Illustration (AI)
I went home on a slow afternoon.
The bus dropped off passengers at the beginning of the village, a short distance from home, just enough for me to drag my suitcase across the old dirt road. That road used to be rough and rocky, and when it was sunny it was dusty and when it rained it was ankle deep. Yet I loved it. Not that I loved the road, but the feeling of walking under the rows of green eucalyptus trees on both sides, the wind blowing through the leaves and hearing someone singing softly.
When I was a child, every afternoon after school, I would take off my shoes, carry them in my hand, and walk barefoot on that dirt road. The ground was warm and soft like human flesh, a feeling that even money cannot buy back now. Under the shade of the eucalyptus trees, I used to run like the wind, fall and scrape my knees, and sit on the ground just to look up at the top of the tall tree, wondering if there were any birds sleeping there.
Time passed like smoke from the kitchen. I grew up, went to school far away, then stayed in the city. I thought it was only temporary, but it became a long stay. Life began to be crowded buses, long meetings, days of forgetting what to eat. The wind in the city was not like in the countryside - the wind was like a gasp, carrying no smell of soil, nor the sound of leaves.
I don’t know when I started to fear the city. Not people or scenery, but the emptiness that creeps in day by day. There are millions of people, but it’s easy to feel alone. The rented room is clean, the air conditioner is cool, but at night it’s as quiet as a jar. There’s no sound of chickens, no sound of slippers shuffling across the alley, no sound of someone calling the kids to come home for dinner.
The city makes me forget the sound of falling dew. I forget to greet strangers every time I meet them in the alley. These things seem small, but when they are gone, people's hearts also loosen like a shirt that no longer fits.
A few years later, the commune built an asphalt road. The road was straight, the cars ran smoothly, and the yellow lights were on every night. But the eucalyptus trees were gradually cut down. The reason given was that the tree roots were blocking the road, making it dangerous for vehicles. I couldn’t argue, I just sat there watching each tree fall like a part of my memory being uprooted, no one asked if anyone still wanted to keep them.
This time, I walked back the same path. There was no more soil, no more trees. Only a few bare stumps lay under the asphalt, black as dry scars. The wind was different, no longer smelling of old leaves, no longer carrying the familiar rustling sound. Everything became strangely quiet - a quietness not of peace, but of emptiness.
I stopped at a place I remembered sitting in. There was a eucalyptus root sticking up like a chair. Now the root was gone, but I still sat on the sidewalk, looking into the space in front of me. I imagined the figure of a child with dirty feet, holding a cloth bag, and a heart full of things I could not name.
There are places that, once changed, not only do they lose their scenery but they also lose a part of their beautiful memories. I miss the afternoon wind blowing through the trees, I miss the sound as if someone was calling out something very gentle. I miss the damp smell of the soil after the afternoon rain, I also miss my small figure sitting absent-mindedly when I was about to leave my hometown to go to school.
On the way back home, I picked up a dry eucalyptus leaf left on the shore. Small, curved like a boat. I put it in my pocket, not to keep it, but to remind myself that sometimes a leaf is enough to hold on to a lost path./.
Eucalyptus
Source: https://baolongan.vn/nguoi-que-tham-mui-khuynh-diep-a198978.html
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