Remembering my old school…

November always arrives slowly and gently. It doesn't have the boisterous shouts of the scorching summer days, nor the sweet golden sunshine of August or September.

November arrives with pale blue skies, with a gentle breeze just enough to make one tuck in their coat, with a morning awakened to a thinner-than-usual scent of dew, and a heart softening in an indescribable way. Perhaps that's why, over the years, whenever November returns, I always feel as if I'm stepping into a realm of old memories, where love once existed so vividly, yet now, simply remembering it brings everything back to life—transparent, peaceful, and strangely pure.

Illustration photo: Internet

I remember my old school, and old images come alive again. The banyan trees in the schoolyard are beginning to shed their leaves, yellow ones falling all over the ground. Each time the wind blows, the leaves swirl gently before touching the ground like a slow greeting. The schoolyard in the early morning still has a lingering chill from the night, dew clinging to the window bars of the classrooms, to the old wooden desks, and to each chair with the engraved names of someone who cherished a memory from their youth. I went through those years in a very natural, carefree way, not knowing how to hold onto anything, only to understand later that perhaps the most beautiful years of a person's life are those years when we haven't yet realized that we are living in youth.

My teachers still appear as if they never left that hallway. I remember the sound of my teacher's footsteps passing by the classroom every morning, his simple shirt, his kind eyes, yet always serious at the start of each lesson. I remember her steady voice reading literature, like a quiet stream, yet each word seeped into me without me even realizing it. I used to wonder why so many things we considered unimportant in class, things we might even forget after the lesson, became the way I faced life at a certain age. The poem I hastily copied during literature class, the passage she explained about kindness, or the teacher's advice before the exam—"as long as you give your all, the result is worth it"—all of these weren't just lessons from textbooks, but things that supported me through the challenging years of adulthood that followed.

November also holds something else in my heart, gentle and fragile like a breeze: first love. A fleeting glance during recess. Standing next to each other under an awning sheltering from the rain, both silent. A feeling so awkward, not knowing where to put your hands when passing by that person. There were no declarations. No one dared to say anything significant. Just a few ordinary questions, a few lines of text exchanged on a folded piece of paper, or simply a wish for good luck on an exam on a winter morning. Yet, people remember it for a lifetime.

Time continued to pass, until the time came for us to leave school and go our separate ways. On the final day of school, no one said much, but something in everyone's heart was quietly changing. The hallways were the same, the blackboard was the same, the school bell still rang three times as usual, but this time we heard the bell as a farewell...

Years later, when November returned, I suddenly wanted to retrace my steps. The school had changed its paint, the courtyard had been repaved, the trees from years ago had grown or been replaced, but just standing in front of the school gate, I immediately felt transported back. We no longer ran, no longer called each other's names, no longer carried heavy schoolbags on our shoulders, but deep in my heart, I could clearly hear the laughter of my seventeen-year-old self. I knew that the most beautiful things weren't what I saw before me, but what had once happened within me.

And then, on a very slow November afternoon, I unconsciously smiled. Not because everything was still intact, but because it had once existed so beautifully. I realized that I didn't need to return to stay. Simply remembering and living on with kindness was a way of showing gratitude.

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-du-lich-van-hoc-nghe-thuat/van-hoc-nghe-thuat/202511/nho-mai-truong-xua-0001735/