A friend asked me why I could go to so many elementary and secondary schools to talk to children about reading without getting bored. I told my friend that, simply, what I always want to tell any child is not to be a good student, but to cherish books as you cherish a close friend, a good teacher… A close friend, a teacher, the "book" is even more special, always by your side, helping you open the door to knowledge and your soul.
Indeed, I used to be a book-loving girl, and my life has been happier because I understood that my most valuable asset is my rich inner self. Through the stories I tell in my books, I often guide children to open the doors of their hearts, to a place filled with beauty, love, and sharing.
The other day, my best friend mentioned my little wooden attic from my childhood. Calling it an "attic" sounds fancy, but it was actually a small eucalyptus wood loft, about 4 meters long and nearly 2 meters wide, situated halfway up the house. An attic filled only with books and a music player. That's all there was to my little attic, but for years it opened up an entire world of my soul.
Most of the books in my attic back then were bought from a junk shop. For a while, my mother earned money by collecting beer cans and bottles from the neighborhood's shops and selling them to the junk yard. Occasionally, when customers sold used books, my mother would bring home any literature or poetry she found for me to read, simply because I loved studying literature. My mother didn't know how to choose good books because her job wasn't related to books, so she brought home all sorts of books. Every now and then, she'd come across a children's book from Rainbow Publishing House with colorful illustrations, and she'd happily wrap it in a plastic bag to protect it from getting dirty, knowing her daughter would love it.
Many of the old books my mother brought home were, thankfully, famous works. I encountered my Daghestan, Aesop's Fables, *No Family*, *Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea*, poems by Huy Can and Nguyen Binh… The books that weren't suitable, I could give away to friends who needed them or return them to the recycling center. A close friend of mine (currently the Deputy Director of the Military Region IV Museum in Nghe An) still talks about the history books I once gave him, sometimes still smelling of dampness and mold from being collected from the recycling center. Later, when I grew up and went with my mother to collect recycling, the books were more carefully selected to my liking. Over the years, my wooden attic room accumulated more books thanks to my mother's enthusiasm. And my love for books grew because of it.
Many times I think back to that wooden attic. There was a yellow lampshade, bright enough for reading and studying without disturbing my mother, who lay below, just a few meters away. And my mother would often turn the TV down as low as possible so as not to disturb me studying and reading upstairs. Occasionally, when there was a local history program, a book review, or something related to books, my mother would call out, "Thu Huong, are you free? Come down and watch."
All that remains from that old attic is a few cassette tapes and nearly twenty books I still keep. Both the books and tapes are kept on the top shelf of my bookshelf, because, frankly, I don't have a cassette player and my eyesight is failing, making it difficult to read the old brown pages. Every now and then, wiping the dust off the top shelf, smelling the old books, I miss so much the scent of eucalyptus wood from the wooden attic, the smell of books carried by the warmth of the small lamp on those winter nights, and I miss my mother's loving voice when she called out to me. These memories are like sweet melodies sown within me.
"Corn leaves sway by the riverbank / The riverbank is still windy, but no one is seen returning."
My mother also passed away and never returned. The poem by Truc Thong in the poetry reading program that my mother invited me to watch with her remains in my heart forever. My mother instilled in me a love of books and literature in one way or another, so naturally, even though perhaps she never read a complete literary book in her own life.
My work is closely related to books. My daughter was "lured" into the world of books by her mother from a very young age. Children's books are incredibly diverse, beautifully illustrated, and not just plain brown text like in the old days, so if parents pay attention, it doesn't take much effort to entice their children into the world of books. But keeping a child engaged in books for the long term, growing up with a passion for reading, is not easy at all, when their world is also surrounded by iPads, phones... and the internet, which offers equally fascinating, dazzling, and vibrant things.
Once, while flipping through old books, I told my daughter about the days I spent rummaging through junk yards to find books. She looked at the book with emotion and said, "Mom, if I could have met you back then, I would have definitely given you some good books and let you read all of them with me."
It's not just me; many of my friends inherited a love of books from their parents, opening the doors to their hearts. And then, they pass that love on to their daughters and sons…
Illustrative image: Archival material
