Season of filial piety

(Baonghean) -As I grew up, I learned more about Asian customs. Reflecting on my own actions, I realized that I have not yet fully shown my gratitude to my parents and ancestors...

Vu Lan ceremony at Phuc Thanh pagoda, Hung Chau commune (Hung Nguyen).

Phuc Thanh Pagoda, Hung Chau Commune, Hung Nguyen District, on the night of the Vu Lan Festival, a large crowd of people came here, quietly and respectfully. Among the filial people coming to this pagoda by the Lam River, I especially noticed Tam. Today, Tam was dressed neatly, as if completely different from the boy who carried a dirty wooden box containing a few toothbrushes, a few boxes of shoe polish, an old plastic bag and a few pairs of slippers that he used to shine shoes at the coffee shop in front of the alley. I recognized Tam because I was too familiar with his dark face, old before his age, his burnt hair and strangely bright eyes that always looked down searching... Tam, like everyone else in this temple, clasped his hands respectfully to listen to the stories and instructions of Venerable Thich Dinh Tue, not knowing if the sad, quiet eyes like an autumn lake of the boy who wandered around all day were looking at the Buddha or the void? This Vu Lan festival at Phuc Thanh pagoda, there is a "Rose pinning ceremony" - Those who still have their parents, pin on their chest a bright red rose, the color of love, the color of the hardships and difficulties that their parents have accumulated for them to grow up over the years; Those who are unfortunate because they have lost their mother or father, pin on their chest a pure white flower of sadness. Tam hesitated, asked for a white rose, then asked for another red rose. Listening to the Dharma talk "How fortunate are those who still have their parents in this world. Because at that time, we still have a peaceful sky. Please cherish that and this moment", Tam cried silently, tears rolling down her face that seemed to have hardened from having to face the law of survival every day.

Sitting on the dike, the river wind blew coldly. The 14-year-old boy told me about his life not long ago: Tam's hometown was a tea land located on the Lam River. In the past, his mother often took him to the pagoda on Vu Lan Festival. Tam's mother told him about the great filial piety of Bodhisattva Muc Kieu Lien who saved his mother from the fate of a hungry ghost. And without knowing when, in his childish consciousness, Vu Lan was shaped as an annual holiday to commemorate the merits of parents and ancestors in general. Even though his mother forbade him from leaving the house after dark, the hyperactive boy still put on his new clothes and sneaked out to see the neighbors, people offering popcorn, green, red, purple, yellow cakes on the street. That year's new clothes were dirty because someone accidentally threw rice porridge from a banyan tree on him. Tam's mother did not beat or scold her, but only explained more about the Vu Lan Festival, which also coincided with the day of forgiveness for the dead... The peaceful days gradually faded away, her mother became seriously ill and passed away, her father remarried. Two years ago, she drifted to the city and made friends with some kids in the same situation. Shining shoes, the one with the sweet mouth invited customers, the other polished and collected money. "When it was sunny, we still earned enough money for rent and food for the day, when it rained, we would probably go hungry."

Tam's voice dropped: "Before, when my mother was still alive, I also went to school. Since my father remarried, my life has changed completely. Not yet over the sadness of losing my mother, I am even sadder because of my aunt's nagging and criticism. In her eyes, I am a thorn, a nail, a useless person... My father goes to work all the time, and every time he comes back, it seems like he has forgotten my existence in this world." Tam sat curled up, crying and confiding to me her secret wish: "If only my mother were still alive, I would be able to go to school... I want to become a lawyer." That dream has now flown away, as far as the moon, as Tam's mother has left her. Her life now is days of wandering around to make a living, coming home at night to cold park benches, sidewalks, or a little more luxurious, shabby, hot rented rooms; the worry of meeting drug addicts and being asked for money, beaten; the fights over customers, fights due to "invasion of territory". The only pleasure of Tam and his friends is gambling for money, even though each game is only 1,000 VND, if they have a little extra they go to the arcade to play. “My dream now is to go to work tomorrow morning and shine shoes for whoever invites them and increase the price by 5,000 VND per pair”… Missing his mother, every full moon day, Tam takes his best clothes and goes to the temple to burn incense, cries, prays for his mother to be safe, to bless him with peace… Tam asks to ride home with me. Her shadow is long, swaying, disappearing behind the market alley. I am not sure if the harsh life has turned Tam and her friends into little wolves or not, but I still believe in her goodness and filial piety. Like the way she chose a white rose and added a red rose.

For me, another season of filial piety has come. I have grown up, and I have learned more about Asian customs. Reflecting on my own actions, I see that I have not yet fully shown my gratitude to my parents and ancestors, and have not accumulated much virtue and done much good. Getting married, the busy life of making a living has pulled me away, and I have not returned for many days. My mother and father do not blame me because their love for their children "never flows back". Even though they have gone their entire lives, their parents' hearts never stop looking forward and worrying for their children. This Vu Lan season, my mother is old so she stays at home, I go alone in the autumn of the day of love... Tam's story, my own story, thoughts seem to be intertwined. Another sleepless night. As a habit, I get up, turn on the computer and go to Facebook. Facebook is full of emotional lines from friends, acquaintances and strangers about Vu Lan day - "Live slowly, love more", "Those who still have parents... please do not be indifferent". A friend who is far from home and wandering in Europe wrote these heartfelt words: “Parents are the place where all the worries and sorrows of human life are shed; they are the origin, the cradle where we were born and gave us the chance to live so that we can know suffering or happiness. Where in this world can we find a solid support like a father? Where in the vast ocean of people can we find a warm and loving embrace like a mother's embrace?” The Facebook community reminds each other “everyone should care for and look after their parents with practical actions”.

When Vu Lan season came, Hanh - my famous blogger friend wrote a very long letter in her diary, like a burst of sobbing: "My childhood was more closely associated with my father's care than my mother's. Every day, taking me to and from nursery school and kindergarten was my father. In the family photos from that time, the person I stood next to was my father. The day I entered first grade, taking me to school, leading me into class in a shy, timid, scared, unfamiliar way was my father. When I babbled, read, wrote, guided me to solve difficult math problems was my father... My life has always been associated with the image and care, teaching of my father. Going to school, the car broke down, friends beat, beat friends: I called Dad. During 12 years of going to school, inviting parents to meetings, signing contact books, signing self-criticism reports, taking me to and from exams, being happy and sad with my achievements: was my father. Then I got married. Happiness seemed stable, peaceful, and happy... The day I lost my father Failed in marriage, my parents opened their arms to welcome me back. At that time, my daughter was only 18 months old. I was just 25 years old. Filled with tears. Mom was still working at that time, dad had retired, most of the time he was still holding and taking care of the grandchild, diapering... he was still dad. I was working far from home, dad replaced me as father, mother... for the grandchild throughout my childhood. My daughter was 3, in kindergarten, dad was the one who took her to and from school every day... Vu Lan was sad, thinking about the one who gave birth to me, I thought about dad again...".

Hanh's letter is long. I know Hanh cried a lot when writing this letter to send to me, not to my father, or to anyone else to read... Close Facebook, turn off the computer to try to lull myself to sleep. Tomorrow, on the occasion of the 15th day of the 7th lunar month, the clans in my mother's hometown - Hung Tan commune, Hung Nguyen will hold a ceremony to worship their ancestors, to reunite the clan members. My mother is meticulous, she told me over and over again, "No matter where you go tomorrow, remember to take me back to my hometown in the afternoon to worship my ancestors. I have prepared enough offerings, no need to buy more."

Thanh Son