Going home in distant dreams

Amidst the hustle and bustle of modern life, amidst the never-ending busyness of the city, just catching a glimpse of a photo that resembles my old house is enough to transport my heart back to the Tet holidays of my childhood.

Seeing the vibrant red of the flowers, signaling the arrival of Tet (Vietnamese New Year) - Illustration photo: HOAI PHUONG

There are those late afternoons at the end of the year, when a cold wind blows from somewhere, carrying the damp smell of earth and the lingering scent of kitchen smoke, and I feel a pang of sadness.

Just catching a glimpse of a photo that resembles my old house, my heart is pulled back to the Tet holidays of my childhood, days when joy was simpler, and Tet in my grandparents' old house was warmer and more fulfilling than anything I experience now.

The house nestled amidst a courtyard of time-worn brickwork. Its whitewashed walls were old, moss thickly covering the base, but every time Tet (Lunar New Year) arrived, it seemed to awaken after a year of quietude.

As soon as he lit the stove, the white smoke rose, seeped through the tiled roof, and blended into the gentle gray sky of the late winter day—a sign that spring was knocking at the door.

I remember that smell very clearly, the smell of kitchen smoke from my hometown, not fragrant like essential oils or incense, but it had a strangely powerful ability to evoke memories.

It reminds me of those chilly mornings, curled up in blankets listening to the crackling of dry firewood, and the soft footsteps of my grandparents moving across the dew-covered tile floor.

In the old days, Tet (Vietnamese New Year) was encapsulated in the preparations of those two elderly people. They lived slowly, doing everything deliberately, but each task was filled with love. I remember her thin, gaunt hands, each knuckle dotted with age spots, but every time she picked up a banana leaf, her movements became strangely graceful.

She spread the leaves out on a large basket, smoothing each vein as if soothing something fragile. I often sat beside her, watching her movements, and felt a strange sense of peace. The lush green leaves, soaked with water, shone brightly in the pale sunlight, creating a vibrant splash of color against the reddish-brown brick courtyard.

She said that Tet (Vietnamese New Year) must have banh chung (traditional rice cake), because with banh chung, the house truly feels like it's Tet. Just that one sentence, and for all these years, whenever I see the banana leaves being hastily sold in the market, I still hear her gentle voice somewhere in the wind.

As for him, his hair as white as frost, his eyes dim, yet he still preferred to light the fire himself. He gathered firewood from the corner of the house, stacking it carefully, arranging each piece as if it were a sacred ritual to awaken the spirit of Tet. Smoke rose slowly, heavy as mist yet light as the breath of the earth and sky.

He fanned himself while muttering old stories, things he'd told over and over again countless times, yet I never got tired of them. Perhaps it was because in each of his stories, I heard the sound of memories, of his youth, of all the Tet holidays that had passed in this house.

Sticky rice cakes (Bánh chưng) are popular during Tet (Lunar New Year) - Illustration: THANH HIỆP

Our small house, though not luxurious, held countless memories that I can no longer find. From the sound of my grandmother splitting bamboo with her knife, the tapping of my grandfather's pot lid, the rustling of the wind through the old cracks in the doors… all blended together into a melody I call "the spring melody of the old house."

Back then, I was a child and didn't fully understand the hardships of adults. I only knew that Tet (Lunar New Year) was joyful and exciting. It was running around the yard, getting my hands wet from playing, and then snuggling into my grandmother's arms to warm myself. It was watching the pot of sticky rice cakes bubbling in the night, the smoke rising and swirling around my grandfather's hair, glowing in the bright red firelight. It was the small peach blossom branch that my grandfather always brought home from the market on his old bicycle.

Not as beautiful, not as big, not as vibrant as the peach blossoms people display in the city, but standing in the corner of the yard, a few delicate pink peach blossoms gently bloomed, brightening the whole house. I still remember the feeling when my grandparents were preparing for Tet while chatting with each other, their conversations so ordinary, yet so warm that I want to cherish them forever.

She reminded him not to use too much heat or the cakes would burn. He grumbled, as if she didn't know how many years he'd been baking. She laughed, saying, "Well, I say that, but if you're not careful, you'll fall asleep." Those sounds of laughter, reminders, and playful banter—thinking back now, they were all sounds of happiness. A simple happiness that, during my turbulent formative years, I've always longed to return and hear again.

That house was more than just a shelter from the rain and sun. It was the cradle of countless Tet holidays, the place that held my childhood, the childhood of a child who knew nothing of smartphones, colorful gift packages, or vibrant streets, a child who only knew how to look forward to Tet with the simplest things.

