That place is peaceful!

(Baonghean) - My mother once told me that being born a girl is very difficult. When she heard my birth, and the young nurse's trembling voice said, "It's a girl," she was overjoyed but also filled with immense sorrow. My maternal grandmother had a hard life. My mother said people say "beautiful women have unfortunate fates," and that was true for her. She wandered her whole life in foreign lands, and in the end, she returned to dust before her last wish—to visit her hometown—could be fulfilled. In her turn, my mother didn't expect too much happiness, but she had some of it when she gave birth to me. My mother said, "I've given everything to you, sacrificed my whole life for you. My only wish is for you to be happy."

And so I return to you, Mother, after spending half my life searching for happiness. I am broken, Mother, like that glass vase that once sparkled in the sunlight, cradling a tiny flower with pride, now shattered and inflicting pain on itself with its sharp, shapeless shards. I am exhausted, Mother, like a lone traveler on a long road, relentlessly chasing a colorful butterfly, always believing I could hold it in my hands, only to find it doesn't exist. I hoped too much, too unrealistically. Is it my fault, or is it life's own fault for being so full of uncertainties?

I once thought I would silently endure it all alone, pretending to be happy for my mother. But then I questioned myself: would such a pretense be meaningless to my life and cause more pain to my mother? And isn't it true that seeking each other for love and sharing is the best way to comfort human existence? And in this world, there is no place warmer, safer, and more peaceful than my mother.

Like a wounded animal, I return to my mother's home—no, the home of my mother and me, and my father's home too. The days when I was just learning to speak, the days when my mother held my hand as I learned to walk, the days when my father let me ride on his back like a horse… The three of us had a castle. In my innocent childhood mind, that castle was filled with laughter and love. Now, I return to it, to my mother, no longer with the carefree joy of the past, but with teary eyes, trembling shoulders, and a broken heart. But I return with complete love.

I used to disbelieve that women suffered more than men, that beauty was a curse, but I believed women had sensitive, vulnerable hearts. I believed they found happiness in willingly enduring hardship and making sacrifices. I was the same; I endured, strived, and humbled myself to have a peaceful home, hoping that flowers would bloom, birds would sing, and that the days of suffering would be rewarded with a future of sweet fruits. But everything has its limits. And then one day, looking at myself in the mirror with dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, I understood that was my limit. I burst into tears and, almost unconsciously, cried out, "Mom!"

My mother held me in her arms like she did when I was a baby. I felt as if I were immersed in a cool, refreshing river. It's all over now, isn't it, Mother? Let's just consider it a dream. I feel like I've been reborn, embraced, protected, and finding my way back to your love.

Mom, please help me learn to walk again!

Quynh An