House B in Quang Trung area will be a memory...

A museum of memories

More than 40 years. From the days when this wall smelled of new lime, the doors opened with joy to welcome the first residents of the multi-storey building called Quang Trung B House, until now, the walls are green moss, the old smell of stagnant water, the doors are wide open, looking out into the windy corridors with peeling bricks and mortar. More than 40 years, so many joyful steps on the stairs, so many sad farewells on the stairs, so many hesitant waits on the stairs... There are the first steps of life that have left their mark here, and there are also the last steps of life on earth that have also left their mark here. Now all that remains are the scarred vastness...

More than 40 years. The buildings that stood proudly in the middle of the city, full of thatched roofs and broken bricks, are now old, low, dilapidated houses that need to be demolished. More than 40 years of sheltering many homes, many lives coming and going, holding in themselves so many sorrows and joys, preserving millions of memories to create a towering museum of memories for the people of Vinh city. And now, quietly and proudly, they have sunk down, lying down as if they had lived a glorious life, as if they had completed their mission and it was time to say goodbye peacefully.

I stood at the foot of the B blocks of Quang Trung Collective Housing and thought about it these days, where the last residents are gradually moving away with mixed emotions. Regret, longing, sorrow, hope… There are too many memories of them belonging to this place. I thought of the many residents who grew up here, at this moment they are far away and wishing to be like me, standing silently under the royal poinciana and banyan trees and looking up at the numbered rooms, the windows, the corridors, the stairs, the bulletin boards at the beginning of each application… There, there must be a little girl who forgot a dry flower branch hiding her first love. There, there was a little boy who left behind bewildered green marbles, a sadness in his hands tightly clutching the iron bars on a noon when his parents came home from a late shift? There, the sound of cicadas in early June was just ringing out above a canopy of red royal poinciana trees that stretched all the way to the 4th floor of B6, all the way to the 5th floor of B5. There was a window that opened up, filled with nostalgia for a sky full of white clouds and golden sunshine, where the dream of flying far away with the wings of freedom began…

Sharing a path home

Ms. Nguyen Thi Van and her husband, Mr. Ho Viet Trung, residents of building B6, are discussing the upcoming move right next to the single hallway in the middle. She is the owner of the famous fried cake, boiled snail, and stir-fried snail shop at the foot of building B6. Today, she did not tell me about the good business. She was very excited. She said that she knew that she would be able to live in a new house, that there would be compensation, that she would work hard to do business as she had done for many years, and that she would live with more comfortable living conditions, but how could she not be sad and miss this place? She followed her parents to live in building B4 since 1976, and then met her husband in building B6 right on the stairs of these B buildings. Her wedding took her a short walk from B4 to B6, and her friends and relatives were all residents of the high-rise buildings. She gave birth to her two children in this first-floor house. Now that she has become a grandmother, she has let her children live on their own. "So our family only has 2 generations living in B6, but in Mrs. Loan's family in room 312, all 3 generations live here."

Mrs. Ha Thi Loan, 81 years old this year, with white hair like silk, slowly told us about her family's life. She came to this B6 building from the very first days (1977). She gave birth to 2 children. And now her son's family, Mr. Truong Van Doan (born in 1968) is also living with his parents. Mrs. Loan's grandchildren are now grown up. "I thought my great-grandchildren would also be born in B6. This house is so close to my family"... Mrs. Loan's family is also the last family to stay here with so many worries ahead. The worries, of course, but deep down is the nostalgia. While telling us the story, her hand with many age spots ran along the edge of the corridor wall - where the lime color has faded to give way to faint moss streaks that are slowly spreading. And those residents not only told me their stories, they also talked about the joys and sorrows, the many fates that have been attached to this place, such as the story of the mother and child of the sick woman selling groceries at the foot of the stairs, the story of the widow, the disabled man... who still find joy in the vegetables grown in styrofoam boxes that grow green every day.

What remains…

The rooms on the 3rd, 4th, and 5th floors of the B buildings were almost silent at noon on June 4. What remained were scattered and broken things. A plaster statue of a young girl holding a vase with peeling paint, a teapot with a broken spout placed along the path in the hallway of a room, an old toy cart, a plastic doll with a small smile, a toy box made of shells that a child had carefully wrapped and painted in many colors and placed on an old door, a bright red heart-shaped pillow with a loving message still printed on it, the walls were covered with drawings and messages from a boy, not sure if they were attached to a beating, a piece of paper announcing a power outage, a scribbled line “Buy a house” and a phone number. There was a photo album left behind. I don’t know if the owner of this house accidentally dropped it when moving furniture or intentionally left it here, and wanted to forget. The album has so many photos that mark a person’s life, even dried roses, and neatly written words behind each photo. I just want to find someone who dropped it, or someone who wants to forget, just to ask, when everything is just the past, will they want to once again open the memories, the memories? Will they still remember when it’s not there? And will they be able to forget when it’s gone?

When still in love

That question lingered in my mind. Like the bright purple bougainvillea branch from the balcony suddenly falling down on a closed house numbered 223. Like the light panels of the cracked, peeling corridor suddenly glowing with the bright colors of the royal poinciana in June. Like the lonely cry of the junk seller on her old bicycle down there falling into a sad, mournful tone in the quiet noon. Like the shadows of people imprinted on the mossy walls of an old apartment building, a sense of old age...

I also know that, in the hustle and bustle of this life, there are many things that are forced to be lost every day. But people have many ways to remember it.

When one still loves, can something be lost?