During the Lunar New Year holidays this year, I returned to my hometown to light incense for my parents. It's strange, after decades away from home, they still harbored a deep-seated wish to be buried in their hometown. And now, after so many years, their children and grandchildren have finally been able to fulfill that wish.
I was transported back to the Tet atmosphere of my old hometown. The night was still filled with the fragrance of pomelo blossoms, crape myrtle, and other flowers... gentle and pure, ethereal, allowing me to discover a strange yet familiar feeling in my heart. In the backyard, the rustling of banana leaves against each other whispered softly, reminding me of small but incredibly significant things, sometimes patched up or forgotten, yet each encounter moved me deeply.
The stories told amidst the fragrant flowers of the deep night are always tales of loved ones, of our ancestors from the past. Even though life was very difficult and everyone was poor, they were so kind, caring, and loving, even willing to sacrifice and share their food and clothing. So much so that my siblings and I always think that our generation can never treat each other as well as the previous generation. One thing that truly worries me is that as life becomes more prosperous, people tend to drift apart, becoming more envious and calculating, even among relatives...
Country road - Photo: Giac Ngo Online
For many people who live far from home and cannot return, Tet (Lunar New Year) is always a time of deep sadness and longing for their homeland. Tet remains an opportunity not only for family but also for relatives to meet and visit, a joyful reunion.
I was truly moved when I saw two vases of fresh marigolds on my parents' tombstones, and before that, flowers, fruit, and a box of cakes left by the tombstones at the end of the year, left behind in the early days of the new year; even my relatives back home didn't know who it belonged to, having done such a quiet yet meaningful thing for me. Though I didn't say it out loud, I felt proud deep down, wondering how my parents lived their lives that their relatives still cherish such precious sentiments.
On the way to light incense, passing by the ditches, in spring, the grass was lush and green, and cows grazed slowly along the ditch banks. In the early days of the year in my hometown, a light drizzle fell; the spring rain wasn't enough to soak my shoulders, but the weather was so cold that I had to wear two warm jackets.
On the open, windswept fields, the cold intensified, and suddenly I came across several children tending cattle, their clothes thin, huddled together on the road; some were leaning against the wall of a tomb to escape the cold. A wave of sadness washed over me, and images from decades ago suddenly resurfaced.
Life often makes us accustomed to looking forward, but that image subtly reminds me that sometimes we need to look down. For decades, during Tet (Lunar New Year), there have still been heartbreaking images of children herding cattle, shivering in the cold.
Suddenly, I remembered the poems of the poet Trieu Phong, who spent his childhood herding cattle in Ru Tram on the northern bank of the Thach Han River. He is no longer with us, but he left behind poems about his homeland that are powerful enough to evoke a deep love for his parents and his hometown of yesteryear:
“...The cowherd child followed his mother through many arduous journeys/ Father, are you surprised?/ The cowherd child can write poetry/... If childhood didn't involve cowherding/ How could one climb the Con Kho slope into the Tram forest?/ How could one know how to gather firewood bundled with green vines?/ And how could one see the purple color nestled in the thorny bushes and thickets...?”
Each person's childhood as a cowherd is closely tied to a particular place, a different kind of love and hardship, especially to a specific flower or tree endemic to their village, a fact that poet Trieu Phong witnessed firsthand from his impoverished childhood years of herding cattle. And from that place, in that context, poetry took flight, soaring with faith and love for life: "...I sing with the flowers throughout my search / Oh, evening flower / Just remain green like a love that has been lost...". The last two lines are sad but not at all mournful; reading them evokes a profound sense of melancholy.
Those poems were a comforting solace for me amidst my troubled thoughts and reflections.
The morning tea was the same, beside the apricot blossom tree, a golden hue of time, yet never fading, but pure and clear like the carefree leaves and flowers, offering only their heartfelt sentiments to humanity. The sounds of people greeting each other and wishing each other a Happy New Year outside echoed, filling me with joy. I miss the Tet of my hometown so much. I feel sorry for those who, on their journey to make a living, have never once returned to celebrate Tet in their old village.
Ho Si Binh
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