Red cotton flower season in Vinh city

(Baonghean) - Surely, when I mention the cotton tree, you think I am dreaming of a certain countryside? A countryside with vast fields, with cotton trees in March burning red flames up to the deep sky. The flames light up memories, the flames seem to want to warm, to comfort people in the cold of Miss Ban, along with the seemingly old lamentations on the lips of my grandmother in the past: March, the eighth day... it will be very long...

But no, I am telling you about my flower season. The season of the silk cotton flowers on Vinh street. When the purple clusters of xoan flowers seem to absentmindedly spread their fragrance on the remaining bare trees at the corner of C4, C5 Quang Trung. But the street is very noisy, so the xoan flowers have to hide quietly and wait for the night to come, dedicated to a wanderer who has left the countryside for the city, every night also accidentally opens the balcony door and suddenly touches the scent as if touching the sobbing... Then, the silk cotton flowers, with a different personality, fierce and brilliant, will wake you up with a dazzling start. You cannot help but be stunned, staring up at the bright red color of that morning, full of bold surprises, dyeing a space of the street red. Oh, it is the silk cotton flowers. Silk cotton flowers on Quang Trung street, silk cotton flowers on Phan Dinh Phung street... Silk cotton flowers knock on the door of March: Knock, knock, knock... Spring is passing by!

Kapok tree on Quang Trung street. Photo: Le Thang

I am not from Vinh, but I once confessed that I fell in love with the red silk cotton flowers of Vinh street. It is like an old mark in a city that is becoming more and more new. It always wants to remind people who bring their country soul to the street. It keeps burning to say that nothing is forgotten. It is also the same thing, reminding those who are indifferent, bustling through the street that: Time flies like an arrow. Just yesterday, the day before yesterday, the flower platforms were still soaring in flames in the sky, but this morning, I saw red corpses lying on the side of the road, on the pavement, in the regretful sigh of a photographer who was absorbed in a festival all spring somewhere, the other afternoon passing through the street and blaming himself: So I missed a flower season...

Kapok flowers fallen on the street. Photo: Duy Hung

And, a little bit of privacy, it brought me a kindred spirit... I'm talking about a girlfriend, I've never met, but we can talk to each other for hours through words. That girl is from Vinh city. But now she's working in Saigon. Life is so strange, it brought me to this city, and brought Vinh city people far away from home... You told me about missing the city, about the names of the alleys, the streets you passed, the memories, the stumbles, the beautiful student love stories... Surely, because we share the same love for Vinh city. The love of a person who goes far away always yearning to remember, of a person who comes and can't leave...

You said you always remember the lazy cotton trees that sleep from winter to spring in Vinh city. Rough, dry and dull, seemingly lifeless. And one spring morning, when the March fog was as soft as a thin veil draped over the small city, on the way to school you came across flower buds that you didn’t know when they had bloomed, suddenly blooming red like candles on the trees. And just a day or two later, those candles would spread their bright red petals, full of warmth and pride.

The cotton tree on Phan Dinh Phung Street is still loyal to you like an old friend. Under the cotton tree is a tea shop owned by an old lady over 60. Several times you and your close friend who lives nearby go there to drink tea. You chatter to him about loving this guy and not liking that guy without knowing that he is smiling but secretly scolding you for not knowing that there is someone sitting next to you. And you only know that when you are too far apart.

You don’t remember the name of that old lady, but once you met your father riding his bike to the market to sell coal, and asked about you. Knowing that you had a husband and children, and were living well, she smiled with satisfaction as if she were talking about a close grandchild she hadn’t seen for a long time. Your father told you that, and you remembered the sweet taste mixed with the bitterness, the strong aroma of the bowl of green tea the old lady poured for you. The bowl of green tea was on the brown wooden table, occasionally with cotton flowers falling down, and the silence was startling. In your countless memories, you mentioned a lot about the cotton trees on Vinh street.

