Take it slow, remember!

Each person's life is like a door, whether we are inside or outside, our hearts are at peace or still filled with worries, when the sky and earth are filled with clouds and water, the cold will be there, when at the end of the road, the fresh colors of spring will shine brightly, our hearts will be filled with an indescribable feeling.

Oh, Tet has really come!... ( Illustration photo from Internet )

The cold of the last days of the year is like the smile of a girl in her eighteenth or twenties. That cold sows into the sky and earth the fresh buds of spring, the green beaches, the fields of alluvial soil towards the end of the horizon. Walking in the misty mist, in the drizzling rain of a windless afternoon, my heart is filled with nostalgia, a vague and present nostalgia, a nostalgia in the deepest part of my memory.

Nostalgia brings us back to the narrow alleys in our childhood memories. The alleys are crisscrossed with tree roots, flat and smooth, an ideal place for the neighborhood children to play house. At the end of the year, when light rain falls on the distant butter-colored fields, when old buffaloes lie with their snouts on smooth, rounded wooden planks, the children use tree roots to make “stall” and decorate them into booths like in a Tet market.

Nhan and Lanh always compete to sell spices. The two sisters have spent the whole year collecting and storing the spices needed for the Tet meal. In my hometown, Tet cannot be without a pot of braised pork leg. And when cooking pork leg, you cannot lack thinly sliced ​​galangal and lemongrass, which are put in the pot to blanch and then puree to get the juice. The very distinctive aroma of this spice blends with the grilled pork leg, making it sweet and cool on the tip of the tongue. The Nhan sisters display on their “stall” tiny jars of spices, made from dried tangerine peel powder, shredded lemon leaves, galangal and lemongrass juice, chili pepper, chili pepper... On the other side are Lanh’s sisters with a brilliant array of homemade flowers for Tet. A row of bouquets are arranged from colored paper, curled with scissors and wrapped with steel cores or sharpened giang fibers.

Plum and peach branches with buds, wet with dew, hastily cut from old roots of several decades old, were displayed in plastic bottles covered with red and green paper. The "booths" were carefully and beautifully decorated... When everything was ready, the whole group pretended to go to this house a little, that house a little, without bargaining, but instead leaned in to smell the scent, then hugged each other's shoulders, laughed, and said loudly: Oh, Tet has really come!

Tru Market and Bo Market are the daily joys of children and the anticipation of many hearts...

Nostalgia brings us back to the three-room house with yin-yang tiled roof, the house filled with the laughter of loved ones when the warm spring passes through the alley. Nostalgia for a special market in the year, a market that existed a long time ago, when a whole fertile fragrant land on both sides of the Pho Giang River spread its wings of flying storks of golden ripe rice seasons. Nineteen Tru (Buffalo) markets, twenty Bo (December 19 and 20) markets. That special market is the daily joy of children, the waiting of many hearts, the regret of those far away from home, the eager anticipation to return. In the green and red colors of the clay figurines made of rice flour; in the colorful flower towers made of paper; in the rows of banh duc, banh dau, banh com, che lam, people's hearts are filled with love and filled with desire. The desire for peace in the ups and downs of life, the desire to return when the sky and water are covered with mist, when the market on the eve of Tet is filled with the vibrant colors of spring.

Nostalgia carries the silt particles that settle in the river of time, bringing us back to old love... ( Illustration photo from the Internet )

Nostalgia brings us back to the clear smoke, the smoke rising from the thatched roofs of the villages. On the afternoon of the thirtieth of Tet, standing on the top of Thap mountain, where our ancestors rest, our hearts are suddenly filled with nostalgia as we look at the thin wisps of smoke on the roofs. Since when have we not been able to inhale that pungent aroma? Since when have we not been able to see the whole family gathered around the fire, next to the shiny bamboo basket, slurping crab soup with young jackfruit? For a long time, we have not been able to gather leaves on windy afternoons, nor have we been able to jump over piles of fragrant leaves with our friends. That special and exciting aroma is the peaceful days for our hearts to anchor, for nostalgia to flood back when the weather is dry.

It is the last days of the year, the days when the fields are white with the cool breeze. The days when the sky and earth seem to slow down. Slow down to remember, to let the heart beat for old affections, fragile but deep affections, giving us enough warmth, enough trust to firmly overcome the storms in the crowdedness of life.

When the river is stained with light drizzle, the fields are covered with the color of young milk, the scent of all things, the budding grass and trees blend together in the afternoon of falling leaves, spring wears a gentle blue coat and passes through the villages, houses, and street corners... that is when nostalgia carries the silt particles settling in the river of time, bringing us back to old love.

Take it slow, remember!

End of 2023

Tong Phu Sa

Source: https://baohatinh.vn/van-hoc/hay-cham-thoi-de-nho/260184.htm