November brought a chill that crept into my memory, the street seeming more desolate with the scattered, isolated cries of street vendors in the quiet night.
Ha Tinh night streets.
I had the feeling that the cry echoed into the void, then slowly faded away, dissipating and disappearing without a trace or a glance back.
The street tonight looks so thin, pale like a woman nearing forty who has just walked through life's hardships, with love lingering in her eyes, along with resentment and pain.
Perhaps because winter had just begun, the season was still tender and fresh. The street, weary after a day of arduous travel and the hurried footsteps of people, now lay strangely still, peacefully contemplating its sadness, swallowing the impulsive fleeting moments of youth, of a day that had just passed... and then sinking into silence. How precious this moment of silence was, a moment of silence that seemed to commemorate the street itself, or perhaps it was a moment of silence for myself?
Environmental workers toil through the freezing winter night on the streets of Ha Tinh City. (Illustrative photo by Ngoc Thang.)
I suddenly found myself understanding the desolate loneliness that the street was enduring.
Oh! Not all loneliness is necessarily bad. Perhaps the loneliness in that city, or in my soul right now, perfectly captures the desolation of a winter city, and amidst that melancholy, precious diamonds shimmer, adorning the drifting lives of those who are lost... Suddenly, I feel a deep love for this fragile life. It's truly beautiful.
Workers struggle to make a living on a cold winter night in Ha Tinh City. (Archival photo)
Wandering under the high-pressure lights of the streetlights lining the sidewalks, the night suddenly became strangely enchanting. Somewhere, a pungent, almost suffocating scent wafted up, a unique fragrance of a particular flower. Ah, so autumn had departed, leaving behind only this faint, lingering aroma. Even that was enough to make those who spent their days surrounded by the fragrant osmanthus trees sick with discomfort, while for me, this distinctive flower stirred a sweet, wistful feeling of love within me. I sat down, cupping my hands to gather the tiny petals scattered before me, blanketing the road in white, as if embracing everything preparing to depart. The petals silently slipped through my slender fingers and fell onto the street… This space, this moment, made me feel as if there would be no lingering despair, no sadness… Only lingering affection, preparing for a new beginning!
For some inexplicable reason, my heart is sometimes filled with a hundred different emotions, a vast emptiness even when a thin breeze tries to blow through my hair, my eyes suddenly stinging and on the verge of tears at the desolate winter night in the city.
Then the street fell silent, just as I sometimes fell silent before myself; that silence gradually became familiar, a habit, sometimes even monotonous, a lonely isolation amidst the colorful faces full of different lives...
Sometimes it feels like the world only offers you a few temporary stays, a few opportunities to wander, a few experiences. Then you leave.
I don't understand how I feel right now. Sometimes it's like this, an indispensable part of shaping who I am.
Thanh Sen is quiet on a winter night. Photo by Dinh Nhat.
Oh, the slow, desolate night... the night is so long, like I stumble upon the deep, sorrowful gaze of someone, how long has it been since that person has been so sad and silent in the street?
I would lull myself to sleep with the sweet yellow light of the streetlights; sometimes that desolate color gave me such a sense of peace, peace in solitude, a loneliness that ran rampant, a rebellious loneliness, then I would immerse myself in a myriad of mixed emotions, from the joyful laughter and tears of children to the strangeness before a thin, old, grumpy, and difficult figure, sometimes as gentle as a young girl... but that light was incredibly confident, absolutely safe.
A quiet street in the deserted night is beautiful in itself, a faint, scattered sound of a night vendor's cry is also beautiful, the rustling of a bamboo broom in the mist becomes enchanting. All of it is like a silent painting, filled with me amidst the streets tonight.
Le Nhi
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