Every year, when July comes, the summer wind still blows along the hillsides, slopes, and streams that once bore the mark of the green shirts. That shirt color is not flashy, not outstanding among the myriad of flags and flowers, but it is the color of the sky, of hope, of perseverance. The girls and boys in their late teens and early twenties put aside their own dreams, shoulder their backpacks, and set out, so that the Truong Son road can be extended, so that each vehicle and troop going to battle will not be stopped by mountains, hills, bombs, and bullets.
On July 15, 1950, following the call of beloved Uncle Ho, the first Youth Volunteer Team was established to serve the Border Campaign. From then on, the image of green-shirted troops appeared everywhere in the deep forests and steep passes. They broke rocks to open roads, built bridges, transported ammunition, carried wounded soldiers, buried their comrades, then quietly picked up their backpacks and continued on, so that the flow of the resistance war would never stop.
During those years, countless people lay down on the roadside, on the banks of streams, on the top of remote mountain passes. Their youth turned into shady green forests, into cool streams of water for later generations to rest. Those anonymous graves that everyone who passed by would clasp their hands and bow their heads. Because those people may be anonymous in documents and stone tablets, but not anonymous in the memories of the mountains and rivers.
Sometimes I wonder, what makes those little people strong? What makes them willing to leave their hometowns, leave their families, take hoes and shovels to face bullets, bombs, wild forests and poisonous waters? Perhaps it is a very rustic, simple but also extremely great belief: Believing that the road they open today, tomorrow there will be troops passing by, thousands of convoys going to the front line, and then one day not far away, the country will be at peace.
Perhaps they did not have time to think deeply, did not have time to calculate the pros and cons, only knowing that when the Fatherland needed them, they went, when their comrades needed them, they were there. It was as simple as that, but it turned out to be so great. During the long nights of the cold Truong Son mountains, their singing drowned out the sound of falling bombs. During the field meals, rice balls were divided in half, divided in three so that everyone had enough strength to hold a hoe and pull a cart. During the rare short moments sitting by the fire, they sent back home muddy letters, telling stories about the forest, about the stream, about dreaming of a day when flowers would bloom all over the road.
Now, when the country has calmed down from the war, the Truong Son road no longer has bomb scars, vehicles run smoothly through mountain passes, how many people still remember the sleepless nights patching the road, the groups of people silently carrying stones, cutting bamboo to build bridges. But history is not forgotten. Those bridges across the river, those roads through the mountains all bear the handprints of the Youth Volunteer Force. Every meter of road bears the shadow of sacrifice.
Those people now have grey hair, hunched backs, and trembling hands as they hold up the commemorative medal. Every July 15, they meet again, calling each other by their old affectionate names. Some are still alive, some are gone. Some carry shrapnel in their bodies, wounds that will never heal. But their eyes still sparkle with pride - the pride of a generation that dared to live fully for a great cause.
Today, in the new rhythm of life, the image of the Youth Volunteers is still there, in the green summer volunteer teams, in the programs of building bridges, making roads, giving books, spreading knowledge in the highlands, helping people and local authorities in digital transformation. They no longer carry rocks to clear roads amid bombs and bullets, but wade through streams, cross forests to bring the light of knowledge, bring medicine , bring faith to distant lands. The long thread of the volunteer spirit still runs through the hearts of many young generations today.
Some people say that the young generation today is no longer the same as before, no longer has great ideals, no longer knows how to sacrifice. But just look, there are still students who are willing to put aside their summer to go to the highlands to spread knowledge. There are still young people wearing green and red shirts who volunteer to rush into the epidemic area, not faltering in the face of hardship. The seed of the Youth Volunteer spirit has never faded - it has only changed shape, transformed, to suit the times.
In the midst of today's bustling city, sometimes we feel regretful. Because the hustle and bustle of life easily makes people forget the simple things. But if we sit next to a former Youth Volunteer, listen to them talk about rainy nights in Truong Son, listen to them laugh when talking about cutting mountains and building roads, we will understand: This country was kept and built by hands that are not afraid of mud, not afraid of bloodshed.
And then, when we walk silently on those unmarked roads, we will feel grateful. Grateful that we are walking, living, and dreaming. Grateful that the sweat and blood of so many generations of young men are mixed in the flesh and blood of this homeland. Grateful that each rolling wheel today is the echo of footsteps that never stop.
July, please bow your head before the unmarked roads. Bow your head before those who silently sacrificed so that our Fatherland can be reunited. So that those roads will always be green with trees, filled with the sound of birds, and that future generations will still remember and tell each other about a generation that chose hardship to build a peaceful day.
DUC ANH
Source: https://baoapbac.vn/su-kien-binh-luan/202507/nhung-con-duong-khong-dau-chan-1046824/
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