Longing for spring to come home.

In the last days of the twelfth lunar month, the weather is cool and crisp, but towards midday the sun comes out, and the air warms up considerably. Pale pink buds have already appeared on the peach branches.

The gentle spring breeze blows, carrying with it the fragrance of flowers and the eager anticipation of Tet (Lunar New Year). Amidst the vast expanse of the year-end days, we feel restless, longing for spring to arrive.

I sit here counting down the days on the calendar. My hometown calls me back with a thousand memories and longings. Memories come flooding back, vividly like a slow-motion film. It's the dusty red dirt village road where I ran and played with my friends in my childhood. It's the smell of burning straw and the smoke rising from the fields as people prepare the land for the new planting season. It's the image of my mother diligently tending to the rows of green vegetables, preparing for Tet (Lunar New Year)... All these memories are deeply etched in my mind, and I think that no matter how many years pass, they will never fade.

I long for spring to return to my old home, where traces of my childhood still remain. The spacious front yard, where rice was dried in the summer, corn in the winter, and various kinds of beans in the spring. In the back garden, there was a trellis of gourds and pumpkins that my mother planted, and a guava tree that my siblings and I used to climb to pick fruit.

I remember those late afternoons at the end of the year, when Dad would call my siblings and me over to help whitewash the walls and clean the ancestral altar. Although the house was old, every Tet (Lunar New Year) it would be renovated and tidied up to welcome a new year full of hope.

Illustration: Tran Thanh Long

I long for spring to return and hear those familiar sounds again: the crowing of roosters at dawn, the boisterous barking of dogs teasing each other, the village loudspeaker broadcasting songs celebrating spring, the Party, and the country's renewal.

I remember the laughter of children running and jumping on the village road, showing off their new clothes and shoes that their parents had just bought. The village road was muddy in the rainy season and covered in red dust in the dry season, with weeds growing all along both sides. That was the road we took to school every day, a witness to countless childhood memories.

I long for spring to come so I can go to the Tet market with my mother like in the old days. The afternoon market on the thirtieth day of Tet is perhaps the most special market of the year. From early morning, people crowd into the market. The stalls are overflowing with vibrant flowers: pink peach blossoms, yellow apricot blossoms, yellow chrysanthemums, and deep red gladioli. The scent of flowers mingles with the aroma of freshly cooked banh chung and banh tet (traditional Vietnamese rice cakes). The shouts of vendors fill the air; sellers hope customers will buy their flowers in time for the New Year's Eve cooking, while flower sellers proudly display their fresh, beautiful produce.

My mother led me from one stall to another, haggling over prices and carefully selecting each item. Every year, she would buy several potted flowers to decorate the altar, some sweets and snacks to offer guests, and sticky rice, onions, and cilantro to prepare for the Tet holiday. The moments spent jostling in the crowd, my mother's hand tightly gripping mine, her basket overflowing with goods, and her smile at the start of spring will forever remain in my memory, filled with so much love.

We long for spring to arrive so we can see the bustling village preparing for Tet. Months before Tet, every household fattens up their pigs, carefully preparing each meal, hoping to have a delicious pig to share with the villagers during the holiday. On the afternoon of the thirtieth day of the lunar month, everyone pitches in to butcher the pig, then divides the meat equally among everyone.

The men gathered around the glowing fire, cooking sticky rice cakes (bánh chưng and bánh tét), chatting and sharing stories all night. The women busied themselves with trays of sweets, coconut jam, ginger preserves, and preparing the five-fruit offering for the New Year's Eve ceremony. Children played throughout the village, eagerly awaiting the moment when fireworks would light up the night sky. The spring atmosphere permeated every alley and every house, making everyone cheerful and joyful.

We long for spring to arrive so we can gather with our families. The New Year's Eve dinner, though simple, is filled with warmth and affection. Mother prepares the meals from morning, father cleans the ancestral altar, and siblings help with various tasks. When the meal is ready, the whole family gathers, and father recites prayers to the ancestors, wishing for a peaceful and lucky new year. It is at such times that we truly understand the saying, "Tet is for returning home." Returning home is not just about going back to the house, but about returning to our loved ones, those who have worked so hard to raise us.

Father's hair has turned gray, mother's back is bent. The number of times we can still be together is limited. That's why each spring is a precious gift, an opportunity to express our filial piety, to remember the moments we spend together. We long for spring to come... nothing extravagant, just to be home, to say "I'm home," to sit at the family dinner table. That's all, simple yet overflowing with love…

Mai Hoang

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-xa-hoi/van-hoa/202602/mong-xuan-de-ve-1582ce5/