(AI)
Every September and October, old memories flood back, gently touching upon cherished moments from childhood. So many autumns have passed in my life. Autumn, with its scent of fields and meadows, the faint aroma of tiny, sour guavas dipped in salt and chili, or ripe, golden-yellow with bright pink flesh, illuminates a whole sky of memories in my life.
Back in the days of my generation (those born in the 70s), things weren't as abundant as they are now. There weren't many expensive toys, nor the internet or smartphones. Perhaps that's why our hobbies were simpler, and even the humble treats of small guavas from our hometown were enough to fill my childhood with joy.
I remember going to my maternal grandparents' house with my mother. Instead of napping at noon, my cousins and I would follow the scent of guava blossoms, climb the trees, and perch on branches to share ripe guavas. In the countryside, guavas didn't need peeling; we'd just wipe them lightly on our clothes and enjoy them. The slightly ripe, crunchy, and sour pieces were delicious, while the fully ripe, yellow ones were soft, tender, and sweet.
I remember those times when we were so caught up in the bait that some of us slipped and fell into the pond, luckily managing to grab onto a flexible guava branch to pull ourselves back up. It's true, as our grandparents used to say, "the mangrove is crunchy, the guava is chewy, and the tamarind is firm!"
Having lived more than half my life, traveling through countless regions of my homeland, and enjoying many varieties of high-yield guavas from both domestic and international sources, such as the white-fleshed Taiwanese guava or the red-fleshed Rubi guava, I still vividly remember the distinctive aroma of the small guava, its refreshing sweetness on the tongue. Just smelling it evokes the pure freshness of autumn in my hometown. That is also the most precious thing I have cherished in my heart for all these years, as if wanting to hold onto every lingering flavor of the autumns of my childhood.
After a whole day of climbing and running around in my grandparents' garden, I returned home and gathered with my family, enjoying a basket of ripe guavas that my aunt and uncle had brought back. The whole family enjoyed the guavas after dinner. My parents talked about the weather and the harvest. They discussed how my mother was helping Uncle Tư plant rice today and would be helping Aunt Bảy harvest vegetables tomorrow. My father would be planting a new row of flowers and some fruit trees, and we even talked about our school fees after the first month of the new school year… Just that much was enough to feel the warmth of family togetherness amidst the scent of guavas from our old garden!
The scent of small guavas also evokes sweet memories of the Mid-Autumn Festival with childhood friends, of bright, shimmering moonlit nights casting a golden glow over the village lanes and country roads. It was a time when we would circle the village and then gather in the village schoolyard with our homemade star-shaped lanterns lit with candles. More than forty years ago, the children in our village didn't even know what mooncakes were, but the flavors of our local fruits, alongside pomelos and mangoes, included small guavas, an indispensable treat, shared from pockets we carried... Sometimes, reminiscing, I wonder if my siblings and I, and our friends from the past, still remember the taste of those sweet, fragrant small guavas under the full moon during the Mid-Autumn Festival now?
Now that I'm grown up, far from my hometown, preoccupied with making a living; my grandparents and parents have also passed away, but every autumn, I take a moment to reflect on my childhood days. I remember to keep pace with the seasons and return to the familial bonds, even if they only remain in my memory. And... I remember to thank life for allowing me to grow up through those autumns with the peaceful scent of guava in the old Mekong Delta.
Thuan Khang
Source: https://baolongan.vn/nho-thuong-mua-oi-se-que-nha--a203186.html
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