In every person's life, there are countless memories and longings, and surely everyone will reserve a special place in their heart for their parents, their homeland, and their beloved childhood home. Throughout their journey, the image of their roots remains deeply etched in their hearts…
From our first lessons in learning to read and write, countless simple things emerged, nurturing our emotions. From those experiences, we naturally learned to cherish the village paths, the rivers of our homeland, the ripening rice paddies, and to treasure the rice grains painstakingly cultivated by our parents through the hardships of rain and sunshine throughout the four seasons. And so, no matter where we go, whether we succeed or fail, find happiness or sorrow, we will always yearn for that peaceful, familiar place that we affectionately call out: our homeland!
Only then do I realize that, no matter how mature I become, no matter how much hardship I endure, my love for my homeland remains like the longing of a child far from their mother, a feeling insurmountable to surpass the songs and lullabies sung behind the bamboo groves of my village. Each time I return home, I feel a pang of nostalgia as I look at the graying hair of my parents, their foreheads and eyes etched with wrinkles. Those calloused, weathered hands have spent their entire lives caring for and nurturing me from childhood to adulthood. Returning home allows me to be a child again, to be caressed and comforted, yet I realize how naive and insignificant I truly am.
How I cherish my mother's simple kitchen, filled with the warmth of the fire, crackling and chirping joyfully every morning and evening. The kitchen holds the love and affection of a mother, providing meals that, though humble, are rich in flavor. I deeply love the fragrant essence of the countryside, skillfully and cleverly distilled in the simple, heartfelt greetings and calls. Sharing and helping each other with both big and small tasks is a simple custom that forms a deep and enduring bond of community spirit.
After a long journey, the first thing we do upon returning home is to scoop up a bucket of cool well water and pour it over our heads and faces to wash away the dust of the long trip. Then we sleep soundly under the eaves of the house, listening to the strong southerly breeze blowing from the river and the faint sound of chickens clucking at midday. In that moment, we feel an extraordinary sense of peace and tranquility.
As night falls, the clear, peaceful moonlight casts a silvery glow upon the river. We can clearly hear the splashing of shrimp and the rustling of fish snapping at the reflections. Sitting by the river, we think more about our parents' lives, about the hardships and struggles of human existence that never cease to haunt us. The diligent, carefully accumulated alluvial soil of our parents has nurtured and shaped our lives, giving us a broad and expansive form.
Sometimes, sitting alone in the city streets, lost in thought, I wonder how many more trips I'll have back home? How many more opportunities will I have to be close to and care for my parents? These questions are deeply rooted in the heart of a child wandering far from home, carrying a heavy burden of gratitude and affection, leaving behind endless thoughts and anxieties.
So, dear friends, while you still have the chance to return, please do so without delay. Because every child who leaves their homeland owes a debt to their country through an overwhelming and indescribable longing and affection. That longing is deep and enduring, like a sacred part of their sense of origin that cannot easily be lost.
Article by: Ngo The Lam
Illustration: Lake Dragon – Sea King
