April, a month of memories

April acts as a hinge, opening and closing the door between spring and summer. Nature's door is a little capricious, allowing April to reveal many scenes of the sky and earth, evoking a multitude of emotions in people's hearts. Therefore, April arrives with its own unique imprint.

Illustrative image

Spring is taking its final steps on the timeline of the year, bringing with it damp, misty, gray skies. The first summer showers have begun.

The rain poured down on the roads, rivers, fields, and streets with a fast, strong, and decisive rhythm, like a premonition in the vibrant symphony of summer.

The torrential rain gave way to sunshine, a bright, sun-drenched landscape with a touch of sweet, honey-yellow hues pouring down on the first blossoms of the season in the small alley.

The sun shines brightly, illuminating the clear blue sky, the white clouds, and the gentle breeze that softly stirs the fragrant rice stalks bearing their first ears of grain in the countryside.

Anyone who has traveled this April road will surely never forget it. White cosmos flowers with yellow stamens bloom gently in patches along the winding grassy edges.

The crape myrtle trees stretch their branches towards the deep blue sky, bearing vibrant purple flowers, painting a gentle and captivating picture of April.

At some school gate, the yellow cassia flowers begin to unfurl, weaving a carpet of blossoms. The shimmering golden petals cling to the girls' hair, making the space seem to ripple with golden sunlight.

There was a time when the clumsy boy gently removed a golden butterfly wing from his classmate's hair, causing her cheeks to blush, their eyes to meet, and leaving the memory of April lingering in the heart of the distant land for many years to come.

The courtyard in April, in some distant memory, was peaceful with sunshine and gentle breezes. A cat lay on the porch, playing with its shadow in the sunlight. Sparrows chirped among the palm trees where they built their nests.

Occasionally, a clumsy sparrow would drop a golden straw onto my father's hand as he sat splitting bamboo strips to weave baskets under the betel nut tree. My father would glance up, then smile and continue diligently with his work.

My mother busied herself carrying trays of fermented soybean paste out to dry in the sun. These trays of fermented soybean paste were usually made by my mother using glutinous rice, wrapped in banana leaves that had become covered in golden mold, releasing a gentle aroma in the April sunshine and breeze.

It was always the same: around the beginning of April, my mother would start making fermented soybean paste. The jars of paste were left to dry in the sun in the corner of the yard, waiting for the right time to ripen, just in time for the first harvest of water spinach in the summer. Every time she made the paste, she would hum the folk song: "When I leave, I remember my homeland / I remember the water spinach soup, I remember the pickled eggplant." And so, every April, my heart ached with longing for my mother, for the peaceful, sun-drenched yard of our house.

The 30th marks the end of April. The final day of the month evokes many fond memories. A few days before, my father would always take a national flag from his wooden chest and loop it onto a bamboo pole on the roof, planting it outside the gate. There was something so poignant about it that made his eyes distant and his demeanor pensive.

On April 30th, my father would often prepare a meal to offer incense, inviting Aunt Nga from nearby to join us. During the family meal, my father would often tell stories about Uncle Nam, his younger brother and Aunt Nga's younger brother. Uncle Nam was shot during a guerrilla raid on the village; he was only 23 years old at the time.

Then my father mentioned Trang, the husband of my second eldest sister. Trang died in the Cambodian war in 1985.

Is it because of those special stories from my father that April takes on an extra solemn note, making people today appreciate the days of April even more amidst the hustle and bustle of time?

It rained heavily again last night. This morning the sky is clear and blue. April is already more than halfway over, filled with countless fond memories.

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