Old sunshine

In front of my grandmother's house flowed a river called the Cai River. Back then, the river's water was clear and blue, and the banks were smooth and sandy. My grandmother owned a sandbank in the middle of the river, surrounded on all sides by lush green bamboo groves. In the clear sunlight filtering through the leaves on a summer day, someone's mischievous eyes met mine as we played hide-and-seek. In the garden, I saw her hiding but pretended not to see her, searching around, my eyes never leaving her white dress, which trembled slightly behind the leaves. Was she the sun? Or was she the sun? The midday sun was vast and boundless. The sound of roosters crowed in the distance. She smiled like the sun. Radiant and captivating. The sun burned the skin, igniting the space for the flamboyant blossoms to burst into flames, making hearts race. I returned home, and even late at night, the sun still shimmered, hot and innocent.

Hearing someone sing: "Love is like sunshine/Sunshine brings you back to the stream of dreams," I told her that love isn't like sunshine, but rather sudden sunshine, sudden rain, like the weather. She was happy. Then sad. Happy, like a burst of sunshine, joyful and radiant. And sad, like a rainy night, melancholic and cold. Sunshine, makes her lips rosy. Rain, makes her eyes sad. She said, "If it rains all the time, it must be sunshine; but if it's sunny all the time, it must rain too." She was right, sunshine and rain are like two extremes, yet they accompany each other in the universe, in life, and in love. In the old seasons, the sound of rain on the thatched roof was as gentle as dreams of harvest time. Outside, the fields are green. Rain makes the young rice plants sway and smile. Rain floods the paths, erasing footprints. Rain fuels passionate love, filling the yard with rice. In rain and sunshine, people love on so many levels. Between sunshine and rain, people love with so much intensity. That's how it was back then, Trinh Cong Son sang: I have loved you on so many sunny days / I have loved you on so many rainy days…

But somehow, I still see the sun high above, like the illusory image of a figure in a white dress, of a time of white dresses. And the sun scorched me on those afternoons walking to school on the sandy village road. The proud color of the sun, so that in her eyes I saw the whole essence of our homeland. At noon, when the sun was high in the sky, I still thought it was morning.

Then she left. Like a boat drifting downstream. At the old dock, the sun still smiled innocently through the leaves. And the sun saw someone sitting by the river, missing someone. Someone said no one bathes twice in the same river. I am on the shore, I am me. And the river is the river. When I jump into the river, I am a different me. And the river has become a different river. She settled in a land of ice and snow, Canada, as cold as Mars. Freezing. Ice and snow. There, she wrote to me, saying she feared her heart would also freeze, afraid that the memories, the affections, the pain, the suffering would just slip away without a trace. In her dreams, she saw the sun smiling joyfully. She said that the sun was happiness, the warmest thing that always remained within her. She had experienced, gone through so much pain, that sometimes it seemed as if there was no sun left in her heart. Until she woke up, and heard the sun shining brightly in her heart. I understand, it's not that you're frozen because of the biting cold, but because you're missing that crystal-clear, sparkling, yet fragile sunshine of your hometown.

That's right, precious things are often fragile and hard to keep. Often, people don't pay attention to what they're holding in their hands. Only when they lose it do they regret it, but it's too late. I shared her thoughts; and joked, "Wherever you go, in the little bit of sunshine you carry, try to write a few words: 'Please handle with care…'" The sunlit landscapes are like vibrant green hues in our memories. There are so many shades of sunshine, colors of sunshine, forms of sunshine. Spring sunshine gives birth to plants. Summer sunshine helps plants grow. Autumn sunshine helps plants bear fruit. And winter sunshine helps plants accumulate energy to be born at the beginning of the new year. I say the sunshine of my homeland ignites a source of revitalizing energy. Revival for plants and grass. And revival for the soul. Therefore, someone said: Enough sunshine, flowers will bloom; enough love, happiness will be abundant.

Then I met her again, without a date, when I visited my maternal grandparents' village. The traces of the recent flood were still there. My grandparents' house was submerged up to head height. She hadn't contacted me. Only when we met did she softly say, "I'm sorry…" and say that back then, every house in my grandparents' village had a small boat, woven from bamboo strips, which was usually moored behind the house. When the floodwaters rose, the boat was lowered to transport people and belongings to safety. And with nets prepared, the elders would use the boat to cast their nets, catching delicious and enjoyable meals during the flood, with fragrant stewed and grilled freshwater fish. Now, when I returned, she wanted to give each family a small boat like that to help people move around during the flood.

She said her hometown is as warm as paradise. Partly because of the warm sunshine, melting away the ice within her. Another part is the loving and sharing spirit of her people. Only in her hometown does she experience the longing from the summer sun to the spring rain. This afternoon, I heard someone sing Trinh Cong Son's "White Summer." The sky was gloomy. But within me, there was so much sunshine: "Calling the sun on your slender shoulders… the sun takes you back to the highlands where the wind blows…" A whole sky of sunshine. Sunshine is the source, the inspiration for your slender shoulders; your dress now fades into the distant clouds… And then, the sunshine ignites a wish: "Even if the old dress is worn, I still wish to call each other's names until our hair turns gray." Suddenly, I noticed and realized that Trinh Cong Son's music contains so much sunshine. There's early morning sunshine, crystalline sunshine, and even… late-night sunshine. But, ultimately, sunshine is boundless energy that warms the emotions of generous hearts.

The sun rises, bringing blue skies and white clouds. The love of youth is like the first rays of sunlight on a branch. The sun melts away the icy chill from my beloved. The sun will still be there, in the garden, still lingering on her white dress, in those magical moments of innocent youth. She misses the sun. Does the sun miss her, stirring with joy and sorrow?

Where are you? This afternoon, under the canopy of trees, the sun is still shining…

Nha Trang, on the eve of the Lunar New Year of the Horse - 2026

Essay by Phong Nguyen

Source: https://baokhanhhoa.vn/bao-xuan-2026/202602/nang-cu-37e0dcf/