The Lunar New Year is ending.

He returned to his hometown late on a drizzly morning. The rain wasn't in drops, but lingered in the air, enough to soak his clothes without him even noticing. It was the very day Tet (Vietnamese New Year) had just ended.

Looking at the gray curtain of rain covering the city, one realizes they're not just late for a holiday season, but late in terms of spirit.

Stepping out of the airplane cabin, one immediately feels that familiar damp, humid air. A runny nose begins, a tingling itch in the throat. A very familiar discomfort. The body is exhausted, but the destination is recognized before the thought.

No more peach blossoms, no more apricot blossoms. The branches of flowers are neatly placed on the sidewalk, their petals crushed against the wet pavement. Lanterns still hang in front of a few houses, but no one bothers to turn them on. On the altar, the fruit platter has begun to turn dark. The fried sticky rice cakes are now being eaten for the third time. Red envelopes are scattered on the living room table, opened and then forgotten to be put away. Every household has finished tidying up their offerings.

People return home just as the Lunar New Year is ending.

Illustrative image

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It's a strange feeling to come home and find yourself missing something important. Not a missed flight. Not a missed appointment. But a missed shared moment. A moment when everyone slowed down, waiting for the new year to truly unfold before them.

On the way home, he stopped at an old favorite tea shop and ordered a pot of traditional tea. It was still the same tea. The taste unchanged. But only when sitting amidst the morning's humidity did he understand why, during his time far away, no matter how he drank it, it never tasted good.

Tea is not just leaves and water. It's also the air, the thin layer of dust on the doorstep, the sound of cars passing by outside the gate. It is only when it is in the rhythm of this land that it becomes a complete encounter.

Some things only return to their original place when put back in their proper spot.

In the days following the Lunar New Year, the city is quiet. It's like someone who's just changed out of their nice clothes and returned to their everyday attire. Shops are open. Phones ring. New Year's appointments are scheduled. People start talking about plans, targets, and numbers to achieve.

Every year-end, people gather to discuss world affairs . They talk about the South American jungles, the Middle Eastern deserts, the perpetually frozen islands, or even the place often called the center of the world, where stepping outside means risking being hit by a stray bullet at any moment.

Those stories are often filled with unease, turmoil, and unpleasant predictions.

And then Tet (Lunar New Year) arrives, as a way to temporarily put everything aside. Not because the world is at peace, because the world will never be at peace. But because people need a moment of quiet to readjust themselves before resuming their old routines of life.

Ultimately, Tet is just a brief pause in a much longer narrative called the journey of life.

But that pause was not meaningless. It allowed people to believe that they could start over. That the mistakes of the past year could be put behind them.

Far from home, people are accustomed to a work rhythm without seasons. There are no New Year's Eves. Time runs straight ahead. Returning home right after the Lunar New Year makes that difference even more apparent. Back home, even if only for a few days, people allow themselves to relax. They allow themselves to speak to each other more kindly and honestly. And then, everyone laces up their shoes and moves on.

The end of Tet, therefore, is not just about wilting flowers or extinguished lights. It's a transitional moment between wishes and actions. If Tet is about promises, then the year after Tet is a time to test how those promises have been fulfilled.

There's a touch of regret about arriving late. Not sitting at the New Year's feast. Not hearing the clinking of glasses. Not experiencing the complete feeling of reunion. But that very lateness allows for a moment of reflection. Standing outside the festive atmosphere, one can see it more clearly.

People walked through familiar streets. The atmosphere had returned to normal. So normal it was almost cold. People's eyes were completely different from the first and second days of the Lunar New Year. No longer relaxed. Instead, there was a sense of preparation. The city was like a machine that had just been lubricated and was now returning to its old rhythm.

Tet is more than just a festival. It's a way for society to rebuild its faith after a year of upheaval. That anchor doesn't last long. It's only enough to remind people that they still want to believe in tomorrow. And when Tet ends, that anchor is removed. Not to take away hope, but to force people to stand up and move on.

The drizzle continued to fall. People dragged their belongings through the thin streaks of water on the sidewalk. The city was no longer festive, but it possessed a quiet resilience. It spoke little. It simply acted silently.

People understand that Tet is just a brief breath. That breath has passed. Ahead are ordinary days. Ordinary to the point of being harsh. But it is precisely in that ordinariness that all wishes have the opportunity to take shape.

The day I return. So that people will know that...

Even though Tet is over.

But a new year has just begun.

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/tet-tan-185260222222003549.htm