Street rhythm before dawn

(Baonghean) - Vinh, in the 90s, developed a movement of youth union activities every summer. In the morning, when the sun had not yet risen, there were people in charge passing by blowing whistles to urge the elderly and children to exercise. No one was bothered by that.

But then over time, without the need for alarm clocks to ring everywhere, people who like to wake up before dawn set their own alarms. Eventually, they don't even need an alarm, when it becomes a habit, they wake up at the right time.

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I love seeing the women in the neighborhood, in their fifties and sixties, wearing pajamas, enthusiastically going for a walk together every morning. My aunts and uncles often make me look at their every walk, every face, just to find out if there is any resemblance to my mother who used to go to the gym with her friends. Sometimes, some relatives see me and enthusiastically ask me questions like a grandchild who has not seen me for a long time, and remind me of the stories my mother used to share when we walked together. Vinh people are open-minded, so walking is of course not just for walking. They share their joys and sorrows with each step and distance. My mother used to say that she often went with people whose children went to school far from home or got married far from home. She "intentionally" chose people who were similar to her situation to go with her. Women in similar situations are easier to share with each other. They can share one another's joys with each other and feel happier after waking up early every morning to exercise.

Female workers cleaning up in the morning at Ho Chi Minh Square (Vinh City). Photo: Sach Nguyen

I like to imagine, guess the stories behind a romantic action when I encounter it during my morning walk. For example, the image of an old lady holding a bouquet of flowers walking next to an old man, they are like a beautiful melody dedicated to the city at dawn. They said something to each other that was certainly very pleasant and sweet because both of them kept their faces full of freshness. That freshness alone was enough to light up a small corner of Vinh street, the sky was still dimly turning from night to day. Of course, most of the uncles and elders I met in similar situations, I did not know, but it would be interesting to think of some really sweet situations about them. Maybe it was the old lady’s birthday, the old man went to the market very early to buy a hastily wrapped bouquet of flowers. Maybe it was their sweet special day… And all in all, after those situations, “later generations” like me will wonder, when we reach that age, will we be able to maintain the peace, the freshness in our smiles, the warmth in our eyes and faces like them.

My friend was born and raised in Saigon, originally from Nghe An, and had the opportunity to work in Vinh city during the summer when there was a power outage. She stayed at my house. After a tiring day at work, she slept soundly until dawn when she was awakened by a light shower passing through the city. The rain came and went quickly, not enough to dispel the hot June heat. She was used to the generous rains and winds of the South, and could not sleep in the summer weather of Nghe An, so she had to follow her father and the elders around the house to walk around the house to cool off. She was surprised to see the bustling scene of men and women exercising. The wind was cool. And the sounds of birds waking up the morning, hovering around the Vinh city gate, in the shade of the ancient green trees. The sounds of birds were so many that it startled her, thinking that it was the first time she had been treated to such a wonderful morning harmony by the birds. The strange thing was that this natural harmony appeared in the heart of the city. Your street has never been so generously gifted by nature.

The two of them wandered around for a while, stopping at the porridge shop at the city gate for breakfast. It was just a familiar rustic dish of Vinh people, but for a stranger in that atmosphere, it was surprisingly memorable. And not just a stranger. People in Vinh are familiar with such simple things, when they go far away, they sometimes wake up before dawn, wishing they were at home, walking a few minutes to the city gate, eating a bowl of porridge in the morning with the fragrant smell of rice flour cooked with sweet bone broth, or eating a bowl of spicy eel porridge with bread just out of the oven and listening to birds chirping somewhere in the canopy of leaves around the soccer field, next to the city gate. They craved something as simple as that but couldn't get it, only hearing the sound of the train whistle from the Saigon River in the distance...

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Besides those who get up early to exercise, workers also get up early before dawn. My father is still jokingly called an urban farmer by his children and grandchildren because he keeps the habit of waking up at dawn. He opens the door wide to let the cool breezes flow into the house, lights a pot of tea, has a morning snack, then pulls his cyclo out to prepare for a day of work. The job my father has been doing for decades is transporting honeycomb coal from the coal factory in Dong Vinh to Quang Trung, traveling to sell to each wholesaler and retailer.

Is it fun to go to work early? It is fun. From 5am to 6am, Dad had time to make a round trip transporting coal from Dong Vinh to Quang Trung, and deliver it to a few regular customers. Knowing that his daughter loves flowers, Dad told me about the streets of royal poinciana and purple-flowered flowers that were blooming in the first rays of the morning sun. Dad told me about the city streets that were clear as if they had never known dust. Vinh is most beautiful at dawn. When the sound of a few chickens in the middle of the street rang out from somewhere, hard-working people like Dad began their work, awakening the city streets.

Uncle Chau, who lives across the street from me, has a habit of getting up early to pull a table, a chair, and a teapot out to the yard to help his wife prepare to sell banh muot to customers for breakfast. He has a crippled leg, so he sits in one place, wiping dishes and chopsticks, and arranging things very quickly and skillfully. He has a habit of playing old music every morning, the voices of Khanh Ly and Son Tuyen from their twenties, sighing and full of emotion. The music is soft and easy to listen to, but it doesn't annoy the neighbors. I often look out the window of the small attic, looking towards Uncle Chau's morning banh muot stall, listening to the singing of a time drifting along with the soft smoke from the early morning fire of his wife and him.

A locksmith reads a newspaper next to Goong Lake. Photo: Nguyen Book

The small road where my house lives leads to a corner of Vinh market. The house is at the beginning of the road, the market is at the end of the road. The road is small, so in the morning, standing from the balcony looking towards the end of the road, you can clearly see the women going to the market early, their hands and feet quickly setting up their stalls in the thin mist. Standing from the balcony, you can feel your chest as if it is full of the lingering scent of jasmine from last night, the scent of roses on the balcony of the neighbor's house also drifts lightly over, and the lemon tree my mother planted in the old, punctured water tank that had just borne fruit and bloomed was also competing to give off a fragrant scent. Very early, the neighbor also turned on the water hose to cool down the mango trees that were in the fruiting season, reducing the heat of a hot summer day.

I am no longer the little girl of the past, waking up before dawn when the exam season is near, still getting up early to study, accidentally hearing Uncle Chau's cough or the soft laughter of his wife selling rice cakes mixed with the familiar music every morning. Even the footsteps of walking, mixed with the sounds of chickens on the street, the sound of people selling goods at Vinh market in the distance... Those familiar sounds have become a small part of the soul of the street every morning, lingering after many years. Sometimes when I wake up early, busily turning on the computer to write an article, I remember the ordinary workers of Vinh street, and turn on old, old tunes to feel more excited for the new day.

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My father often teased his daughter when she slept in: “A person’s life is only a hand span / Those who sleep during the day only get half a hand span left.” My father’s concept of “daytime sleep” is sleeping when it is already broad daylight. Indeed, the pace of life in the city, our own life, is more pleasant and meaningful, especially on sunny summer days, waking up to welcome the dawn.

Vo Thu Huong