Pride in my hometown

(Baonghean) - "Is there any other city like this one?"

In 1966, the poet Thach Quy began one of his famous poems, "Broken Bricks of Thanh Vinh," with such a question. The poet, like so many sons of Vinh, so many sons of Nghe An, carried in his heart such love and pride for his hometown.

Lenin Avenue - Vinh City. Photo: Sy Minh

Vinh, also known as Ke Van, Ke Vinh, Vinh Giang, Vinh Doanh, Vinh Thi... was chosen by the emperors to build the capital city, not only because of its deep roots in the ancestral land but also because they recognized early on Vinh's crucial position in the country. Vinh was built by the alluvial soil of the Lam River and the sea, resilient in its white sand, enduring the Laotian winds and storms. It is Vinh of Truong Thi - Ben Thuy, still bustling with the villages of laborers and fishermen, one day rising from hard work and suffering, the red flag with the hammer and sickle blazed forth. It is Vinh of Lang Do, of the twice-heroic Ben Thuy Ferry, of the power plant still bearing the scars of bombs and bullets on its chimneys. Vinh of the names of those who entered songs and history as the most resilient and outstanding individuals... Vinh of the ancient citadel, the Diec Pagoda, the Su Nu Pagoda, the Cau Ram Church, the Hong Son Temple... in our memories and affections.

Is there any city like this one, with Dung Quyet to forge its spirit, with Lam Giang to inspire dreams? A city that has witnessed countless historical changes and upheavals, has risen from bombs, divisions, ruins, and desolation to radiate faith, "a rosy smile amidst the rubble." It seems that in Vinh, one can find both the old and the young. One can see both tragedy and heroism. One can see both bewilderment and composure. One can see carefulness and generosity...

So many people come from the countryside to contribute to Vinh City today, bustling and vibrant, yet seemingly "everyone knows each other," as in the lyrics of a song about Vinh. Houses rise to new heights, yet they never forget to mention "the bowl of rice from the low-lying Hung Hoa region, the bowl of sour soup from the poor Dong Vinh hamlet" from years ago, when mothers, with their weary steps, carried their war sons to the artillery emplacements...

How many people have left and returned, how many have chosen to come and stay to have a Vinh?

The city I love, the city that loves me.
The city gave me my human dignity.
(Poem by Minh Hue)

Nghe An Weekend