The taste of money

(Baonghean)Is there anyone who hasn't tasted the power of money?!A pampered child might say that money tastes sweet like candy and is as soft as a cotton blanket. A young student happily going to school might say that money has the red color of flamboyant flowers and the fragrance of white paper. Someone with a roof over their head and a comfortable life might say that money smells of hot, smoky food and the warmth of a fireplace on a cold winter day. But do we know that, in reality, all of that pales in comparison to the countless other flavors of money...

Surprisingly, those who know the true taste of money best are often those who rarely have the opportunity to possess it. But the money they do have is certainly earned through their own labor, and because it is so scarce and limited, they cherish and value it deeply. It sounds strange, but it's not really: is it because the money we spend is often not earned through our labor, or comes to us too easily, causing us to squander it effortlessly? Does money stay with us long enough for us to realize that it's not always pristine and fragrant with the scent of paper and ink, but that the ink has faded, wrinkles have appeared, and the money itself seems weary from passing through countless hands?

If we slow down a little, and look, smell, and taste our money—what color, smell, and taste it has—we'll realize it's not just sweet and fragrant as we imagine. So, when we buy a bunch of vegetables from a shabbily dressed old woman with calloused hands, don't hastily toss away a few coins contemptuously. What we're buying isn't just a few vegetables; it's the early morning of an old woman, older than our mother, her feet wading through muddy ponds, her wrinkled hands immersed in cold water—a lifetime of hard work and more gray hairs on her head, accustomed to enduring wind and rain. When you wave down a junk collector passing by your porch on a sweltering summer afternoon, don't be grumpy or urge those calloused, rough hands to pick up the things you only want to get rid of. Because what you're exchanging isn't just waste paper, bottles, or rubbish, but a family's meal, a child's school books, or the weary, mournful cries echoing sadly alongside the rickety wheels of a decades-old bicycle that came here from distant, unfamiliar countryside.

Even the money we give to beggars, let's not mistake it for cheap coins buying fleeting moments of joy, nor should we scorn or mock the poor before us, thinking they are inferior. When that poignant, tearful, and sorrowful voice rises, doesn't our heart also tremble with nostalgia for the past, for an unfinished love, for an old homeland? Doesn't the dim eyes and crippled hands of that singer see through and warm our hearts, easing our longing and sorrow? These simple things, even the most brilliant professors and doctors might not understand or be able to impart them to us, and even the wealthiest and most prosperous might not possess them to give to us.

Certainly, there are times in life when money passes from our hands to those who seem poorer, more destitute, and struggling more than we are. But it is these people who will teach us new tastes, the very tastes inherent in money. The salty, acrid smell of sweat under the scorching sun, the thick black smoke from dark, stuffy mines, the pungent smell of shrimp and fish on boats bobbing on the waves, the smell of mud, straw, bamboo, and even the foul smell of garbage and sewage—so that we know that even affluent modern life has its hidden corners, just as money doesn't always smell like fresh paper as it does when it comes straight from the printing press. Money knows not only sweetness, it also knows bitterness for those far from home, the salty taste of tears from mothers grieving for their children, grandmothers for their grandchildren, and the bitterness and choking resentment of those who have lived a life of hardship, toiling under the sun and rain.

Oh, money, why do you have so many smells and tastes? Is it because our sense of taste is numb, our sense of smell paralyzed, that we can't taste all these smells and tastes? Or is it because our hearts are small, our souls cold, that we can't reach you? When we spend a coin, please pause for a moment and reflect: what does the coin in our hand smell like? Who is the person we are about to give it to? And in doing so, will we be giving our coin a new flavor? Only then will our coin cease to be bland and worthless; only then will its flavor be discovered and spread from one person to another, and then from us to others, and so on. This society will then be richer in humanistic scents and flavors, our hearts will be warmer, and our souls will be more open to life and to people. Please don't misuse the word "poor" and equate the poor with those who have nothing; their hands may be empty, but that's not difficult to compensate for. What is truly admirable and precious about them is their hearts, full of color and flavor. These are qualities we are sorely lacking, and we may not even recognize them in order to fill that void!

Hai Trieu (Mail from Paris)