I remember the summers of my school days, when life was so simple that joy was just being woken up on time by my mother in the morning, cycling to school, and sitting in a classroom with an open window to let in the breeze. My old school was located at the end of a small road, with an old banyan tree in front and a large courtyard behind with two flame trees. Every May, when the first hot winds began to seep through the classroom windows, the cicadas would begin to awaken in the foliage. At first, it was just a few scattered chirps at midday, sounding like someone trying to herald summer. Then, I don't know when, the sound gradually became more frequent, echoing throughout the schoolyard, filling recess, and even the afternoons after school when the sunlight was already setting behind the classrooms.
In our early school years, the sound of cicadas was a source of excitement for us. The cicadas' chirping meant summer vacation was approaching, meaning no more waking up early, no more memorizing lessons, and no more worrying about unexpected tests. The cicadas heralded afternoons spent playing in the fields, late-night soccer games, shared ice cream cones with friends, and sudden early-season rain showers that sent us running and laughing.
The sound of cicadas gradually changed during high school, when summer was no longer just a holiday. It became the season of yearbooks. The season of hesitant glances when they accidentally met in the school hallway. The season of late afternoon tutoring sessions, when the sun had faded, the schoolyard was deserted, with only a few bicycles parked by the flame tree. That's what school life is like; every feeling comes so gently. Just someone sitting next to you lending you a pen when you forgot yours. Just one time doing cleaning duty together, standing side-by-side wiping the blackboard under the sunlight streaming through the window. Just one rainy day, someone pulling your chair closer to prevent water from splashing on you. Such tiny things are enough to cherish for an entire afternoon, and you'll still be smiling innocently at home.
During our last summer at school, the cicadas' chirping became a familiar melody. The schoolyard was ablaze with the vibrant red of the flame tree blossoms. Petals fell everywhere: on white shirts, on the steps, on the ground, and even on the hastily filled autograph books being passed around. Everyone was laughing, taking pictures, and making plans to meet again. The white school uniforms were covered in signatures from the entire class. There were scribbled notes, short wishes, and even some nonsensical jokes from close friends…
The years gradually take each of us to different cities, to meet new people, and to embark on new journeys. There are joys, losses, and things we thought we had forgotten. But then, one May afternoon, when we accidentally hear the sound of cicadas echoing from a treetop, our hearts slow down, as if we've just encountered our seventeen-year-old selves, with hearts still full of dreams. School days, in truth, never truly left us. They simply slept peacefully in a deep corner of our memories, waiting for the cicadas to call summer back, and then they would awaken, intact and gentle.
Source: https://www.sggp.org.vn/nham-mat-thay-mua-he-post854131.html
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