A friend asked me why I could go to so many elementary and high schools to talk to children about reading books without getting bored? I told him that, simply, because what I always want to tell any child is not to study well but to love books like loving a close friend, a good teacher... A close friend, a "book" teacher is even more special, when they are always by your side, helping you open the door to knowledge and your soul.
Indeed, I used to be a girl who loved reading books, my life was happier because I understood that the most valuable thing about me was my rich soul. Through the stories I tell in my books, I also often guide children to open the door of their souls, where there are many beautiful things, love and sharing.
The other day my best friend mentioned my small wooden attic when I was little. To call it a “room” is more formal, but to be exact, it was a small eucalyptus loft, about 4 meters long and nearly 2 meters wide, located halfway up the house. A loft filled with only books and a music player. My small attic was just that, but over the years it opened up my whole spiritual world.
Most of the books in my wooden attic at that time were bought from junk shops. There was a time when my mother earned money by collecting beer cans and bottles from shops in the neighborhood and sending them to the junk yard. Occasionally, there were customers selling old books, and my mother would bring home any literature or poetry books for her daughter to read because her daughter loved to study literature. My mother did not know how to choose good books because her job had nothing to do with books, so she brought all kinds of books home. Every now and then, she came across a children's book from Rainbow Publishing House with color illustrations. My mother happily wrapped it in a plastic bag to avoid getting dirty because she knew her daughter loved it.
There were quite a few old books my mother brought back, fortunately they were famous works. I met my Daghestan, Aesop's Fables, No Family, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, poems by Huy Can, Nguyen Binh... For the unsuitable books, I could give them to friends who needed them or give them back to my mother at the scrap yard. A close friend of mine (currently the Deputy Director of the Museum of Military Region IV, Nghe An) still talks about the history books that sometimes still smelled of mold from collecting scrap that I used to give to him. Later, when I grew up, I followed my mother to collect scrap, the new books were more carefully selected according to my wishes. Over the years, my wooden attic had more books because of my mother's enthusiasm. And my love for books also grew thanks to that.
Many times I remember that wooden attic. There was a yellow-shaded lamp, bright enough to read books and study without disturbing my mother who was lying below, just a few meters away. And my mother often turned the TV down to the lowest volume so as not to disturb me sitting above studying and reading books. Occasionally, there was a program about geography, authors and works, related to books, my mother would call out: “Thu Huong, are you free? Come down and watch.”
What remains from that old attic until now are a few cassette tapes and nearly twenty books that I still keep. Both books and tapes are placed on the top shelf of my bookshelf, because honestly, I don’t have a cassette player and my eyes are weak, making it difficult to read the old brown pages. Every now and then, when I dust the top shelf of the bookshelf, smelling the old books, I miss the eucalyptus wood smell of the wooden attic, the smell of books that seems to follow the warmth of the small light bulb on winter nights, and I also miss my mother’s dear voice when she calls me. Those memories are like sweet melodies planted in me.
“Corn leaves sway on the riverbank/The riverbank is still windy, but no one has returned.”
My mother has also gone forever. Truc Thong’s poem in the poetry introduction program that my mother invited me to sit and watch with her still remains in my heart, forever. My mother gave me the love of books, the love of literature in one way or another, so naturally, even though perhaps, in her life, she had never read a whole book of literature.
My job is related to books. My daughter was “entice” by her mother to the world of books from a very young age. Children’s books are extremely rich, beautifully illustrated, not just brown and full of words like in the past, so if parents pay attention, it doesn’t take much effort to entice their children into the world of books. But to keep children attached for a long time, to grow up with a passion for books is not an easy task, when around their world there are iPads, phones… The Internet leads to equally attractive, sparkling, and exciting things.
One time, I was flipping through old books and telling my child about the days I spent searching for books in the junkyard. The child looked at the book with emotion: “Mom, if I could meet you at that time, I would definitely give you some good books and let you read all of my books.”
Not only me, many of my friends were instilled with a love of books by their parents, and their souls were opened. Then, they continued to pass that love on to their daughters and sons…
Illustration: Document
