Dinner with mother's laughter

In the afternoon, the sunlight poured golden on the old tiled roof, shining through the curtains faded by time. From the small kitchen, the smoke from dinner rose, mixed with the smell of braised fish, sour soup and the sweet aroma of a new pot of rice. That scene, that smell, that sound seemed simple but was the true happiness of a person's life.

When I was a child, dinner was always a time for the whole family to gather together. Mother sat in the middle, holding bamboo chopsticks darkened by the kitchen smoke, picking up food for father while telling me to finish my meal. Whenever I was busy telling stories about school, Mother just smiled, a smile as gentle as the river breeze blowing through the areca trees behind the house. At that time, I did not fully understand the meaning of that laughter - it was the peace of a woman who had gone through so many hardships but still kept her heart at peace.

Then I grew up, went to school, worked far away, the small kitchen of those years gradually became a memory. On the afternoons after work, in the middle of crowded streets, sometimes I suddenly felt my heart flutter just because I caught a whiff of the smell of braised fish from a restaurant...

The day I returned to my hometown, I saw that my mother had lost a lot of weight. Her black hair was now streaked with silver, but her figure was still agile by the fire. “When you come back this afternoon, I will cook some more sour soup to warm my stomach!” - her voice rang out as before. I could only nod, suddenly feeling a stinging sensation in my nose. My mother was still smiling, a smile that brightened the kitchen, as if time had never passed.

The meal was served, nothing fancy, just a bowl of soup, a plate of boiled vegetables, a pot of fragrant braised fish. But why was that meal so delicious? Dad sat and told stories about the village, I added a few jokes and Mom laughed. Mom's laughter reminded me of my childhood, of the rainy seasons when I sat huddled by the kitchen, listening to Mom tell fairy tales... The meal ended when the sunset had fallen in the yard. Mom was still sitting there, silently watching me clean up the dishes. Her eyes were as gentle as the afternoon breeze in the countryside. I suddenly realized that, all these years away from home, I had been searching for something called happiness, in work, in success, in great things. But in the end, happiness was right here, in the small kitchen, in the misty smoke, in Mom's smile every afternoon.

I understand that for my mother, happiness is not material things or luxuries, but simply having children in peace and togetherness. As for me, happiness is when I can sit next to my mother, listening to her laughter during dinner, and feel my heart stop drifting among the hustle and bustle of life.

That night, before going to sleep, I heard my mother softly singing a lullaby in the kitchen. The lullaby from the past, as light as the smell of rice smoke, permeated every fiber of my memory. I smiled, knowing that no matter where I go, no matter how old I get, I will always be the little child in the kitchen with my mother's laughter.

Nguyen Thanh

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/chao-nhe-yeu-thuong/202510/bua-com-chieu-co-tieng-cuoi-cua-me-5af0681/