The old days

My parents' old house was on Nguyen Trai Street, a few dozen steps from Xom Moi Market. The street started from Phuoc Hai Street and ended at To Hien Thanh Street. Nguyen Trai Street was probably only about a kilometer long, but it had many parallel side streets. From top to bottom were Mac Dinh Chi Street, Nguyen Tuong Tam Street, Nguyen Hoang Street, Tran Nguyen Han Street, Ngo Duc Ke Street, Ngo Thoi Nhiem Street, before finally ending at a three-way intersection with To Hien Thanh Street. Phuoc Hai Street, which ran past the Nha Trang Cathedral, is now Nguyen Trai Street, while the old street where my parents' house was located has been renamed Vo Tru Street. Nguyen Hoang Street is now Ngo Gia Tu Street, and Nguyen Tuong Tam Street is now Tran Binh Trong Street. The streets were like straight lines, so when I remember it, I picture my old neighborhood as a chessboard, and everything feels very familiar.

My family moved to Xóm Mới in the early years when the area was just developing. My mother told me that back then there weren't any clearly defined roads; everywhere was just sand and overgrown with thorny cacti. By the time I was old enough to understand, I could already see the Xóm Mới market situated between several intersections. In the center of the market was a covered market surrounded by makeshift wooden stalls. My parents' neighborhood seemed to be the busiest area there. Each house was quite spacious, with front and back yards, so the houses didn't share walls like they do now. When I was little, our house was a three-room house with a tiled roof, situated in a very large courtyard. In front of the house, we had a trellis of gourds or loofahs. My father was the main breadwinner, while my mother stayed home to help my grandmother with her small business and look after our large brood of children. When I think back to my old home, I often remember our family life back then, how every morning my grandfather would take a few of the younger grandchildren to the beach. The beach was still the same place, but it wasn't as crowded as it is now. There were no people exercising, and probably no one gazing at the sunrise to take pictures. Occasionally, my grandfather would find a nest of sea turtle eggs in the sand—small, white eggs the size of ping-pong balls, with soft shells, laid by the mother turtle on the beach and buried in the sand the night before. Back then, nobody knew about the need to protect rare animals, so everyone happily shared them and took them home...

Some stalls at Xóm Mới market.

Not all memories bring joy when recalled, but some are like a refreshing stream of water that soothes the heart, preventing it from withering with time. Next to my parents' old house was Uncle Ba's house, the friend who used to play chess with my grandfather every afternoon. The two old men would play chess and drink tea; I don't remember what they talked about, but I remember they never argued, only laughed heartily. Behind Uncle Ba's house was a large sandy area where I occasionally saw lizards scurrying about, always quickly burying themselves in the sand. Yet, every now and then, I would hear my grandfather going to Uncle Ba's house to eat grilled lizard meat. Just hearing about it scared me, so I never touched the tin can with the lizard skin drum that he brought home for my younger brother.

When I was fifteen, my grandfather passed away. The old neighborhood had changed somewhat, and whenever there was a memorial service, the family would always remember him. When my grandfather was alive, preparations would begin two or three days in advance. The whole family would busily make sticky rice cakes wrapped in thorny leaves, lotus seed cakes, and, of course, a platter of sweet sticky rice. My grandmother and mother would grind the flour and wrap the cakes themselves, and I could help out as the oldest grandchild. After the ceremony, the feast would usually be attended by all the neighbors, those who had been neighbors with my family since we first moved here and had become very close. These memorial services gradually became much simpler, and later, as the children and grandchildren grew up and some lived far from home, the memorial service was no longer a gathering but simply an occasion to remember, so it was no longer as elaborate as before.

Nowadays, the old neighborhood has changed a lot. Many of the old residents have passed away, or their families have moved elsewhere. The houses have become smaller because they have been divided among children and grandchildren or sold off during difficult times. When I visit again, I sometimes feel unfamiliar with many things. Gone are the flimsy barbed wire fences or the neatly trimmed hibiscus bushes between houses. Occasionally, I visit some of my older sisters, who were both relatives and neighbors in the past. Our conversations always include reminiscing about our childhood. One story, long forgotten, is about how, long ago, the older sisters used to carry their younger siblings while their mother did housework every evening. When the younger siblings were happy, the older sisters would play hide-and-seek, jump rope, or hopscotch; when the babies cried loudly, the older sisters would carry them somewhere to soothe them. The places where I used to comfort my little sister were two gold shops at opposite corners of Xóm Mới market. One was called Kim Khánh, and I can't remember the name of the other because so much time has passed. Even though it's been so long, I still clearly remember holding her, showing her the small rotating display case brightly lit with a huge gold ring studded with a sparkling gemstone, and she would stop crying.

Corner of Vo Tru and Tran Nguyen Han streets. Photo: GC

From the old days, Xóm Mới was a bustling market area. There were two bakeries here: one called Thiên Phước, located on the side of the market near Võ Trứ Street, and another, more modern bakery at the corner of Huỳnh Thúc Kháng Street, whose name I can't remember. Every place around Xóm Mới market holds memories, so mentioning it brings up endless stories. On this street was Dân Khang Pharmacy, the largest traditional medicine shop in the area, known to everyone who grew up in Xóm Mới. Whenever someone in the family had a cold, my mother would send me to Dân Khang to buy medicine. Dân Khang Pharmacy is still in the same place, just renamed Dân Tộc Pharmacy.

Over time, of course, everything has changed, but the memories of the old neighborhood haven't completely faded. Near the Xóm Mới market, there's still the sign for Nam Quán, a stationery shop that's been around since I was in elementary school. At that street corner, there are signs that have become iconic brands, like Ngọc Sơn pho restaurant and Tuyết Nga bookstore… now just a small part of many people's memories.

One might think that the passage of time makes people forget, but in reality, old memories remain intact beneath the dust of time. A gentle brush is all it takes to recall everything. Remembering and cherishing past memories, whether happy or sad, is a part of our lives. That's why remembering the past always brings warmth to our hearts.

LUU CAM VAN

Source: https://baokhanhhoa.vn/van-hoa/nhung-vung-ky-uc/202409/nhung-ngay-xua-cu-36b4216/