If time could turn back...

(Baonghean) -If time could go back, would I choose journalism, would I choose you? Of course! I'm just afraid that if time could go back, journalism wouldn't choose me, or you wouldn't choose me either...

More than 10 years ago, after graduating from journalism university, I went to work at a newspaper office in Hanoi. Right from the beginning of my career, I often had to travel far, to remote areas of mountainous provinces to write articles reflecting on the lives of people in difficult areas. Two or three times a month, I went up the mountain, from Dien Bien, Lang Son, Lao Cai and all the way to the Central Highlands. Seeing me on the road all day, my parents were very worried: "As a girl, why do you keep going like a horse all day?" My mother told me that many times. Many times when she stopped by my house, she saw me staying up until 2 or 3 in the morning, writing, eating in a hurry, never on time, she sighed: "What kind of job is this that is so tiring?"

Knowing that my mother was worried, I just smiled and encouraged her: "Mom, my job is tiring but fun." I showed her each photo I took on the job, the articles that had touched people's hearts. My mother was also happy, but couldn't help but worry: "I've been working all day, worrying that no one will want to marry me. And even if someone does marry me, I'll have to quit my job, so where will I find the time to take care of my husband and children?"

Traveling a lot, meeting a lot, being complimented for being smart and pretty, I had quite a few guys chasing me. But then, everyone hesitated because of my “traveling a lot, meeting a lot” attitude. My mother’s worries increased as my peers had children. It’s not that I didn’t think about it, it’s not that I wasn’t sad, but the job I was passionate about and the excitement of going on the road never faded away in me.

Then I met him on one such trip. That time, alone with a backpack, I went to the northern mountainous region to do a series of investigative reports on smuggling across the border at the end of the year. As soon as I finished collecting information, I discovered that someone was following me. I walked really fast, hoping to get through the ravine to the main road in time, worrying that if they caught me on the way, confiscated my documents and camera, all my days would be in vain. While running, out of breath, I met a group of about 3 people walking ahead. This was a group of construction engineers surveying a project. He was among them, looking at me with eyes full of concern and sympathy. Understanding very quickly, he let me join the group and happily chatted as if we were in the same group. After separating from the surveillance, he asked me: "Are you a journalist? Why did you go to such a dangerous place alone?" I answered him: "Our job is so harsh, brother." He kindly saw me off to the bus station to return to Hanoi. We exchanged addresses and phone numbers. On the ride back, I was haunted by his sympathetic, sharing eyes…

After that, we kept in touch and met more often because we both worked in Hanoi. Love came without knowing when. I felt really lucky to have him understand and encourage me every day in my work. Every time I went on a business trip, he prepared for me a bottle of essential oil, a sewing needle, a roll of thread. After each trip I returned from, he went to the bus station, the train station to pick me up, asked about my work, and urged me to write articles to submit to the editorial office on time with all his sincerity...

Then we also considered the long-term. He took me to Kim Son, Ninh Binh to meet his family. The countryside was still poor, the road was bumpy and rocky, his parents were both war invalids, but I still clearly felt the warmth and warmth. He said, "You will have to endure hardships as a daughter-in-law of my Pham family!" But for me, receiving his love and that of his parents was a great happiness. He also followed me to Nghe An. My mother was very happy, and loved him very much. And our wedding was held after 2 years of dating. We rented a house near the editorial office to facilitate my work. After we got married, he was still the same, always caring, taking care of me, loving me, creating all conditions for me to do my job well. Although we were not well-off, our life was quite stable and warm. The joy increased when we welcomed the birth of our daughter. After maternity leave, I went on business trips continuously, he had to take care of the house and take care of the baby for me. When my daughter turned 2, I moved back to work as an editor at the editorial office. Although I didn’t have to travel as far as before, the nature of my job meant that I often got home late. Looking at my daughter sleeping soundly, my husband absorbed in his designs, I washed the dishes, he made tea, that simple happiness passed by peacefully day by day.

Those days, sometimes I saw his tired face, I urged him to go for a health check. After much procrastination, he finally agreed to go with me to the hospital. When it was time to return the results, he told me to wait while he went in to get them. It took a long time before he came out, smiling at me: "I have liver pain. The doctor said it will be cured after a while of treatment!"

Every day, he took his medicine regularly, but somehow he became weaker and weaker. I remember, one day in the middle of winter 2010, when I came home from the editorial office, the clock had already passed midnight because I had to work on the Tet newspaper, and I didn't see him waiting for me like usual, so I got worried.

The following days, he was very sick, I went to the doctor who examined him to ask about him. I couldn’t believe my ears: he had terminal liver cancer. Only when he was in so much pain that I couldn’t keep quiet did I realize that I didn’t have much longer to have him in this world… I took a leave of absence from work without pay to be close to him and take care of him. During those days, I was like someone racing against time to fight for every minute for him. Whenever someone said that there was medicine somewhere, I would try my best to go and buy it, no matter how far or difficult it was… I was in so much pain that my tears ran out. Looking at him lying there with pale hands, tired eyes, looking at my daughter innocently learning to read… I just wanted to scream to God: “Why?”. But in front of him, I was not allowed to be sad.

Then one day, hearing that in Do Luong there was someone who prescribed a very good medicine for liver disease, I went back to get it for him. With joy and hope, I hurriedly took a bus back to Ninh Binh. At around 6 o'clock, just as I reached the alley, I heard my mother-in-law sobbing inside the house. My legs felt like they were about to collapse. My head was spinning, the medicine bag in my hand suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I struggled to run to his bedside. He was lying motionless... I didn't have time to see him one last time. It was too late... I hugged him tightly, screaming, choking: "How can I make you come back to life? Why didn't you wait for me to come back?"

After finishing his funeral, I stood in front of his belongings and personal belongings and couldn’t help but feel sad. Opening the familiar suitcase where he used to keep his books, papers, and projects, I was stunned… Since when, in that suitcase, he had cut out hundreds of articles I had written that had been published and put them in there very carefully. A choking feeling gripped my heart.

For nearly 3 years, my child and I have lived in a state of intense longing. Many times I asked myself: If time could turn back, would I choose journalism, would I choose you? Of course! Thank you for journalism for letting me meet you, even though our fate was so short. And thank you for coming into my life, making me understand what love and forgiveness are.

Thu Huong