A peaceful home

(Baonghean) - My childhood was intertwined with rice paddies and school. One part of the day was tending buffaloes, the other was going to school. The road to the fields was muddy on rainy days; sitting on the buffalo's back, I would look towards the village, where tall trees could be seen in the distance. There, I would find nests of newly hatched birds. On mischievous summer afternoons, I would climb the trees to catch birds to raise. When the nests were destroyed, the mother bird's mournful cries echoed throughout the garden, a heartbreaking sound...

Growing up, I left home to join the army, and in the communal living quarters, I longed for a meal together around the fireplace. At those times, my comrades and I would go to the front of the building, put a pot of water on the stove, brew a pot of tea, and savor the bittersweet taste of the tea from our hometown that a friend had brought back on leave. Sometimes, missing home and my loved one, I would feel inspired to write a poem. We would pass it around to read, and some friends would even copy it into their notebooks as keepsakes.

Illustration photo: Internet

By the fireplace on a long, windy winter night.

The mother diligently sat sewing clothes for her child.

The poem may not be great, but the sentiment behind it is genuine.

Leaving the gun behind for university. The pen is now softer than the gun. The university campus can sometimes be a common home for all students from across the country.

Living in a boarding house, I experienced both joy and sorrow in my attic room. Some landlords were kind to students, cooking delicious meals and inviting them to sit at the table with them to ease their loneliness.

But there are also families who treat students like strangers. Perhaps it's because landlords and tenants don't truly understand each other, leading to misunderstandings and conflicts, forcing students to pack their bags and find new accommodation. Amidst the bustling streets, the piles of pots, pans, and blankets on the rickshaw look so lonely and pathetic. At such times, some families take pity on them, offering them temporary shelter without charging rent. Some kind rickshaw drivers offer helpful directions. But there are also landlords who are excessively harsh towards students. At those moments, how I long for a simple evening meal with my parents, with a tabby cat meowing under the table, just waiting for a piece of fish to fall. Oh! Not everyone gets to experience such a simple scene.

Entering the dormitory. A small room housing 6-7 people from all over the country, sharing the same circumstances. Sometimes meals are simple, but other times the whole room treats each other to a feast of bottled or draft beer with delicious dishes sent from home. The meal is like the glue that binds together the bonds of friendship among those far from home.

The house I live in is a wooden house from the time my grandfather was alive. Through the vicissitudes of life, the roof remains intact, with every detail of the skillful carving and chiseling done by the craftsmen. More than half a century has passed, and the house is still the place where my siblings and I return to gather after years of separation.

At the warm family reunion dinner, my mother, her hair now gray, and my father, who passed away several years ago, were together. Each had a different profession, but when they met, they both felt like children compared to the home they had shared for nearly two-thirds of a century.

My father, while he was alive, always reminded his children that no matter where they went or what they did, they must always uphold moral principles. Now, under the roof of the house where my father spent almost his entire life, he is gone, but the house remains strong, having withstood countless bombs, bullets, storms, and heavy rains.

Oh, our beloved old home! Although life has changed so much, I still cherish our simple, warm old home. Because it is a peaceful haven that nothing can replace.

Phan Xuan Hau