The new cotton flowers that were still hiding somewhere in the rough bark yesterday, today bloom brilliantly. Photo: Duy Hung

You said, as for the kapok tree on Quang Trung Street, it was right at the corner of the apartment building where your best friend lived. She lived on the 5th floor, the two of you often climbed up there to look down at the bright red canopy and told each other about the little girl A Xon in the story “The Bright Red Sails”. Somehow, the two of you realized that there was a very close connection between the bright red sail and the bright red kapok flowers halfway up your eyes. You thought about the poor dreamy girl like you, as innocent as you, thought about the prince who only needed to have a fortune and kindness. That was enough. Now, instead of the old, dilapidated apartment building, the old apartment has been rebuilt. Luckily, that kapok tree is still there. It is a witness to the many changes of the street, of each person's fate. Every time you hurried back from the sunny and windy South, you still find yourself an excuse to go back and forth on Quang Trung Street, just to look up at that old tree canopy, to dream again of the dream of the sail...

You remember most the cotton tree blooming right in front of your house, in the yard of the cooperative opposite your house, just a small road away. You said, it was the Tan Thanh Cooperative, or Tan Tien or something. Near your house on Nguyen Cong Tru Street. Once your mother and you cleaned the house together, the wet floor shimmered with the shadow of the ancient cotton tree covering the room. The sunlight carried the shadow of red flowers, the shadow of young lemon buds and old brown branches printed on the patterned tiles the size of a glove, looking very beautiful. Occasionally, when there was wind, those images would slowly tremble slightly. You had to stand there and stare in amazement for a few minutes. Your mother said jokingly: "Our house doesn't need flowers, it's full of flowers." It's been a long time since you suddenly remembered that memory, when your mother had gone far away and your nose was stinging. You remember that your mother - a hard-working woman in the city - never thought of buying flowers except for the three days of Tet. You loved all the shadows of flowers pouring into the house.

The kapok tree in the yard of the cooperative is associated with your childhood. The ancient kapok tree is very tall, so you never thought of picking flowers from it and immediately thought of picking up fallen flowers. Looking from inside the house, the tree feels like it is only a few arm’s reach away. But to stand under the tree, you have to go around a distance because the cooperative is surrounded by a long wall. Once you went around there, the children in the yard of the cooperative looked at you with strange eyes, not allowing you to touch the fallen flowers. Children always keep some unreasonable ownership rights for themselves. You go home and think that if only there were no wall.

Once, indeed, the wall was torn down, when the cooperatives in the city had been dissolved for a long time. The cooperative land that was rented out for restaurants, hotels, coffee shops, etc. became expensive and the old cotton tree was cut down without your knowledge while you were studying away from home. Only now, sometimes you still stand in front of your house and still see the image of the old cotton tree blooming brightly every March. You smile when you think about it, as fondly as you still smile when you remember a dear friend you haven't seen for a long, long time.

Around this time last year, your mother's last days. Your mother, sometimes in the midst of her pain, would say, "I don't know when she'll feel better again so Huong can take her back to Saigon to replace the bile duct. After the doctor replaces it, she'll stop hurting, like in November. At that time, she'll be able to go to the market, sweep the floor, and cook again." You told her, "You should try to eat to regain your strength," to coax her with spoonfuls of rice and water. You never let her know that her health was measured day by day. And in the moments after that, when you were so desperate, you just wanted to scream and cry out loud because you knew there was no way you could keep her, you walked out of the house and walked around. Just a few steps away from your house was an ancient cotton tree right at the beginning of the path leading to Hong Son Temple. Standing at the base of the tree, looking up at the bony branches blooming with red flowers against the cloudy, silver-gray sky, you felt as if someone was gently coaxing you...

And Huong, I know, when I recall these memories to you, you will surely cry again. March is back, you live in a place without a single cotton tree. The weather where you live is not suitable for this type of tree. You keep asking: Will our street cut down the old cotton trees? You are afraid that one day when you return, there will be no more cotton trees. Your heart will surely be very uncertain. But Huong, the cotton trees on our street have begun to light up. Just one cotton tree alone has made a whole season of flowers in our Vinh street...

Thuy Vinh - Vo Huong