Rubbing my hands together, I shivered from the lingering chill of the recent rain. Suddenly, I found myself drawn to a tranquil garden café, as if it weren't in the middle of the city, as if the hustle and bustle outside couldn't penetrate the bamboo grove surrounding the entrance. Curious, I stepped inside to explore this unusual space. The interior was simply furnished: bamboo chairs, bamboo tables, and small clumps of bamboo planted in the café's grounds. It looked small, charming, and intimate, like wandering back to a small village from days gone by...
The owner must be a refined and gentle person to have decorated the place like this. The scent of natural essential oils is subtly pleasant. The music is soft and just right. Relax in the cool, tranquil atmosphere, drifting into childhood memories of afternoons spent sneaking out of naps to cut bamboo to make blowpipes. The "ammunition" consisted of ripe jute leaves stuffed inside the bamboo tube, then forcefully pushed out by a sharpened bamboo stick. The "ammunition" was compressed through the long tube, so when it exploded, it made a fun "pop" sound.
Around early autumn, we would always go hunting for ripe guavas to eat. Sitting perched on the branches of a guava tree, we'd eat and toss the guavas into the pond with a "plop, plop" sound – what could be more fun? Our boisterous laughter echoed throughout the neighborhood. Our mothers would then chase us home with whips. Once, fearing being caught and punished, I slipped and fell, scratching my calves with dry branches. My mother washed them with salt water and then made me lie face down for a good beating. I cried uncontrollably, blaming her for not loving me and only ever scolding me. As I grew older, I distanced myself even more from her, thinking she only knew how to impose her will on her children. I always argued with her, always defending my own ego. My mother could only cry helplessly. Seeing her cry, I not only didn't feel sorry for her but also became angrier, believing she was using her tears to force me to obey. And so, I gradually drifted away from my mother's embrace.
Alas, the little bird was so excited by the vast sky that it didn't realize the many difficulties that awaited it ahead.
Being stubborn by nature, I gritted my teeth and endured the failure, forcing myself to stand on my own two feet. I was afraid to speak out for fear of hearing my mother's reprimands, afraid to see her disappointed eyes. I longed to prove myself. And so, the time I spent at home gradually became less and less...
I didn't realize my mother was aging so quickly.
I had no idea my mother's time was running out.
I didn't hear my mother's sighs in the night.
I didn't know that every night my mother would be watching her phone, waiting for a call from me.
***
Time waits for no one. By the time I realized my mother's love for me, the candle of her life was already dying out. By the time I learned to buy delicious food and beautiful clothes for her, she couldn't eat them anymore because she had to go on a diet to lower her blood sugar and cholesterol. Looking at my mother's simple vegetarian meals, my eyes welled up with tears. It turns out I am the biggest failure in this life because I couldn't repay my parents' kindness.
My mother passed away on an early autumn day, just one day before the Vu Lan festival. People say that those who die on this special occasion must have practiced virtue and done many good deeds. I don't know if that's true, but when she passed away, her face was so peaceful, a bright smile still on her lips, not writhing in pain from her illness like in the days before.
The Vu Lan season has arrived again. The streets are chilly. My heart is filled with the regret of a child who hasn't fulfilled their filial duty. Suddenly, a sad, heart-wrenching song plays in the shop: "A rose for you, a rose for me, a rose for those who still have their mothers, who still have their mothers to be happier..."
Vu Lan comes around every year, but Mom, you're no longer here for me to show my filial piety to!
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