Guestbook

The school uniform that students wore early in the morning to school was still pure white, but by the end of the afternoon, during the last class, it was stained with ink with signatures and names left behind. Handshakes, pats on the shoulders, and farewell wishes.

Suddenly catching that moment on an early summer day, when the royal poinciana flowers were burning brightly in a corner of the school yard, and the lagerstroemia flowers were dyed purple with nostalgia, I saw myself 20 years ago, also moved, lingering in the school yard on the last day of school. Quietly passing around a few lines of messages in the yearbook recording the beautiful days of my dreamy age.

Sending guest notes (illustrative photo).

I don’t know who started the yearbook trend and when, but I only know that on a bright sunny day in early summer, when the bell rang for recess, I suddenly received a lovely request with a small, cute notebook: “Write a few lines for me”. And then the yearbook trend spread throughout the class. Everyone passed around and wrote yearbooks for each other.

Flipping through the faded pages that marked so many dear memories of school days, each familiar face, each seat in the classroom appeared clearly in my mind. Wishes for passing the high school graduation exam; getting into the university of my dreams; success and happiness in life; always remember the beautiful days under the roof of 12. Even misunderstandings, hates, loves were expressed and promises were made to reach the blue sky together. In particular, in that small, pretty notebook, each child had small, pretty butterflies decorated and pressed from pink phoenix wings. Back then, we didn't have phones, didn't know how to use computers, or email so we could freely chat and confide. Therefore, in addition to signatures and wishes, each child left their village and hamlet addresses, as a belief that no matter how far they went, everyone would remember their roots, find their old places, and only that address would never be lost.

Now I understand that the yearbook entries are the invisible strings that tie our childhood together. Thanks to those handwritings from my school days, they help me find those lovely memories. They help me remember my teachers, remember the dusty shirts, remember the white chalk, the blackboard, and the times when the whole group skipped class and got punished by the teacher, the anxious sessions of reviewing or checking the lesson at the beginning of class...

That is an unforgettable memory that every time we meet again, we tell each other. And together we hum the melody of the song “Wishing for Old Memories” by musician Xuan Phuong: “Time passes quickly, only memories remain/ Dear memories, I will always remember the voices of my teachers/ Dear friends, I will still remember the times of anger/ And then tomorrow when we part, my heart suddenly fills with longing/ Missing my friends, missing the old school…”.

Another summer has come, for each senior student, the images of today and the beautiful years of youth under the roof of the school will also be kept forever in each memory. Those memories become the luggage for each person to be more confident on the path of life.

Source: https://baobinhthuan.com.vn/luu-but-de-lai-119435.html