May

I returned to my old school after so many years away, stepping onto the podium, feeling the faint echoes of my former homeroom teacher's lecture. We all eagerly flipped through the pages of our class diaries, filled with promises, jokes, and the innocence of our school days. The old cassia tree silently bloomed with yellow flowers, welcoming back its former students. The desks still held the marks of those secret crushes; even now, looking back, I still feel shy and laugh, thinking, "We were so naive back then."

Teachers surely never forget their students from each graduating class. With their eyes squinting behind thick glasses, they would call out each student's name. This student used to be mischievous, that one was quiet but had a talent for literature, or that one almost brought them to tears with surprises, from birthday parties to Vietnamese Teachers' Day. It all feels like it was just yesterday, evoking so many beautiful memories that resurface with the passing years.

Sending forth the sweet melodies of May, cherishing even more memories and moments of the season's arrival. Out there, the hunched figure of my mother, carrying her wares along the narrow path, yearns for May to return to our doorstep...

In May, along the embankment, the children chased after colorful kites fluttering gently in the breezy afternoon. The whistling sound of the kites pulled peaceful memories of their early days; some ran after larger kites, others waded in the river catching small fish to fry with chili sauce. The crabs gazed bewilderedly at the golden sunlight on the rice paddies laden with grain, foreshadowing a bountiful harvest. Father still diligently carried his hoe to the fields every day, inspecting the rice paddies from their lush green state to the days of harvest, his eyes sparkling with joy at seeing such a bountiful crop after so many years. The fruit trees in the garden were drenched in the crisp sounds of summer, and the children's cheerful calls echoed from the neighbor's garden. The children's "festival" had begun like this.

I walked along the long corridor, lost in thought, reminiscing about the path lined with yellow jasmine flowers, leading to a bend in the road where many wild tamarind trees grew. I remembered how, when May arrived, I would quietly go there, sometimes to escape the frustrations of school, other times to happily gather sour tamarind fruits for my mother to cook a refreshing summer soup. The chatter of my friends kept appearing and disappearing in my mind; this was the spot where little Minh, angry with her father, sat sobbing with me. This was where Quan picked unripe mangoes to dip in shrimp paste – those images always fill my heart with a warm, familiar rhythm.

Switzerland

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/dong-nai-cuoi-tuan/202505/thenh-thang-thang-5-1dd1e30/