The ship departed from Cat Lai port on April 30, which was also the 50th anniversary of the liberation of the Truong Sa archipelago. Not far away, the solemn celebration of the Liberation of the South and National Reunification Day was taking place.
The ship blew a long whistle. Everyone stood on deck, looked back toward the harbor, and waved. Below the pier, rows of uniformed soldiers: navy, youth, representatives of various units... stood solemnly, in a straight line. They waved, they sang. As soon as a melody was played on the ship, everyone on the pier immediately sang along.
The ship left the dock, moving further and further away. The people left behind became smaller in sight, like dots. It was only much later that I realized why a group of people needed to see it off. “A long time” was a feeling, a mental time. The actual time was only a week.
No need to fly into space, just boarding a ship to Truong Sa is already entering another journey – a journey that transcends space and time. Go to grow up. Go to be more aware of your responsibilities. Go to learn how to love deeply. And go to understand why there are people who stay and still stand there, singing and waving forever, until they can no longer see you.
Every year, a number of delegations are sent to visit and work with the soldiers and people of Truong Sa archipelago. The Youth Journey for the Homeland's Sea and Islands has entered its 17th year this year, a period of time long enough for a person to reach adulthood and be ready to enter life as an independent citizen.
Each working group has its own assigned tasks and program of activities. In particular, the Youth for the Homeland Sea and Islands journey organized by the Central Committee of the Ho Chi Minh Communist Youth Union has selected the most typical faces representing the young generation across the country. They go to the islands not only carrying the feelings of mainland youth, but also bringing responsibility, enthusiasm and a new breeze from the mainland, blending into the rhythm of youth life in the middle of the ocean.
The first night, the sea was pitch black and thick. The wind was fierce. The sky was deep. The stars were rising more and more. Sitting on the deck, looking up at the sky: a black universe dotted with stars, so vast that there was no way in, no way out.
Looking around, all around was darkness, a black color that swallowed all lines, unable to distinguish where was water, where was sky, where was shore. It was as if the ship was stopped in a mass of silence, still even the light. A feeling of absolute insignificance before nature.
It took the boat nearly two days to reach the first island since leaving Cat Lai. Da Thi is one of the farthest islands. A submerged island, two blocks of houses built on coral reefs in the middle of the vast ocean. Nearly 48 hours by boat from the mainland, which means very far, very windy, very wavy, very isolated.
Those two blocks are where the soldiers live, work, produce, guard and are ready to fight. They are called soldiers, but if I were at home, I would probably call them my nephews and nieces. Their faces are tanned by the sun and wind, and their ages are just a little older than the Journey of Youth .
That afternoon, when the group arrived on Sinh Ton Island, it was raining. The soldiers on the island stood in the rain waiting to welcome them. The sea wind blew in, cold and wet, but the whole group still stood solemnly, and the faces that greeted them were bright and smiling.
Then I realized that every time I entered or left the island, there were people to welcome and see me off. Rain or shine, there were always solemn and radiant faces on the pier, waving to reassure me.
Sinh Ton, along with Co Lin and Len Dao, are three islands near Gac Ma. When I asked a soldier standing guard at the artillery position on Sinh Ton Island if he wanted to send a message to his family, I thought he would send a message to his girlfriend or lover. But he asked me if I had visited Co Lin or Len Dao. If so, please let me send my best wishes to my comrades to stay strong and complete their mission well. If you remember each other, please send a message to the next groups.
I forgot to say my name. But my voice was clear. There were times when people no longer had proper names, only “Soldiers of Sinh Ton Island” turned to “Soldiers of Co Lin Island, Len Dao”.
I finished recording with shaking hands and blurred eyes. I had to quickly say goodbye to her to take a walk around the island to calm my heart. There are very human things like emotions and tears, but they can weaken the soldiers' spirit, so we have to hold them back and not show them.
A young person of nineteen or twenty years old, when asked who he wants to send a message to, the first thing he thinks of is his comrades, who are also guarding the Fatherland day and night in important and dangerous positions.
Sending wishes to teammates for completing the mission, telling teammates that if they miss you, please send a message to another group. Who would have thought that the generation born after 2000, growing up in the digital age, would still think and live like that. On the island, phone signal is intermittent, and there is no internet at all. I kept thinking about that message.
What is youth? It is the future: the future of the family, of the country, of the nation. And when the youth of the homeland know how to put the first thing to remember is the common mission, being comrades, then we not only have the right to hope, but also have the basis to believe in that future.
I have gone through my youth. I, after all, am just a mother, I look at you as if I were my own children. But you have reached a different level of maturity, not in your weather-beaten, tough appearance, but deep in your consciousness, when you know how to live a life for the common good, for the nation.
The next morning, when I went up on deck, the ship had anchored near Co Lin. Gac Ma could be seen from the deck with the naked eye, as if I could just lean over and reach out.
