Summer days

At the end of May, when the flamboyant trees bloom, schools hold their closing ceremonies. Many schools plant flamboyant trees; the flowers bloom red, and the female students wear white ao dai (traditional Vietnamese dress), while the male students wear white shirts and blue trousers, sitting in the schoolyard on the last day of the school year, creating a poignant feeling.

My daughter in Hanoi sent me a photo of my granddaughter graduating from 5th grade. The school she attends is an international school, so the ceremony was quite elaborate. The school had the students wear their uniforms, presented them with graduation certificates, and sang a farewell song together. Seeing my granddaughter graduate brings a feeling of joy, because those moments are milestones of her school years, something to remember in the future.

Later, when we finished 12th grade, we didn't have a graduation ceremony like we do now. It was just the last school meeting, the last class meeting, before diving into studying for exams to get our high school diploma. The current generation of students is more mature than their grandparents and parents; the graduation ceremony is beautiful and poignant. There's the scene of signing each other's names on our white school uniforms—those uniforms, when we grow up and look at each faded signature, will bring back memories.

This season, it's already morning at 5 a.m. Sleep seems to follow the sunlight of the day, as the light from the glass tiles on the wall signals the start of a new day. So, upon waking, the yard is covered in a carpet of yellow flowers, the blossoms of the yellow jasmine tree secretly falling. In the summer, the neighborhood kids often come to the grocery store to buy snacks or other trinkets, excitedly boasting, "I'm spending my summer vacation at Grandma's house!" Once, the boys talked about their grandmother's house being in a province far north, describing their summer vacation trip as incredibly enjoyable. They enjoyed walking on the grassy dirt road, running and playing without being honked at by cars, seeing the moon rise, and picking vegetables around the house to cook a soup. Grandma's house is a general term for the children to imagine a rural area. Their grandmother's summer home isn't an apartment where you have to close the door every time you go in and out, where the sky is seen in a square, undefined space, and where you don't see rice fields.

Talking about the neighborhood kids going back to their hometowns for summer made me realize how empty our house is. The school year is over, and the children aren't coming home for summer vacation. Their parents can't get time off, and the kids are older now and prefer going on field trips with their classmates. The house has always been like this; when the children were younger, there was always enough room for two families to come home together. Now that they're older, if one family comes, they have to stay in a hotel, and the high cost of plane tickets also makes it difficult to travel home when the economy is increasingly tough.

Each day, the flame trees on my street become more vibrant with red blossoms. The street is quieter in the early morning because there are fewer parents dropping their children off at school. Stopping at the eatery to buy breakfast is also quicker, as there are no parents asking for priority service to get their children to school on time. That's how it is. Summer has arrived, and the flame trees are becoming more colorful each day.

KHUE VIET TRUONG

Source: https://baokhanhhoa.vn/van-hoa/sang-tac/202505/nhung-ngay-mua-ha-e133890/