Now that my hair has turned gray, my parents have passed away, and I myself have become a grandfather, I must accept the truth that everything, no matter how precious, will eventually become the past, "yesterday." Yet, strangely, memories of the last day of the year, preparing to welcome the New Year, still flood back as the afternoon of the 30th of Tet approaches.
...Before my university years in Hanoi, on the afternoon of the 29th of Tet (Lunar New Year), my whole family would gather together to wrap banh chung (traditional Vietnamese rice cakes), and then boil them in the evening. Usually, a few days beforehand, my mother would buy banana leaves, prepare sticky rice and mung beans (these ingredients were precious and she had saved them throughout the year) waiting for her eldest son to come home from Hanoi to make banh chung.
The afternoon of the 29th of Tet (Lunar New Year) is the happiest afternoon of the year. The whole family gathers together, each doing their part. Some wash banana leaves, others grind mung bean flour, some split bamboo strips... I sit in the middle of the floor wrapping the cakes, while my younger siblings sit around, serving leaves, scooping rice, and mung beans, chattering excitedly. They enjoy the chores I give them, listening to me talk about university and student life in Hanoi with admiration and longing. Through their eyes and expressions, I see a burning and identical dream: to go to the capital to study at university.
It's not simply because only my father and I know how to wrap the rice cakes that we have those warm and fulfilling rice cake-wrapping gatherings on the afternoon of the 29th of Tet. Actually, wrapping and boiling the rice cakes is a family tradition, unchanged for many years, but everyone gets excited as the day approaches. At that time, everyone works slowly and meticulously, sometimes busily, just to sit together, listen to my parents tell stories about Tet in the old days, and hear family members share what they accomplished during the year. For example, the distant memory of how my mother "stumbled" into my father's surveying instrument's scope – a story that's always fascinating to hear. Or the younger siblings listening to me wrap the rice cakes while recounting how I used to hop on the tram from the university to Hoan Kiem Lake. For example, there's the story of how I sneaked onto the local train to go home by hiding under the seats with pigs and chickens, or climbing onto the roof of the carriage to huddle in the biting cold of winter, feeling insignificant in the vastness... That is to say, making banh chung (traditional Vietnamese rice cakes) – for my family – is a custom, a cultural tradition, an indispensable spiritual food on the 29th day of the Lunar New Year.
Every year, the last of the small, hand-sized rice cakes I wrap are for my youngest brother and sister. At night, they sit with me by the pot of rice cakes, one adding firewood, another adding water... they listen to my stories without getting tired. The pot of rice cakes glows red, bubbling and sizzling, emitting the distinctive aroma of banana leaves mixed with sticky rice and the flavor of mung bean filling and meat marinated in fish sauce, salt, and pepper. My siblings and I inhale deeply, savoring that unique and characteristic scent of Tet in our hometown. Then they get sleepy; one goes to bed, the other lies down on the mat next to the boiling pot of rice cakes, her head resting on my lap, sleeping soundly.
Early in the morning on the 30th of Tet (Lunar New Year's Eve), the cakes were ready. I woke the children up to receive their Tet gifts early. Peeling open the small, still-warm cakes, the children each eagerly took a bite, looking very appetizing. The youngest sister didn't eat her tiny cake right away, saving it for the first day of Tet as a precious gift...
Busy all afternoon on the 29th of Tet, then staying up all night to boil rice cakes, but no one in the family felt tired. The spring atmosphere combined with family love, how could anyone feel tired! It is because of Tet days like these that we realize the value of family. Family is where we grow up in the love of our parents, the anchor and repository of beautiful memories of kinship.
For many years, my family had such heartwarming and loving moments on the 29th day of the Lunar New Year. But then one year, we were forced to change things – we no longer made and boiled rice cakes on the afternoon of the 29th.
After graduating from university, unable to find a job, I had to work as a carpenter for over two years to make a living. I remember that year, the days working as a carpenter leading up to Tet (Lunar New Year) were incredibly hard and stressful because customers were piling up orders for their products. The owner of the workshop, the more familiar I became with him, the more he pressured me, making me work almost until the night of the 29th of Tet before paying me, and only then allowing me to go home. In reality, the owner was withholding the customers' money for other purposes, and only at the end of the year, when customers kept demanding payment, did he force the workers to work day and night. After delivering a set of curved-door wooden display cabinets to a customer at 10 pm on the 29th of Tet, I quickly grabbed my backpack and rushed to Thanh Xuan bus station to catch the last bus to the intersection of Le Duan and Kham Thien streets.
The train was so crowded that people lined up by sitting and... crawling (not standing, but squatting while moving) from Nguyen Thuong Hien Street, through Yet Kieu Street, turning left onto Tran Hung Dao Street to reach the front yard of Hang Co Station. Like everyone else, I dozed off, placing my hand on the shoulder of the person in front of me, and when they moved, I moved along, crawling forward. And so, at 3 AM, the whole crowd, as dense as ants, finally "moved" to their destination.
