Peace signal

QTO - The other day, on my way to work, I talked with an intellectual woman who, out of love for her husband and her hometown, left the city to live in a small house in the middle of a coastal fishing village. At noon, the karaoke sound from the neighbor's house echoed over, and I felt embarrassed as if I and the villagers were bothering her. She smiled and said that after a while, she understood the "karaoke rules" of the villagers so she no longer felt bothered, but instead felt happy and at ease.

After the excitement of decades ago, when karaoke was first introduced, now, especially since the appearance of "candy speakers", for many people, including me, karaoke sometimes becomes a nuisance, especially when quiet is needed to work or rest. Peaceful street corners or villages suddenly become noisy because of "unwilling singers" who innocently perform at any time, especially late at night.

Because of the neighborhood spirit and fear of conflict, not many people remind me, so when I'm happy, it's okay, sometimes I even hum along, but when I'm tired or need quiet, I feel resentful inside. My friend also lives in the middle of a fishing village, sometimes he laughs and cries, saying he thought the countryside was quiet, but who would have thought the chorus of Sau tim thiep hong and Tau anh qua nui, Ganh ma many days are noisy from early morning to late at night!

I used to feel the same way, not only with karaoke, but also with noisy drinking parties on the porch, sometimes spilling out into the small alley. When I happened to drive by, my “drinking buddies” would enthusiastically wave and invite me to “come in for a drink”. Then, early in the morning, when I had just dozed off after a sleepless night “running a deadline”, the neighbor’s chickens crowed loudly and the flock of ducks were herded down to the pond behind the house, quacking happily.

Illustration: HH

During holidays and Tet, the grocery store next to the house is bustling with people coming and going, cars, motorbikes and even bicycles loaded with fruits and cakes are parked in front of the door, accompanied by the sounds of asking questions and bargaining bustlingly on the street corner. It is still the same familiar everyday sounds, when happy it is okay, but when tired or worried it becomes annoying.

Then, sometimes, the familiar loud noises are no longer heard. Those are the stormy days of July and August, September and October… with wind, rain and floods. There is only the sound of wind and rain and the restlessness and anxiety in the heart.

The “unwilling singers” are now busy anchoring boats, raising nets or nervously monitoring the weather. Sometimes they even rush into the wind, rain and waves to save their friends and their property that may be in trouble. The drinking parties on the porch are also absent because many “drinking friends” are busy harvesting rice to escape the flood or hastily herding chickens and ducks to a high, safe place. The grocery store, after a busy time of buying and selling, mainly instant noodles, cooking oil, drinking water, and flashlights, becomes quiet because everyone is rushing home to put things up high and protect their property before the wind, rain, and flood come. Then, after the wind and rain, there are often power outages, and the street corners or suburban villages now become quiet, unsettlingly quiet!

Remembering all of that, I vaguely understood when she said that since she understood the “karaoke rules” of the villagers, she no longer felt bothered, but instead felt happy and at ease. She said that when she returned to her husband’s hometown, she chose a small piece of land in the middle of the fishing village because she wanted peace, but in the end, there were still days when she had to listen to bolero and red music all morning, noon, afternoon and evening. But then there were also long, quiet days, when the village was filled with only the sounds of women and children, with their hopes and expectations, and even anxiety, those were the days when the men of the village went out to sea…

“The day the ships docked, the village was bustling with joy, my dear. Then, of course, there was the noisy karaoke as a “tradition”. But now I no longer feel uncomfortable, especially since the day I went out and met a guy about my son’s age, scratching his head and explaining that his brothers had just come back from the sea, singing and having fun, don’t take it to heart. I suddenly realized that there are things that sometimes annoy me, but deep down, they are signals of peace, something that everyone is always waiting for, my dear!”

Saying goodbye to her in the sunny afternoon, when a male singer from the coastal village was singing the climax of the song "Tau anh qua nui", I suddenly thought that one day, if I happened to be driving through a small alley and was enthusiastically invited by a "drinking friend" to "have a drink", I would stop for a bit for fun. Or if I stayed up late one day and wanted to sleep in, but heard the rooster crowing and a flock of ducks running down to the lake, I would stop trying and get up to watch the normal morning in the half-village, half-city. One day, if the grocery store was too crowded, I would happily wait with the simple thought that our people are now better off, cars, motorbikes, bicycles loaded with fruits, cakes, children eagerly picking up their mothers from the market.

And one day, if my “drinking buddies” are busy harvesting rice to avoid the flood, or if there are big waves and strong winds, the electricity goes out, and there is no more karaoke singing coming from the fishing village, I will surely feel empty and worried, will miss the singing, miss the invitation to “come in for a drink”, miss the sound of chickens and ducks every morning… and know that peace is sometimes noise.

Diep Dong

Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/van-hoa/202511/tin-hieu-binh-yen-aef7894/