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| The vibrant red of the flamboyant tree in May - Photo: Nh.V |
My memories of my school days are always linked to the familiar image of my village school, where I learned my first letters and numbers. It was a humble space with moss-covered tiled roofs and earthen walls mixed with straw, weathered by the elements. I still vividly remember the long rows of wooden desks, each with a round hole in the front just big enough for an ink bottle. After each lesson, we students would go home with our hands, faces, and clothes stained with ink.
Back then, almost every schoolyard had two familiar types of trees: the Indian almond tree and the flamboyant tree, unlike today's schools which have many flowers and ornamental plants. When summer came, the Indian almond tree was like a giant green umbrella, providing shade for us to play and read, while the flamboyant tree was like a silent friend, recording all the fond memories and feelings of our school days. Our classmates were mostly children from the same village, close friends since childhood, so they understood each other's personalities and preferences well.
During recess, the boys would climb the banyan tree, carefully selecting leaves that weren't too old, and meticulously shaping them into buffaloes. The girls, meanwhile, would gather phoenix tree leaves to create soft green mats for playing games like buffalo fighting and card games. In those days, fairy tales were considered precious, so anyone who had a book would bring it to class to read aloud to the whole group. As soon as one child began to read, the entire group would gather around, sitting silently, attentively listening to every word and phrase, as if drawn into a magical fairy tale world .
In middle school, we moved to schools with rows of bright red tiled roofs and white plastered walls. When the summer sun brought forth the vibrant red blossoms of the flamboyant trees, the final exams were over, and the schoolyard became more lively and bustling than ever. The boys eagerly competed for straw balls or chased plastic balls rolling across the grass. The girls gathered in groups of five or three to play traditional games like hopscotch, jump rope, and marbles... Normally so energetic, the last class before summer vacation always carried a melancholic sadness. The atmosphere seemed to quiet down, the classroom suddenly silent as no one wanted to leave their familiar desks. Amidst the buzzing of cicadas, only lingering glances remained...
For me, summer is always associated with the most beautiful years of my high school life. The school I attended back then was considered quite impressive, with sturdy, four-story classrooms and windows painted in a soothing green. Just by looking through the window, a vast expanse of blue sky, the vibrant green of the banyan leaves, and the brilliant red of the flamboyant trees were all within my view.
During the final summer of high school, everyone was diligently studying to prepare for the most important exam of their student life. The most relaxing and carefree moments were climbing trees to play hide-and-seek, or picking vibrant red blossoms of the flamboyant tree to press into their autograph books. Back then, each student cherished a small notebook they had decorated themselves with brightly colored covers. It was where they kept their heartfelt thoughts and dried flowers, preserving the memories of their youth.
Under the old flame tree, we exchanged bouquets of vibrant red flowers, each concealing a letter overflowing with heartfelt emotions. Words of love were carefully written, yet we lacked the courage to deliver them. And then, as we parted ways, looking back at the brilliant red blossoms of yesteryear, we felt a pang of nostalgia and regret…
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| For students, the season of flamboyant flowers is also the exam season - Photo: Nh.V |
For the children in my village back then, going to school was the greatest happiness, so few were enthusiastic about the three months of summer vacation. After all, summer break meant busy days helping mothers with household chores like babysitting, gathering firewood, and cooking... Modern life has brought a new face to summer with exciting and vibrant experiences. When personal needs are met with abundance, the bond and longing for school and friends seem to diminish somewhat.
In the past, we rarely had photos taken, so we could only cherish our memories and store them away in the drawers of our minds. Now, every moment of our school days is vividly recreated through photographs and films. Every time the flamboyant trees bloom, the schoolyard becomes bustling like a miniature film set. To create impressive graduation photos, every scene and angle is meticulously planned and staged, from the posture of picking flowers, giving flowers, to even the subtle touch of hands and glances... Some photo shoots are very elaborate, taking up to ten days to complete with all kinds of costumes and settings...
Looking at those images, my heart sank, and old memories flooded back. I saw glimpses of myself in the innocent, mischievous schoolchildren, only back then, none of us had to "act."
Amidst the vibrant red blossoms and the chirping of cicadas, I am reminded of the beautiful lyrics from the nostalgic song "The Time of Red Flowers" by composer Nguyen Dinh Bang, set to a poem by Thanh Tung: “Every time the red flowers bloom / They fall like rain / Like the days of our youthful folly / We gaze deep into each other’s eyes / In your poem, I am not present / The poem sings of a time of love / I am not sad, only regretful / That you did not experience all those days of passionate love…”
Amidst the hustle and bustle of life, whenever I feel weary, I return to the realm of memories, where youth shone brightly like blooming flowers, to find solace and to cherish even more those passionate and vibrant years of my youth.
Nh.V
Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/van-hoa/202605/mua-hoa-ky-niem-6194df3/
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