Old walls, old tiled roofs, old furniture… but all of them hold more meaning than anything I have now. People say that the older you get, the less meaningful Tet becomes. But I think it's not that Tet has become less meaningful, it's just that when I leave that house, a part of the flavor of Tet also fades away.

Then he passed away. She also grew weaker with age. The house fell silent, devoid of the sound of burning firewood, the rustling of banana leaves, and the soft laughter under the eaves. In subsequent Tet holidays, no matter how hard I tried to buy the most beautiful peach blossoms or meticulously arrange the altar, the feeling was never the same.

There's no fire as warm as the one my grandfather kindled. No hands as meticulous as my grandmother's in arranging banana leaves. No corner of the yard where, the moment I step out, I feel as if my childhood is waiting. Every time I see an image that resembles that old corner of the yard, like the two elderly figures by the stove, like the green banana leaves placed on the worn brick floor, my heart aches with a feeling difficult to name. It's a mixture of warmth, pain, gratitude, and regret.

It turns out that Tet (Vietnamese New Year) is truly about the people, the home, the smell of smoke, the familiar sounds that, no matter where we go as we grow up, we can never find again. And it turns out that what I remember most deeply isn't the feast, the couplets, the fireworks… but the gentle life in my old home. It's the Tet of a peaceful time that now only exists in my memories.

If only I could, I would wish to return to that house once more, on a late afternoon at the end of the year, when the smoke from the kitchen chimneys rises, and my grandparents are still sitting there preparing for Tet (Lunar New Year). I would sit beside them, gazing intently at each moment, trying to remember everything without missing a single detail.

But time waits for no one. All that remains are memories that, each time we recall them, soften our hearts and bring tears to our eyes. And that's enough. Because perhaps, as long as we keep the image of our home during Tet (Lunar New Year) in our hearts, we still have a place to return to, even if only through memories.

We invite readers to participate in the writing contest.

A warm spring day

As a source of spiritual nourishment during the Lunar New Year season, newspapers Youth Together with our partner, INSEE Cement Company, we continue to invite readers to participate in our writing contest. A warm spring day To share an introduction to your home – your sanctuary, its features, and the memories you will never forget.

The house where your grandparents, parents, and you were born and raised; the house you built yourself; the house where you celebrated your first Tet (Lunar New Year) with your small family... all can be submitted to the competition to introduce to readers nationwide.

Article A warm spring day Entries must not have previously participated in any writing competitions or been published in any media or social networks. The author is responsible for copyright, and the organizers have the right to edit and select entries for publication. Youth They will receive royalties.

The competition will take place from December 1, 2025 to January 15, 2026, and all Vietnamese people, regardless of age or profession, are welcome to participate.

Article A warm spring day Entries must be in Vietnamese, with a maximum of 1,000 words. Including photos and videos is encouraged (photos and videos taken from social media without copyright will not be accepted). Entries will only be accepted via email; postal mail will not be accepted to avoid loss.

Entries should be sent to the email address maiamngayxuan@tuoitre.com.vn.

Authors must provide their address, phone number, email address, bank account number, and citizen identification number so that the organizers can contact them and send royalties or prizes.

Newspaper staff Youth and family members can participate in the writing contest. The "Warm Home for Spring" project was not considered for the award. The organizing committee's decision is final.

Awards Ceremony A warm spring day and launch the special edition Youth Spring

The judging panel included renowned journalists, cultural figures, and representatives from the press. Youth The judging panel will review the entries that have passed the preliminary round and select winners.

Award ceremony and magazine launch Youth Spring It is expected to be held at Nguyen Van Binh Book Street, Ho Chi Minh City, at the end of January 2026.

Prize:

1st prize: 10 million VND + certificate, newspaper Youthful Spring ;

1 second prize: 7 million VND + certificate, newspaper Youthful Spring ;

1 third prize: 5 million VND + certificate, newspaper Youthful Spring ;

5 consolation prizes: 2 million VND each + certificate and newspaper. Youthful Spring .

10 Readers' Choice Awards: 1 million VND each + certificate and newspaper. Youthful Spring .

The voting points are calculated based on interaction with the post, where 1 star = 15 points, 1 heart = 3 points, and 1 like = 2 points.

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DI KHA

Source: https://tuoitre.vn/ve-nha-trong-nhung-giac-mo-xa-20260101075902368.htm