Spring fills the glass with wine.

On New Year's morning, the familiar drink in my hometown is neither tea nor coffee, but a cup of black glutinous rice wine (also known as purple glutinous rice wine in many places), fermented with leaves, poured from a small earthenware jar placed respectfully next to the altar.

A glass of black glutinous rice wine at the beginning of the year. Photo: Archival material.

The wine wasn't clear, but shimmered with a deep purple hue, sparkling like a lingering fragment of the night sky. People poured a little into a cup, clasped their hands, and prayed. The length of the prayer varied, but they all shared a common theme: hoping for a sweeter tomorrow than yesterday.

Black glutinous rice wine isn't so strong and pungent that it would make people blush and argue about big issues on New Year's Day, but it's warm enough to evoke memories of the past. This wine is slow-acting, seeping in gradually, like the nostalgia of someone far from home – not noisy, but quietly carried along by the breeze, the scent of incense smoke, the sound of a broom sweeping the yard at the end of the lane. With one sip, the old year suddenly comes back like a hand-recorded film, sometimes shaky, sometimes blurry, but every segment is real.

Black glutinous rice wine is brewed from wild yeast, black glutinous rice, spring water, and time. Without time, there is no wine. Without patience, the wine will turn sour. Just like buying a house, starting a business, or maintaining a family, don't just measure it by money, but by years and moral principles. A good glass of wine at the beginning of the year isn't about its high alcohol content, but about it being the right level, at the right time, and with the right people.

The first glass of wine of the year is therefore like a gentle yet firm declaration: drink in moderation so you remain sober enough to cherish each other; speak moderately so there is room for listening; maintain a balance of ego so that the collective good remains. And most importantly, work far from home, but don't let yourself become a stranger in your own familiar home.

The old year had days of incessant rain, storms that swept through, turning the landscape of memories like a garden toppled. But then the new year arrived, people rebuilt fences, repainted corrugated iron roofs, hung up the national flag again, and washed the glasses. The first glass of wine of the year is therefore special. It's not just a drink. It's a custom of refilling faith, a silent yet sacred ritual for adults in my hometown before saying "Happy New Year."

2026 has arrived. New Year's wishes don't need to be grand: wishes for enough work to return home on time, wishes for enough clarity of mind to love the right person, wishes for enough perseverance to buy a roof over your head, wishes for a peaceful country where everyone can enjoy a New Year's drink without worrying about tomorrow. Just wishes like these, yet they are as profound as the ocean's words, as enduring as fermented rice wine, and as warm as a glass of dark purple rice wine during a time of family reunion.

Source: https://baodanang.vn/mua-xuan-rot-day-ly-ruou-3326113.html