My homeland…!

Memories of the old days, when the Internet was not popular, there were not many heartbreaking images, the premonition of storms and floods was as thin as the morning mist but as heavy as the sighs of many people. In that place, the roofs of houses were located along the river, the water touched the porch, touched the breathing of the villagers. On stormy and flood days, the whole countryside became quiet. The rain was long and lingering. The rain poured down on the old tiled roofs. The pungent smell of water seeping through the gaps between the tiles was like the smell of patience that had eaten into every grain of wood, every brick. Water from upstream poured down fiercely, carrying with it even the sighs of mothers. The wind from the sea blew in, salty like sweat, tears of people in the countryside who had long been accustomed to living with storms and winds.

Then night fell. Power outage. Darkness. The whole neighborhood had only the sound of water lapping and the wind howling through the tin roof. Outside, the water poured down, bringing with it so much anxiety. Inside, the most pitiful were the children. They sat huddled in the corner of the house, their big round eyes watching the rising water but still trying to smile. That innocence was like a green shoot, growing up in the storm without needing anyone to teach them. People in the house sat next to each other, lighting small oil lamps like a bit of hope held in two hands. Passing on warmth to each other with small words: "Hold on, tomorrow will be bright."

The storm has passed, leaving the roads in tatters, the walls stained, the roofs crumbling… Everything is like a wound that has not yet dried but is ready to be wiped clean, to be rebuilt, to start again. My hometown people are like that – simple yet resilient, hard-working yet optimistic – like the alluvial soil after each flood, even if it is washed away, it will eventually be filled with the fertility of hope.

For years, villagers have gone against the wind and storms.

After the flood, the sky was strangely blue again. The sun poured down like sprinklings of gold. The dirt road still turned red after the mud was swept away. There are things that only storms and floods can teach us about the smallness of humans before nature, the warmth of love, and resilience in harsh conditions. I love my homeland with an inexplicable love. I love the steadfastness before storms. I love the millions of hearts that turn to my homeland, I love the calloused hands that still reach out to help each other amidst the many difficulties, so that we can move forward together.

Now, my memory is even more heavy with the feeling of being in the middle of a storm in my hometown, the flood rushing straight into the heart of a person far from home. Haunted, not only by the sound of wind or water, but also by the cries for help on social networks - short, trembling, urgent. Perhaps what haunts us is not just the flood, but the feeling of witnessing our hometown people crying for help but not being able to touch them, only hearing their voices but not being able to reach out, only seeing their images but not being able to be there.

“My house is near the Ba River, the water is coming in fast, anyone with a boat, please help”, “There is an 80-year-old grandmother who can’t run away in time”, “The house collapsed, the child has a fever, everyone please help”… The rain outside seemed heavier, darker, and colder. My hands were shaking, I held my chest, suffocating, in pain, I stood up, walked around, and then sat down. Every word, every second was like a stab to the heart of someone far away, who could only continuously share, call each other to find ways to support.

Though full of haunting memories, it is also a place where light flashes through the rain. Rescue boats cut through the water day and night, searching for the place where the distress signal was sent...

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In the distance, gently closing my eyes, I seem to hear the lyrics "Missing my hometown, bamboo hedges, dikes/ Dreaming of returning to hear my mother lull me to sleep by the old stone steps/ Oh my hometown, the road passing by the alley/ My mother's shadow sways in the afternoon wind..." - like a call so deep, simple, and passionate that a longing comes flooding back. Perhaps because I carry in my heart not only memories, but also the hometown that nurtured me and contained the most familiar things.

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/xa-hoi/202511/que-nha-toi-oi-ea71e86/