Storytelling time

In the early days of the new year, time seems to slow down. Gone are the hurried mornings rushing out onto the roads, jostling through crowded intersections filled with people and dust. Gone are the frantic phone calls, the pressing deadlines, the nagging worries. Time suddenly becomes gentle and soft, like a clear stream in which we can see ourselves. In that stream, layers of old, warm memories gradually emerge, familiar faces that have passed through our lives, silently but persistently, never truly leaving.

Illustration: BH

The Lunar New Year is not only a time of transition between the old and new, but also a time when people tend to turn inward. It's a time when we stop rushing forward and have the opportunity to look back, to listen to the echoes of the past – things that time has carefully preserved and stored. Just a fleeting scent of incense, a gentle breeze rustling through a peach blossom branch, or a soft halo of sunlight on the porch, and the door to memory suddenly opens. Old days rush back, not noisily but persistently, like an underground stream flowing endlessly within the heart.

In the memories of children, Tet (Vietnamese New Year) of yesteryear was a vibrant and joyful spectacle. It was the vase of peonies freshly cut from the garden, displaying their bright colors. It was the new clothes that mother had washed and hung out to dry on a high rack in the front yard since the day of bidding farewell to the Kitchen God, ensuring they caught the sun and still smelled of the wind and sunshine on the morning of the first day of Tet. It was the bright red envelopes of lucky money, not only containing a few new bills, but also holding countless good wishes and hopes for the coming year.

In the garden, trees sprout new leaves to welcome spring. The tender shoots tremble in the late-season chill, fragile yet full of life. The earth and sky seem cleansed after a long year, ready for a new cycle. In the small village, every house is bustling with peach blossoms and kumquats. The familiar village roads and alleys are swept clean, and the fences are neatly trimmed, as if they've just donned new clothes. Everyone's face is brighter. Even those who were usually reserved and introverted become gentler, more smiling, and more forgiving during the Tet holiday.

Of all those images, the memory of my mother always stands out the most. I remember her lighting incense at the ancestral altar on the morning of the first day of the lunar month. While we were still half-asleep in our warm beds, she had already gotten up early, quietly arranging the offerings to present to our ancestors. She respectfully lit the incense, the fragrant smoke spreading and swirling in the tranquil space, creating a feeling that was both sacred and warm. Sometimes I think that this very scent is an invisible thread connecting the past and the present, connecting the living with their ancestors.

Therefore, Tet is not only a time for reunion, but also a time of gratitude. It is a time when we become more aware of our roots, of the family lineage we belong to. It's a time to realize that each person is not an isolated individual, but a part of a blood-related community, always connected, sharing, loving, and protecting each other through generations.

On New Year's Day, my mother had time to relax and unwind. No more rushing to the market, no more hurried worries; she sat slowly by the teapot, savoring each piece of candied fruit, her eyes watching her children happily playing around the house. Her hands, calloused from years of hard work, finally had a moment to rest, to comb her long hair, now streaked with a few gray strands. That hair had endured countless New Year's seasons, countless rainy and sunny days, countless silent worries, and now it could enjoy these rare moments of peace.

There are moments in life that seem so ordinary, yet each time we recall them, a wave of emotion surges within us. Like the memory of the New Year's Day meal, the whole family gathered together. A steaming bowl of bamboo shoot and vermicelli soup. A plate of glistening green sticky rice cakes, fragrant with the scent of banana leaves. A plate of perfectly pickled onions, their sourness gently lingering on the tongue. A bowl of clear, wobbly jellied meat, conveying a feeling of fullness and warmth. The flavors blend together amidst the clinking of bowls and chopsticks, and the lively, endless conversations.

As children, we rarely paid attention to time. We innocently rushed into life, enjoying each passing Tet holiday with pure joy. We showed off our new clothes, shared candies and cakes, and competed to sleep in until noon. Tet followed Tet, year after year, and those carefree children gradually grew up. To prove we were grown up, we began to separate ourselves from our parents' embrace. We no longer liked following adults to wish neighbors a happy new year, no longer liked being patted on the head or cuddled. We turned our attention to the wider world , yearning to fly, to explore new horizons. Familiar, old things were left behind, sometimes even overlooked.

But even a bird that flies forever gets tired. And so, when Tet (Lunar New Year) arrives, we have the opportunity to stop, rest, and return to our families. Old memories, thought to be covered in moss, surprisingly remain vivid. Everything appears clear and alive, stirring our emotions and nostalgia. And on this journey back to those memories, we sometimes suddenly realize the loss. Some familiar faces no longer gather around the dinner table. Some heads have turned grayer, and wrinkles have deepened on our parents' foreheads. It is these realizations that make Tet more subdued, yet also more profound and meaningful.

I remember the Lunar New Year holidays spent away from home. On New Year's Eve, after taking care of my small family, I would often sit quietly, letting memories drift back. The smell of old kitchen smoke would suddenly rush back, stinging my nose. I wished I could be a child again, return to my mother's kitchen, where the smoke-stained walls, the flickering fire dancing joyfully amidst the fragrant aroma of food. My mother was always busy cooking, sweat beading on her forehead, but her face shone with happiness. For my mother, the Lunar New Year was just three short days of the year to pour all her love and care into the family, so that everyone could be well-provided for and warm.

The more Lunar New Year seasons I experience, the more I realize that time is a profound storyteller. Time is not noisy, not hurried, but persistently tells us about what has passed. Old Lunar New Year seasons, familiar faces, quiet affections. These stories, though heard countless times, still stir our hearts, making us appreciate the present more and bow our heads in gratitude to the past.

Tet (Vietnamese Lunar New Year) is not just a series of dates marked on a wall calendar. It's an emotional milestone, a point of reflection on the journey we've taken. It reminds us that no matter how far we travel, no matter how busy we are, there's always a place to return to. There are always faces to remember, hands to cherish, and shoulders to lean on when we're tired.

Phong Diep

Source: https://baothanhhoa.vn/thoi-gian-ke-chuyen-277172.htm