April in the city named after Uncle Ho

In April, the mountain town of Pleiku is as quiet as an old song echoing. The wind still blows through the pine forests along Duc An Lake, carrying the pungent smell of red basalt soil in the chilly afternoons.

There, memories of war are covered with a layer of dust. People talk about it with silent nods and distant gazes towards the horizon.

One day in mid-April, I visited Ho Chi Minh City. Like a signal from the universe, something urged me to return to the place where 50 years ago, the whole nation burst into joy on the day of great victory, unifying the country. I wanted to stand in the heart of the city once to listen to the heartbeat of Saigon in the historic month of April, to understand more about the things I had only read in books or heard from stories of relatives.

A slice of Ho Chi Minh City today. Photo: Internet

Ho Chi Minh City welcomed us with the scorching heat of the southern sun and its inherent hustle and bustle. Among the high-rise buildings, the bustling crowd was like a loom. I felt small and lost, like someone who had just left the dream of the highlands. But then, when I stepped into the Independence Palace, where I witnessed the moment when the liberation army's tanks crashed through the iron gate, ending 30 years of arduous and heroic war of the Vietnamese people, I suddenly became silent.

Although I have studied and worked in this city for nearly 10 years, and have visited or brought school friends and foreign delegations to visit, when I returned here on the occasion of the historic April, the feeling inside me was indescribable.

The city named after Uncle Ho these days is always bustling with the sound of footsteps and shouts of unison resounding along Le Duan and Ton Duc Thang streets - which have become the "stage" for the rehearsal for the parade and march to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the great victory in the spring of 1975. I, a son of the mountainous town of Pleiku, returned to Saigon right on the occasion of the historic April, and had the opportunity to witness those rehearsals. My heart fluttered with pride with each step of the soldiers.

Against the clear blue sky, the red flag with yellow star flutters proudly in the bright yellow sunlight. The groups of soldiers, from infantry, police, navy to female militia, are present in a vivid and spirited picture. Each formation is a united block, strong but not rigid, as if telling a story with their own footsteps and eyes.

Under the golden sunlight of April, those strong faces were constantly sweating but did not show any signs of fatigue. Because they were not only practicing for a ceremony, but also continuing the unfinished dream of their predecessors. In each step of their footsteps was peace , independence, and hope.

I quietly watched the practice session on the side of the road with many people beside me. There were veterans with silver hair attentively watching each passing troop as if they were seeing themselves in the past - a time of youth associated with marching, with ideals and aspirations. As for me, a young person born after the war, for the first time felt the sacredness of the two words "unification" not only through books, but also through reality, through the resounding sound right in the heart of Saigon.

Having only known about the war through stories told by my relatives, today, I have lived a part of history, even if it was just standing quietly on the sidelines of a parade rehearsal. For me, every minute is precious. I see the pride of my nation not only through victory, but also through the way we cherish, preserve and tell it to future generations.

I arrived in front of the tank numbered 390. Next to it was a small board recounting the events of the afternoon of April 30, 1975. The space seemed to thicken, between the harsh sunlight and the long shadows of the trees falling on the yard. A feeling of sadness crept into my chest. The freedom and unity we have today did not come from a miracle but were exchanged for countless sacrifices, for the blood and tears of those who went through the fierce war to defend our country.

That evening, I continued walking through the streets that were brightly lit with flowers. The echoes of history seemed to still linger somewhere, in every breath of the city. Old people sitting on park benches, young soldiers patrolling the streets, the loudspeakers reciting the news of 1975...

Indeed, when I set foot in the city named after Uncle Ho, I truly understood the depth of the two words “peace”. In April, in the heart of Saigon, I touched history not with my hands but with the heart of a young person living in peace, with pride and a strong desire to live and contribute to the Fatherland and homeland.

Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/thang-tu-o-thanh-pho-mang-ten-bac-post320032.html