Live authentically!

(Baonghean) - When we were kids, the kids in our neighborhood used to play war games. Whoever got shot had to pretend to roll on the ground as if hit by a bullet, writhe a few times, then turn their head to one side, "heroically sacrificing themselves." The kids on the same team would pretend to shake their heads sadly ("A minute of silence!") and then chase after the enemy demanding revenge. The only one who suffered was the one "shot dead," who had to lie still without moving until the game was over.

One day, I was pretending to be dead when I heard my neighbor shouting loudly. I peeked open my eyes and saw my friends running home as fast as they could. I was wondering whether to continue pretending to be dead or run away when my neighbor grabbed me by the armpits and dragged me home. "This is for fighting! You little rascals broke my window! Let's see what your parents have to say!" At that moment, I just wished I could just collapse... and die for real!

Playing dead, pretending to be dead, is such a mysterious concept, almost to the point of being sanctified, among children. Why is that? Perhaps because, with their restless nature and inability to sit still, not breathing or moving is a kind of "impossible mission," a provocative challenge. For children, "death" is simply that. I remember when Tèo's grandfather died, we peeked through the window. Tèo's grandfather lay motionless in the coffin, while everyone cried loudly, calling "Grandpa! Dad!" until their voices were hoarse. But Tèo's grandfather never answered. They closed the coffin, carried him away, and from then on, we never saw him again. At that time, we made a pact that if our parents scolded us, we would pretend to be dead. Our parents would have to cry "My child, my child!" until they had no voice left to scold us. If we were still angry with our parents, we would run away like Tèo's grandfather and only return when our anger had subsided. "Death," perhaps, is something that makes everyone very sad, very afraid...

Looking back on my childhood, I realize how foolish I was. I realized this on the day my grandfather passed away. At that moment, my father's eyes were red and sunken from sleepless nights, his voice barely audible: "You won't be able to call me 'Dad' anymore!" That's when I realized that "death" isn't just about going far away, but about going very, very far. It sounds illogical, but that's how I felt standing before the mound with his tombstone, located just outside the city. "Death" means being separated by a pane of glass. At first, that glass is clear, so you can still see clearly, and feel as if the deceased is still right beside you. Gradually, as the dust of time covers it, only faded memories remain...

Whenever I think about the game of war, I feel a pang of regret for those "fake" moments, those seconds of separation from the world. Only later do I realize how precious and valuable each fleeting moment of a breath, each heartbeat, truly is. Only then do I remind myself to live each moment to the fullest, because once I close my eyes and pass away, the time of those left behind will stretch endlessly.

Hai Trieu