December is here

When the rains in my hometown in the Central region begin to thin out and the dry sunshine of late winter appears, December is here. I leisurely ride my motorbike out into the street. The scent of Tet begins to rise strongly.

December is here

In early December, apricot trees are picked to wait for buds and flowers to bloom - Photo: TU LINH

Right at the entrance of the market, the old woman selling agarwood still sits there, occasionally burning an agarwood stick, the warm scent spreading, sinking deep into the hearts, awakening the homesickness of those who are far away. The tailors are busy sewing Tet goods, while preparing votive offerings for the ancestor's death anniversary of the tailoring profession. December is also the month of death anniversary of the ancestor of masonry, carpentry, blacksmithing... to express gratitude, remember the merits of predecessors who founded the profession and wish for a smooth and prosperous career. This is not only a cultural beauty to preserve long-standing traditional values, but also an opportunity for those in the profession to sit down at the end of the year and strengthen their belief in the profession they have chosen. On the ancestor's death anniversary, besides gratitude and wishes for good health and peace, people also pray for a new year of favorable, smooth, favorable work and abundant wealth.

Along the streets, taking advantage of the sunshine, many houses re-painted their fences and even painted the base of the electric poles in front of their houses to make them look fresher. Somewhere, an old sign hung in front of the house with the words "Accepting polishing of bronze incense burners for ancestral altars", a job that only happens in December, evoking in me many memories of the old Tet. Going back to the suburbs, the bustling village was picking apricot leaves to make them bloom in time for spring, bringing luck and prosperity to the homeowner. The chirping and laughing sounds, preparing the soil to sow mustard, coriander, and celery seeds waiting to sprout echoed from all directions. The people sowing seeds seemed to be sowing faith and hope for a warm and peaceful new spring.

Inhaling the wind is the strong smell of onions and shallots drying in the midday sun. Even though ready-made pickles are sold in many markets and supermarkets during Tet, the women here still want to carve papaya, radish, carrots, onions, shallots by themselves, drying them in just enough sunlight to make traditional Tet dishes. Pickles must be made from home-dried papaya, carrots, onions, and shallots, pure white, fragrant. The fish sauce must be the good fish sauce of Cua Viet, Cua Tung, cooked with rock sugar to create a honey-colored, clear mixture to create a delicious, crispy pickle, eaten with banh chung. A few batches of homemade ginger jam have just been cooked until golden brown, and mothers let them air-dry before storing them for Tet, giving off a warm, full aroma that makes many strangers turn their heads and feel excited.

My city is small and young, but it is also a place that welcomes many people from other localities to work and live, so every December, they are busy preparing to return home for Tet. After December, we reunite, and after January, we reluctantly say goodbye, promising to have a new spring full of prosperity and reunion. Tet is to return to our roots, to return to our old home, to eat a delicious meal cooked by our mother to bring peace to our hearts. My friends who live far away have the means to return home at any time of the year, but they still look forward to December to reunite with their families.

When the night falls, the lights from the flower villages of An Lac, Dong Giang, Dong Thanh on the other side of Hieu River sparkle brightly in a corner of the young city. It has been more than half my life, but every time December comes, I feel like a child who has been away from home for a long time, anxiously waiting for Tet, searching for the Tet of heaven and earth, the Tet of my heart. And I always love the Tets that have passed in my life.

Tue Linh

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