Upon arriving at the station, I saw a crowd of people surging like waves, rushing up and down, shouting and yelling... and I trembled. I managed to get on the local train by pushing my way through the window. My huge wooden clogs clattered as I walked, barely managing to get my feet into the foul-smelling carriage, filled with a mixture of sweat and chicken and pig manure. I squeezed through the legs of several people and crawled under the seats, spreading out the square plastic sheet my mother had bought for me, a constant companion during my university years, to sleep alongside the chickens and pigs. At first, I was terrified by the noises of the pigs, chickens, dogs, and cats, especially the hissing sound that seemed to be from a snake in a sack. But then I got used to it. I slept soundly, regardless of the train's jerking and rumbling like an old buffalo climbing a hill. It wasn't until we reached Nam Dinh station, where many people were getting off the train, that I found a place to stand. It wasn't until we arrived at Len station (20 km from Thanh Hoa town) that I finally found a seat.
It was almost 1 PM on the 30th of Tet (Lunar New Year's Eve) when I finally got home. As I approached the house, I saw my tiny little sister standing at the end of the alley, her eyes searching for me. Her eyes were red and swollen; she must have been waiting for me for a long time. She held my hand, her feet trembling as she led me home, as if afraid I would leave again. The whole family rushed out to greet me, like a family welcoming a son back from the battlefield – a scene often seen in movies shown in theaters.
For the first time in many years, my family's traditions have changed. The familiar scene of reuniting, wrapping banh chung (traditional Vietnamese rice cakes), and listening to stories about Hanoi on the afternoon of the 29th of Tet (Lunar New Year's Eve) has been postponed to the afternoon of the 30th. Logically, this would be the fault of the owner of the timber factory. But in reality, life is like ocean waves; one wave passes, another rushes in, and they are never the same. People have to grow up, go to school, work, get married, and have children. Some people go home for Tet, others won't. Growing up means getting older. Growing up also means accepting the presence of many greedy timber factory owners along the way in order to move forward.
That future of separation seems vague, but it will be very real. But that's a story for later. For that day, even though the shift to the afternoon of the 30th of Tet (Lunar New Year's Eve) made the whole family feel a little down, the family traditions still unfolded in a sweet and incredibly warm atmosphere.
Time passes, and nothing can stop it. All events will eventually fade away. Only beautiful memories of familial love, like the warmth of the fire surrounding the pot of sticky rice cakes on New Year's Eve, remain in my mind. I promise myself that I will never forget the image of the pot of sticky rice cakes on the 30th of Tet, imbued with the flavor of family love. Because in the course of life, how many New Year's Eves are there!
The scene was still bustling, everyone busy with their own tasks, the biggest one being wrapping the sticky rice cakes (bánh chưng). This year, Dad didn't wrap the cakes; he left it all to me. He sat sipping a few cups of Thai Nguyen tea that I bought from Hanoi as a gift, nodding and praising its deliciousness, then his eyes sparkled as he began to tell stories: stories of his youth, returning from the Viet Bac war zone, going to school and then working as a surveying officer; stories of the days he toiled in the fields and ditches of the low-lying rice paddies, and how he met Mom; stories of how he went to meet Grandma and formally asked for her hand in marriage... My eldest sister, I, and the other younger siblings listened intently to Dad's stories, even though we already knew every detail. Occasionally, we giggled when he added some extra vinegar or chili to the story.
As for me, I told new, rambling stories about city life in the capital. The stories were true, but I always added vivid details based on my careful observation and humorous commentary, making the family atmosphere while wrapping the rice cakes even more delightful. After the children's uproarious laughter, what remained was a loving gaze filled with affection for one another within the family.
For the first time in many years, my whole family stayed up all night on New Year's Eve to boil sticky rice cakes, and also stayed up all night together waiting for the moment when the seasons changed... There are moments that come and go and are quickly forgotten, but there are moments that, though they vanish into thin air, remain unforgettable in the human soul.
Beside the warm fire, amidst the warmth of family love, I realized how precious these moments truly are. That is what true happiness is. Life, no matter how diverse, would be incomplete without the love of family. Through these reunion days of Tet, stories of family memories are enriched, making cherished memories grow thicker and richer over the years, like the silt of a river after countless flood seasons...
Time passes, and nothing can stop it. All events will eventually fade away. Only beautiful memories of familial love, like the warmth of the fire surrounding the pot of sticky rice cakes on New Year's Eve, remain in my mind. I promise myself that I will never forget the image of the pot of sticky rice cakes on the 30th of Tet, imbued with the flavor of family love. Because in the course of life, how many New Year's Eves are there!
Source: https://congluan.vn/noi-banh-chung-dem-giao-thua-10329503.html
