Fragments of Memory

I don’t like the rain, but I especially like the feeling of drinking coffee in a warm room, looking out at the wetness outside. I often feel very deep in those moments. The cup of coffee, with all the power of the scent of soil, leather, rotten wood, ripe fruit… envelops me in a gentle, warm, peaceful fragrance. It soothes the turmoil in my heart. It comforts some restless things. It evokes distant memories. Like today, the aroma of coffee in this warm shop makes me think of another cup of coffee that I drank sitting precariously on a rock jutting out into the sea of ​​Ke Ga, with two women from a fishing village who opened their hearts to me for two weeks of wandering.

It was 2008. The flight from Hue to Ho Chi Minh City cost more than 600,000 VND/ticket. I roughly calculated the expenses for 1 month, then packed my backpack and went. The best thing about youth is that we can do whatever we want without thinking too much. As a result, something that is far away, or even close, is not so scary. I stayed in the bustling city for only 1 week and then got bored, grabbed a random flyer from a travel agency on the road, saw an introduction to Ke Ga: a hundred-year-old lighthouse, a strange ancient stone beach, a small fishing village... So I went!

From Ho Chi Minh City, I took the train to Phan Thiet, the ticket price for a wooden seat was only a few tens of thousands of dong. The train rumbled and rumbled, pulling dozens of cars on the old railway. The scenery was beautiful, the mottled train windows did not diminish the green of the trees, the undulating hills, and the red of the dragon fruit garden as far as the eye could see. I did not take pictures, I do not like taking pictures, I believe that the attentive eyes of people are better than all the lenses in the world. I took notes, a few trivial lines that are now lost somewhere in the journey. It did not matter, even though decades later I knew I could not imagine the details that happened on that spontaneous morning, I still always remember that a few beautiful things came and stayed with me, even if only for a short moment, that was enough.

Getting off the train, I searched for the bus code - the cheapest means of transport within my budget. Bus number 6 took me to Ke Ga around noon. "Not as beautiful as I imagined!" - I thought. A small fishing village with only a hundred households, shabby houses with typical corrugated iron roofs, and wooden doors painted in all kinds of colors. Boats stranded on the sand. A strong fishy smell was always present. The sea surface shimmered like millions of seas on this earth. Waves licked the sand and then faded into other beats, endlessly reviving themselves in an endless loop. I sat on the sand, counting the waves hitting the shore. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7... In the blink of an eye, I felt like I was counting my joys and sorrows, my confusion, my broken hearts, and miraculously, that gentle wave rhythm soothed me in the silence of transformation.

I remember spending two weeks in a small house - where there were only two women - mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, two widows. Their husbands both died at sea. I stayed with them mornings, afternoons, and nights. It was basically quiet, and sad. There was also a bit of joy, like when the daughter-in-law tore open three packets of instant coffee and poured them into three ceramic cups that were supposed to be used for tea, then invited me to sit on a rock to enjoy the breeze. Honestly, what was there to enjoy the breeze? Maybe she was enjoying something else, enjoying a person, enjoying a life…

The good thing about this fishing village is that people welcome people coming and going calmly. I stayed here for two weeks and the two women only asked me where I came from, what I was studying or doing, and that was it. They were not afraid of thieves, scammers, or liars. They were honest and thought everyone was the same as themselves. They lived off the blessings of heaven and the sea and generously shared with everyone in need. They just lived their lives well, not busy being curious or inquisitive about other people's lives. They had no prejudices or judgments. Here, I felt like I was myself. The light or the darkness did not make me different. The color of the sea or the sky did not bother me. I could think clearly about many things or not think at all. I even shrank my terrible sadness, and found the previous sufferings strange. Back then, the keyword "healing" was not popular, but looking back now, it seems that I was lucky to be healed, to be gently mended during those days.

For two weeks, the habit was so quiet that sometimes I thought I was born here, grew up here. Luckily, the aroma of coffee lingered, reminding me that I belonged somewhere else, that I had to return to somewhere else. Coffee here is also a luxury, not bought in boxes but individually. Before the last day I left, she stuffed two packs of coffee into my pocket, then rowed a basket boat to take me to Ke Ga lighthouse, "entrusting" me to a guard named Dung. "Dung, take her up to the lighthouse, see how beautiful Ke Ga cape is!" - she shouted as she turned the basket boat back.

Anh Dung kept watch alone, changing shifts with someone else once a week. Living simply and temporarily, searching the entire room but not finding a cup, had to make coffee in a bowl. He held the bowl, led me up 183 steps, to the top of the lighthouse over a hundred years old, looking far away, looking down at the ground, looking straight at the sea. When I was up high, I was no longer afraid to look at the sea, the shimmering light did not hurt my eyes, and the fear of the mysteries of the sea also lessened a lot. The sea was as blue as the sky, as blue as a jade, as blue as the bluest things I could think of. I took a sip of coffee, letting that familiar flavor spread in my mouth and was moved to tears. Something burst out with my tears. At that moment, I knew I was liberated, completely.