An unforgettable time

Illustration: LE NGOC DUY

I was born and raised in a family that barely made ends meet, not struggling too much with daily life, but not always having plenty either. We grew up going to school with a peaceful childhood, free from worries. Many times we followed the buffaloes and cows to the fields, swam in the river, and invented games like "O An Quan" (a traditional Vietnamese board game), "hide-and-seek," and countless other games, sometimes in the fields, sometimes by the haystack, or in a neighbor's garden.

Sometimes we would dive into the river to catch clams, mussels, fish, and shrimp, then grill them to eat. We didn't know if the food was clean, but it tasted delicious when our stomachs were rumbling with hunger and we had no snacks or sweets.

In April and May, after the harvest is over, piles of straw still lie in the fields. People bring home so much that they burn it to roast beans, corn, and potatoes in the smoky evening air. At that time, the countryside seems shrouded in mist, dreamy and peaceful. I can't forget those afternoons sitting leaning against a buffalo, humming to myself while studying, watching the setting sun gradually fade in the west, with distant fires lit in the village fields. And those nights by the silvery moonlight on the river, with a small boat like a leaf drifting gently on the water.

As the days and months passed, the boys and girls in the neighborhood and village, who just yesterday were bathing naked, grew up, went away to work, and some tearfully bid farewell to their parents and younger siblings to get married, never to return for many years.

Then came the war, with the sound of bombs falling, bullets exploding, tearing through the sky and splitting the earth. There were years when we had to move and live with other families, that was in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Our house in the countryside burned down, leaving us with nothing. In our new home, my family, like many others, was given corrugated iron to build a new house. These houses were just a few small rooms, with low roofs, stiflingly hot in the summer. But every day, from within those houses, I could still hear the echoing sounds of the guitar and singing of the young girl next door, with her long, flowing hair and dark eyes. Sometimes it was the clear, melodious singing of love songs from the radio or cassette player that the villagers had saved up to buy to listen to music and news.

When I was about 14, I already knew how to sing songs with lyrics like, "Five years have passed since we last met, since you got married," and "I miss you, returning to the dark alley / So many leaves falling / I miss you, smiling without speaking / Hesitantly, leaves kiss your shoulder." Sometimes, when we were in the mood, we would hum along to modern folk songs: "Let me relive the upright Le-Tran era / She weaves silk, he studies with a lamp, waiting for the imperial examination... Let me relive the love of Luu Binh and Duong Le / Asking Chau Long how many seasons of silkworm farming she endured to support her husband?" We would just sing and hum along to the melody without knowing the meaning of the song.

Growing up, I don't know why, but I loved reading lines like, "The wind comes from the dry, leafless road / I take you home in time for the drifting afternoon." And then there were those poignant, memorable lines by Dinh Hung in his poem "Wings of the Past": "I return to the road up the mountain, knowing / I pity the clouds drifting from there, still lonely / The flowers still have half a soul / The blades of grass lean their shoulders searching for illusory dreams." When did I become so captivated by those lines?

Then came the autumn leaves changing color, and the scorching sun was replaced by hurried afternoon rains. We ran in the rain, bathing to our hearts' content, washing away the dust and wind of the sweltering summer, feeling fresher and more radiant in the autumn's new attire—the back-to-school season for students.

And I don't know when it started, but I began writing a diary, recording my feelings and emotions about the changing leaves, about the sudden rains... I never imagined that these very feelings, these stirring emotions, would motivate me to apply to the Literature department at a university not far from my hometown of Quang Tri . Then I went to teach in a distant province, and a few years later I returned to work as a journalist in my hometown. I traveled and wrote, through many rural areas, meeting brothers and sisters, elderly people, lonely amidst the ups and downs of life with so many conflicting emotions, sometimes happy, sometimes sad, sometimes encountering injustice and not knowing what to do, sometimes wanting to uncover the truth, to do something good but why is it so difficult?...

Although life doesn't always go as planned, we maintain a calm state of mind. We are always grateful for the blessings and advantages life has given us. I don't know if it's because I come from a farming family, but I've always been conscious of appreciating and being grateful to the people who produce the cassava, sweet potatoes, rice, and grains that sustain us every day.

Often, living alone, I wake up at night to the sound of raindrops falling and feel overwhelmed with sadness as I see the leaves falling in the yard. Memories of the past come flooding back, and I feel a pang of longing for those childhood days...

Phuoc An

Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/mot-thoi-kho-quen-193970.htm