Homeland River

(Baonghean) - Where I live and work, all I see are factories and harbors. Many nights, looking out the window of my office at the vast sea, I suddenly remember the gentle river, like a strip of pink silk. The river, shy and graceful, meanders through the fields and villages.

Though not vast and boundless, the river is wide enough to embrace the hardworking people who depend on it for their livelihood. The river provides shrimp and fish to warm their humble meals. It contributes to the creation of the pristine white rice grown in the fertile alluvial soil. The river binds the hearts of those far from home with threads of longing and affection that are not easily forgotten.

The only thing that comforted me living in this new land was the thought that all rivers flow into the great sea. In the salty breeze that blew in, I believed there was a hint of the scent of my distant homeland. The sea embraced the river, just as the river had once embraced my childhood. With each breath I took, I always sensed the faint scent of alluvial soil...

When I was little, I often followed my father to the ferry dock to sell rice balls with sesame seeds and salt. People would leave very early to catch the ferry to the market, to get to the train station to wait for the train, or to get to the town center. Many had disheveled hair, sleepy eyes, and rumbling stomachs. A quick bite of hot rice while waiting for the ferry warmed their hearts. A few stories shared always brought a sense of closeness between these people.

I often huddled in the thatched hut, burning a small pile of firewood to warm my hands and feet. The spring rain mingled with the biting river wind as I listened to the poor mother recount her experiences gathering medicinal herbs for her child. The doctor, also dirt poor, never charged a single penny for his medicine.

And every time, they would slip her a bunch of small bananas, a few ears of young sticky corn, or split a few tough cassava roots they'd just gathered from the forest. Sometimes, arriving too early for the ferry to leave, an old man would be busy adjusting his hair, straightening his shirt, and wrapping his new conical hat in an old piece of plastic. When asked where he was going, he'd say, "To visit an old girlfriend I haven't seen in a long time."

His former lover was actually his wife, with whom he had shared a close relationship. However, they were unable to have children, and he suspected his fault, so he insisted on divorcing her. Now, that old woman has many children and grandchildren, but unfortunately, they are all working far away, rarely returning home to see their mother even once a year. Her second husband has also passed away. She is left alone and desolate.

He's lived that way ever since. Occasionally, reminiscing about the old days and the people of the past, he'd find an excuse to visit them. Sitting there selling rice balls, he'd listen to all sorts of stories about life and human nature. The river continued to flow peacefully and quietly through the years...

Separated only by a river, the world on the other side held so much wonder for me. I'd begged my father several times to let me go visit, but each time he'd say, "When you're old enough." Every day, gazing at the giant columns of smoke on the other side, I imagined myself growing up to travel, to distant lands, and to meet new faces. Little did I know that one day, living in a developed city, I would suddenly feel lonely and isolated.

The old riverbank is now deserted, with no one rowing the boat anymore, thanks to the bustling ferries. Few remember the simple rice balls with sesame seeds and salt. Life has changed, and people's hearts have drifted back and forth. Perhaps only the river of my homeland remains the same, silently flowing alongside the lives of its people...

Bui Quang Dung