Unforgettable nostalgia for the sea

I was born in a coastal village. I grew up on the sand, the sand surrounded my village. The wind from all directions whipped the sand into my village...

Coastal area of ​​Cuong Gian commune (Nghi Xuan).

Long stretches of sand rise up along the coast, sand clings to my face, tangles in my hair even when I go to school. Casuarina trees bend and collapse on the sand. The wind blows in from the sea, the casuarina bends down in resignation. Yet it still bravely clings to the sand, still sprouts green shoots miraculously and strongly. Perhaps the casuarina trees are just like the people in my village, like my grandparents who cling to the sand, to the sea to survive, to pass on to each other the passionate love for the sea!

My house at that time was not far from the sea, when summer came, every early morning the children would cross the sand dunes and run to the sea. When the sun rose above the horizon, the sea glowed with a brilliant halo. The sand was cool underfoot, the wind blew on each child's face the warm scent of the sea. We breathed in the salty scent of the sea and grew up. The sea told me about my first dreams, the childhood dream of a ship crossing the vast ocean.

Truong Vung sandbank belongs to Thinh Loc commune (Loc Ha). Photo: Thien Vy

My grandfather spent his whole life at sea. Before I grew up, he left the sea, simply because he no longer had the strength. Men in coastal areas are naturally strong and resilient. He was the same, nearly seventy years old but still went to sea, because the sea was the bread and butter of the whole family. The uncles and aunts in the family, some went to sea, some went to the market. My grandfather clung to the sea in a tiny bamboo boat that broke down after a few years. When it broke, he had to do it again, and so on, in his whole life he could not remember how many boats he had been on.

The sea is not always forgiving. When the sea is calm, my village is bustling with fish and shrimp. When the sea is rough and the waves crash, my village is restless. Back then, my grandfather went to sea based on his experience of the moon, the sky and the weather, so storms and wind were unpredictable. That is why every time he went out to sea, he and the fishermen gambled with their fate. How pitiful are the wives and mothers of the sea... The sandbanks behind my village used to shed tears when someone missed their flight and did not return... But the people of my village still clung to the sea, overcoming their fate and the madness of the ocean to live steadfastly like the casuarina trees behind the village sandbanks.

Ha Tinh fishermen return after a near-shore fishing trip.

My grandfather left the sea on a March day, with a strong south wind. He lay with his head on the sand, facing the ocean. The sand caressed and embraced him, welcoming him back to peace after a long, uncertain journey. The day he left, it was a sunny afternoon in early summer. The sun shone on the silent sand dunes, in the distance, a pair of boats offshore appeared and disappeared behind each wave. The casuarina bushes were scattered on the sand, the sea breeze blew salty into the corners of my eyes.

In high school, I went to school far from the village, far from the sea. During the weeks of boarding school, I missed home and the sea so much that I felt like I was going to die. On the weekends off, I returned to the village, ran to the sea, and jumped into the water as if I hadn’t been back for a long time. Sitting in front of the sea, watching each wild cave being washed away by the waves, thinking about something was also very meaningful.

My village has changed rapidly. The large-capacity motorboats for offshore fishing are equipped with modern fishing gear, forecasting and rescue equipment, etc. The products caught are bought and sold at quite high prices.

I let myself fall on the sand, the sea of ​​my homeland still rustles. The casuarina trees still lean out towards the sea like the corner of the village gradually encroaching on the sand behind. My childhood friends each go their separate ways, leaving behind their homeland surrounded by sand on all sides, but still have a primitive nostalgia for the sea. A nostalgia for the sea that comes up in every dream.

Ky Xuan beach (Ky Anh district).

I walked on the sand, the April sun turned to welcome the sea breeze, the gentle south wind signaled the heavy nets. I missed him, missed the fragile bamboo boats on the sea. In the distance, the children still chased the ball together. The sand nurtured the children of my village…

I put a stick of incense on his grave. Outside, the sea breeze still murmurs the words of the ages. The casuarina trees leaning over his grave are like the strong will to live of my villagers facing the vast ocean.

Nguyen Doan Viet

Source: https://baohatinh.vn/van-hoc/noi-nho-bien-khon-nguoi/246767.htm