In April, the mountain town of Pleiku is tranquil, like an ancient melody echoing in the background. The wind still blows through the pine trees along the shores of Duc An Lake, carrying the earthy scent of red basalt soil on cool afternoons.
There, the memory of the war is shrouded in a layer of dust. People talk about it with silent nods, with distant gazes fixed on the horizon.
One day in mid-April, I visited Ho Chi Minh City. As if by cosmic inspiration, something compelled me to return to the place where, 50 years earlier, the entire nation erupted in joy on the day of the great victory and reunification of the country. I wanted to stand in the heart of the city, to listen to the heartbeat of Saigon in that historic April, to better understand things I had only read about in books and newspapers or heard from stories of relatives.
Ho Chi Minh City welcomed us with the scorching heat of the southern sun and its inherent hustle and bustle. Amidst the towering buildings, crowds of people thronged like a beehive. I felt small and lost, like someone who had just left a highland dream. But then, upon entering the Independence Palace, the place that witnessed the moment when the liberation army's tanks rammed through the iron gates, ending 30 years of arduous and heroic war for the Vietnamese people, I was suddenly speechless.
Although I've studied and worked in this city for almost 10 years, and have visited it before, or even brought classmates and foreign delegations here, returning to this place during the historic month of April fills me with an indescribable sense of nostalgia.
These days, Ho Chi Minh City is bustling with the sound of thundering footsteps and resounding cheers along Le Duan and Ton Duc Thang streets—the "stage" for rehearsals of the parade and march celebrating the 50th anniversary of the great victory of Spring 1975. I, a son of Pleiku, returned to Saigon during this historic April and had the opportunity to witness those rehearsals. My heart swelled with pride with every perfectly synchronized step of the soldiers.
Against a clear blue sky, the red flag with a yellow star flutters proudly in the bright golden sunlight. Groups of soldiers, from infantry, police, and navy to female militia members, are present in a vibrant and spirited scene. Each formation is a unified, powerful yet not rigid unit, as if telling a story through their footsteps and gaze.
Under the golden April sun, those strong faces were constantly sweating, yet they showed no signs of fatigue. This was because they weren't just practicing for a ceremony; they were continuing the unfinished dreams of their forefathers. In every step they took was peace , independence, and hope.
I quietly watched the training session on the roadside, surrounded by a large crowd. There were veterans with graying hair intently observing each passing column, as if seeing their younger selves – a time of youth intertwined with marching, ideals, and aspirations. As for me, a young person born after the war, I felt the sacredness of the word "unification" for the first time, not just through books, but through reality, through the resounding sounds right in the heart of Saigon.
Having only known about war through stories told by relatives, today I had the opportunity to experience a part of history, even if only by standing quietly on the sidelines of a parade rehearsal. For me, every moment was precious. I saw the pride of my nation not only through victory, but also through the way we cherish, preserve, and tell it to future generations.
I stood before tank number 390. Beside it was a small plaque recounting the events of the afternoon of April 30, 1975. The atmosphere seemed thick with tension, amidst the scorching sun and the long shadows cast by the trees on the ground. A poignant feeling welled up in my chest. The freedom and unity we have today did not come from a miracle, but were earned through countless sacrifices, blood, and tears of those who endured the fierce war of national defense.
That evening, I continued walking along the brightly lit streets. The echoes of history seemed to linger, in every breath of the city. Old people sat on park benches, young soldiers patrolled the streets, the loudspeakers replayed the 1975 news...
Indeed, upon arriving in Ho Chi Minh City, I truly understood the depth of the word "peace." In April, in the heart of Saigon, I touched history not with my hands, but with the heart of a young person living in peace, filled with pride and an intense desire to live and contribute to my country and homeland.
Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/thang-tu-o-thanh-pho-mang-ten-bac-post320032.html
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