The brothers stood side by side. All eyes turned in that direction. Silence. No one said anything. Didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t say anything. There were wounds that, every time they were seen, a sharp pain arose – a dull ache that could never be bandaged, that would never heal. And that was not allowed to heal.
When I got to the island and played back the recording of the message from my comrades on Sinh Ton Island to Co Lin Island, I saw the hasty swipes and the faces that secretly turned away to hide their tears, all of them were from the cadres and youth of the working group. No one spoke to anyone, but the people who came from the mainland witnessed the will and determination of these very young faces, and felt both pity and respect.
Crying is not because of weakness, crying is because of being moved by the maturity of the children, maturity in both thoughts and emotions. Wind, sun, sea salt, discipline, have tempered the soldiers.
Only when we get to the island do we understand that the saying “the island is home, the ocean is homeland” is not a slogan, but an echo from the heart. Here, there is no longer any individuality. There is no more “I”, no more “you”, but only one subject: “the whole island”. The whole island lives. The whole island studies. The whole island produces. And the whole island is ready to fight.
Although it is a rocky island, Len Dao is smaller and has more difficult conditions than other islands. On the other side of the small bridge connecting the two blocks of houses is a small yard where cultural exchanges are taking place. On this side of the bridge is a block of houses with a sovereignty stele and a guard post.
When I told them to record a message for their family, to say whatever they wanted to say, as if I wasn't here. The children, dark-skinned, wiping sweat from their hands because of the hot sun, still smiled and said: I'm fine, the leader and teammates are taking good care of me, mom stay home and don't worry, tell grandma to take care of her health, I'll call home this weekend.
His face was sunburned, his eyes were squinted and he couldn't open them. Standing in a guard booth built on stone, he still smiled brightly and gave instructions to reassure the rear.
When night fell, sitting on the deck, looking up at the vast universe, but all around, I could see the lights from the fishing boats. The lights lined up in an arc around the boat, shining around the horizon. My heart suddenly felt calm. There was light. There was life. There were compatriots. I suddenly felt warm and secure, completely different from the feeling of being deep in the vast ocean of the first night.
The delegation organized two memorial ceremonies at two sacred sea areas: one near the island, where soldiers fell in the war to protect the sovereignty of the Fatherland; the other near the oil rig, where soldiers clung to the last minute before sacrificing themselves in the midst of storms. Many young people have merged into the sea, remaining forever at the bottom of the ocean. Each wave carries the whispers of lives that forever stopped at that youth.
The ocean is vast and full of uncertainties. The last stop of the trip was the DKI/14 platform. The block of houses stood alone in the middle of the ocean, on stilts. When we arrived, the sea was calm, so the whole group could go up to visit and work with the soldiers on the platform. The sea was calm but the climb was still difficult.
We heard that there were groups that encountered big waves and the transfer boat could not take the staff to the platform, so they had to stand on the ship and on the platform and wave to each other, and talk on the phone to hear each other. They could see each other but could not approach, could not touch, could not speak directly to each other.
A friend who was on another mission sent me a scene of soldiers standing in the storm, waving flags, waving hands, and saluting until the ship disappeared. Tiny figures, moving in the direction of the ship, waving to each other until the flags and people were just small dots, the platform like a matchbox in the middle of the stormy ocean.
Seven days. Six islands, one platform. Fourteen waves. Every time the ship approaches from the sea, or gradually recedes into the distance amid the waves, the soldiers line up, wave goodbye, and wish each other a safe journey.
Hello until we can only see each other as small dots. Small dots gradually fade away. Small dots can dissolve into nothingness. There have been many small dots like that that have merged into the ocean, staying forever with the ocean, to continue writing heroic lines in the history of defending the country of the nation.
When the ship arrived at Cat Lai port, I saw warm waves welcoming the group back. This time, I did not text my relatives. The Internet was full after a week of no signal. But I stood there, on the deck, watching the mainland move closer, watching the welcoming hands.
Understanding that we are accepted, loved, and have a place to return to is thanks to the many young people who have passed away and stayed with the ocean.
The youth that will never return has laid the foundation for future generations. And even today, many other young people are still carrying guns in the middle of the ocean, temporarily putting aside their privacy and individuality, for their compatriots, for their Fatherland.
Every year, the trips to visit the Truong Sa military and civilians and the DKI platform usually take place during the two calmest months of the year. Of the twelve months of the year, there are only two months with few visitors, and the remaining ten long months are lonely in the middle of the ocean. Ten months without going to the pier to wave. Ten months of sending longing into the wind and waves. But the mainland still misses the island. And the island understands that the mainland is always its solid rear.
When you're still standing there, waving until you can't see me anymore, it's because you're waiting for the day I come back.
Source: https://baovanhoa.vn/chinh-tri/tuoi-tre-156730.html
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