Visiting the Lunar New Year market in Paris.

(Baonghean)Lately, I've been intensely missing a particular market. Not Vinh Market, Quang Trung Market, or Ga Market, but my small market, and actually, I don't even remember it clearly anymore. Partly because it only exists in my vague childhood memories, and partly because a theme park has sprung up on the site of that old market. After so many years away and returning, there have been moments of vague nostalgia, but none have been as poignant as this one afternoon near the end of the year. It's heartbreaking to remember.

I remember one afternoon, also during the cold, drizzly days leading up to Tet like this afternoon, perched on the back of my old mini-bicycle, watching my grandmother's hair fluttering, streaks of gray beneath her conical hat, as she rode through a sea of ​​pink peach blossoms that painted the sky. Occasionally, the yellow of the apricot blossoms from the South would punctuate the scene, making me feel as if a star had just risen. Back then, apricot blossoms weren't as popular here as they are now; people usually only displayed local peach blossoms and those from Nhat Tan, so the yellow apricot blossoms seemed strange. Closing my eyes and recalling those old Tets, the memories are so faded, only a vague streak of pink from a peach blossom petal falling on my stinging eyelids. Here, accustomed to shops and supermarkets, seeing the lines of people queuing at the checkout counters during Tet makes me nostalgic for the old Tet markets. Suddenly, this afternoon, passing through the Asian quarter, I was struck by the sight of people standing and sitting around the small stalls. Quiet and unassuming, just a few bundles of vegetables, stacks of sticky rice cakes, fried cakes, and pork sausage, along with a few women who clearly looked like they had been away from home for a long time—that was enough to form a makeshift market. Walking aimlessly through, the familiar cries of vendors, unheard for so long, suddenly stirred my heart, making me feel deeply moved. How many springs had it been since I last saw this Tet market scene?

Buying banh chung (traditional Vietnamese rice cakes) at Tang Frères supermarket (13th arrondissement, Paris) to celebrate Tet (Vietnamese Lunar New Year). (Illustrative photo)

My Tet market! I still think that the saddest Tet is Tet spent far from home, but Tet spent far from home, without everything that reminds me of Tet, is even sadder. Because somewhere deep inside, I know that ten thousand kilometers isn't endless. There are things that, while irreplaceable, can shorten the distance of six time zones. It's when I clumsily wrap a banh chung (traditional Vietnamese rice cake), thinking of the pot of banh chung at home bubbling on the glowing fire. It's when I hold my breath, adjusting the clock, waiting for the hands to move to 12, thinking of the crackling firecrackers and the fragrant incense. It's the feeling of living in the same moment, sharing a memory and affection that spans more than half the globe. All of these things remind me that my soul is still anchored in a distant place, but we will be together again in some future month of my life.

Going to the Tet market, a tradition that has become ingrained, I wonder if it will fade away? Every spring, far from home, I secretly pray that when I return, I will still be able to go to the Tet market with my grandmother and mother. Because the city, with its modernity and innovation, has supermarkets and shops, so my fears aren't unfounded, are they? People often become indifferent to things that are too familiar, thinking they are self-evident and therefore worthless, only to regret it deeply when they forget or lose them. Or, only when they are far away, when they can no longer touch them, do they realize what is truly lovely and precious. So, on a cold, windy, drizzly afternoon in Paris, so similar to an afternoon in Vietnam near Tet, a child far from home eats a sticky rice cake with tears or rainwater?

Hai Trieu(Email from Paris)