The lingering scent of cotton

(GLO) - In the garden, there is still one cotton tree left. When the season comes, it bursts into light, soft blossoms, like white clouds drifting across the sky, carried by the wind in all directions.

Báo Gia Lai•03/05/2025

From my balcony, I watched the cotton bolls drift by in the wind. From March to May, the trees were laden with cotton, densely packed from branch to branch. A small corner of my garden was quiet, enveloped in the scent of cotton.

While reading a book researching the place names of Saigon, I came across interesting information about the kapok tree. In the "Dai Nam Quoc Am Tu Vi" (Vietnamese National Language Dictionary), author Huynh Tinh Cua explains the name Saigon as "cotton firewood." He bases this on the word "sai," meaning "firewood," and "gon," meaning "cotton tree."

Scholar Truong Vinh Ky also suggested that the name "Saigon" was transliterated from the Khmer language, because this place was once a dense forest with many kapok trees that people used for firewood. No one has found any trace of the kapok forest according to this hypothesis, but it is a rather interesting and romantic explanation for a tree species associated with a place name.

Let's go back to the story of the kapok tree in my yard. When young, its trunk was straight and green, but as it aged, it became gray and rough. When the sun ripened it, it turned the color of the earth brown, and then, its blossoms bloomed, evoking my childhood memories. Yet, when the fruit came, it swayed playfully in the dry winds, creating a white, tranquil space for me to daydream. Unlike other trees, the kapok tree sheds its leaves in the dry season, because "the kapok tree must sacrifice itself to concentrate its energy on nurturing the kapok fruit to grow properly" (The Lost Kapok Trees, Nguyen Ngoc Tu).

During the fruiting season, viewed from afar, the tree seems to carry clouds on its head. The dried cotton, after removing all the small, pepper-like seeds, is used to make soft pillow stuffing for a comfortable sleep. My mother still maintains the old habit of adding dried betel leaves to the cotton pillowcases before sewing them, which gives them a pleasant aroma that promotes restful sleep. That's why there's a folk saying: "Cotton has a hard outer shell but a soft interior."

Whenever I come across a kapok tree in the highlands, it's a source of happiness for me. For example, right on National Highway 19 – the section passing through Dak Po district – in the grounds of the Cu An commune health station, there's a nearly 40-year-old kapok tree. And in Yang Bac commune (Dak Po district), many villages nestle beside kapok trees in full bloom. Not only are they associated with memories, but kapok trees are now also used to develop sustainable green agriculture . Some households in Chu Se and Chu Prong districts plant kapok trees to use as supports for pepper plants. And I feel even more affection for the trees. Because even when people cut them at the top, removing the branches, they still regenerate vigorously.

Along with many other tree species, the kapok tree is intimately connected to this plateau in a very unique way. Although not as frequently mentioned as other trees, it flows silently like an underground stream from the mountains to the towns and cities. My friend told me that: In the past, there was a kapok tree by her porch with a tall canopy reaching up to the roof. Every kapok flowering season, she and her siblings would play games catching the blossoms.

Every year, the cotton blossom season becomes a cherished part of your childhood memories. Lately, as many cafes in Pleiku have added photo-worthy spots, many have replanted cotton trees or utilized existing ones, such as at the intersection of Nguyen Tat Thanh and Bo Ke streets, to create unique photo opportunities that resemble snowfall in summer. Many tourists stand for hours just waiting for the wind to blow so they can take pictures with the cotton blossoms flying.

Since the Quyet Tien extended road project (the section from Dong Tien road to Su Van Hanh road) officially opened to traffic, the kapok tree in my yard has been exposed to the sun and wind, attracting the curious gaze of many passersby. Occasionally, a few people glance back, and some ask about it. "This year, there's a good kapok harvest, probably because of the hot weather," my mother says to everyone she meets.

Looking at the cotton bolls floating in the air, I often tell myself that perhaps each of us has a cotton tree to remember, to cherish. Like those cotton bolls, someday they will blend into the crowd on the street, landing on the pavement, sowing moments of peace in people's hearts. I once saw a couple stop their car in the middle of a bridge, the girl reaching out to catch a few stray cotton bolls. They smiled, exchanging affectionate glances.

Even now, I occasionally come across a few old kapok trees by the roadside, standing proudly and solitarily in home gardens or persistently beside small grocery stores. During the flowering season, the white blossoms burst open, and the vendors sometimes frown as cotton fibers stick to their tarpaulins. But occasionally, they stop to gather the cotton and put it in a bag, perhaps intending to take it home to stuff into their flattened pillows.

Thus, nature demands nothing, silently sending forth a little kindness, a little dream to cherish the years of dedication to life. Therefore, in the self-reflections about a white cotton flower by literary critic Hoang Dang Khoa, there is a contemplative comparison: "Reflecting on my poetry, the white cotton flower / falls to the courtyard and cannot make a sound" (Facing).

If one day you see a cotton ball falling, don't rush past on your motorbike. Because who knows, perhaps within the gentle whisper, there might be a lingering feeling from the cotton petals opening to welcome you.