Train station, last night of the year

I don’t understand why my footsteps have found Vinh Station on this last night of the year, under the cold of the intensifying monsoon. Is it because, for those who have lived a life in exile like me, in the moments when Tet is approaching so close, we cannot help but long for a faraway land. That place is our motherland, that place is where our love is buried, the place we left behind, for a living, for the call of love, or for some other reason…

Luckily, we Vietnamese have Tet holidays, to let a year pass with worries and busyness, and then have moments to suddenly stop and bow our heads. Bow our heads to remember the past. Bow our heads to thank our ancestors. Bow our heads to return to their protection, to the warm embrace of reunion. Bow our heads to return to childhood…

How many trains have I taken in a year from Vinh to my hometown? How many times have I gone to the train station to see them off? I am familiar with the newly renovated train station, with the bright red sign Vinh Station at night, with the sound of the station's loudspeaker announcements, with the bustling shops in the train station, with the lights and whistles of the railway staff when the train is about to leave...

But today is still strange.

Strange because of the time frame: the end of the year. Strange because all those who leave or return to the station today are heavy with emotions. Strange because of the desire in me, at this moment, to see the reluctant faces saying goodbye, to see the tight hugs, to see the smiles of reunion, to see the tears of longing, to see the lighted windows, with so many faces passing by, to see the excitement in the voices of the North - Central - South.

Vinh Station on the last night of the year. The train to Vinh is so crowded, but the train leaving is sparse. Who wants to leave home, leave hometown at this time of year. And people far away are rushing back. Some are carrying bags, their selves full. Some are children eagerly returning to their hometown for the first time with their grandparents. Some are peach blossoms brought back from Nhat Tan or a corner of a peach market in the North is quietly opening a bud under the cold night sky.

Under the yellow light of the station lights, the train was stopped, waiting.

Waiting for those who are in a hurry to go down, welcoming those who are busy going up. There are those who have been away from home for most of their lives and are just now returning to visit their homeland. There are those who have saved up their entire year’s salary to buy gifts for their parents for Tet. There are those who have married far away, and now have many silver strands in their hair, hiding their sadness in the depths of their eyes to happily return to their village. There are those who are planning for a permanent return when their wandering steps are tired…

The trains came and went, carrying a piece of my soul… The sound of the train whistle seemed to be bustling. The sound of the iron wheels grinding against the rails was also bustling. Then we would dash through the dark night, through the streets, villages, and night fields, over bridges, drifting on the sound of fish splashing… Over there, my hometown was waiting.

On the journey into the darkness, many people, because of the end of the year, seem to look at each other more warmly. Stories about their hometowns and villages will continue to whisper in the train cars. Passing by the window, how many dreams, how many feelings... The lights gradually blur behind the rolling train. Trains of many voices, of many hometowns, of many destinations but sharing the same desire for reunion.

And I, stood silently on the platform. Waving my hand, as the train to my hometown slowly left the station…