mother, simple throughout her life, yet carrying a profound and boundless love.

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The alluvial soil diligently builds up, enriching the fields and creating lush green rice paddies. The winding river embraces a strip of land around the village. My people depend on the river for their livelihood, continuing the legacy of hardship and toil, living a life adrift on the waves. Season after season, the fish and shrimp are a timeless blessing from the river, abundant with gratitude, whether its waters are full or empty.

Oh river, how I miss those childhood days when I spent afternoons swimming and diving with my friends. Those skinny, dark-skinned children spent the summers diligently searching for clams and mussels, casting lines and nets at the edge of the riverbanks. During the dry season, we waded through the mud to catch crabs and fish. The river gave me so much, both its seasonal bounty and the vast, unforgettable memories of my childhood.

Every time the evening twilight descended, the south wind swept in, casting a reddish glow on the tranquil river of my hometown. That was when I would wander along the embankment, gazing towards the bamboo bridge, searching for my mother's frail figure as she hobbled home with her carrying pole. In my innocent memory, my mother would leave early in the morning to cross to the islet on the other side of the river, setting up her baskets to sell fish, mostly grilled herring and sardines. I don't know how much profit she made, but she usually didn't return until late at night, sometimes even trading fish for potatoes or beans...

How deeply cherished, how profound is the river's affection, the mother's protection. The waters of my homeland's river nurtured my soul from childhood, each drop of silt carefully accumulating through the ups and downs of life to shape my broad and upright character. Like my mother, a woman of few words, bearing countless hardships, patiently and humbly enduring all bargaining and envy. My mother gave me no money; her inheritance was a legacy of humanity. From her, I learned tolerance and gratitude, forever burdening my heart with the longing for my roots and homeland; to yearn for a grove of bamboo, a riverbank, a lonely boat waiting at a deserted dock...

After enduring the hardships and struggles of city life, we long to return to the river, to the village, to wash away all the sorrows and dirt, to sit in our homeland, lost in thought, remembering our mother like a child of yesteryear...

NGO THE LAM

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