Each person has a reason: to earn a living, to change their fate, to travel for the experience. There are also cases where people travel because their girlfriends "declare": I have two choices, one is to go start a career with you, two is to become an ex-lover.
The crescent moon rises with difficulty among a forest of high-rise buildings, evoking homesickness. A person sings absentmindedly, causing the person next to him to sing along, "Is there anyone sitting and counting the seasons of longing?"... The lyrics of "The sadness of the boarding house " (*) - a melancholy song from more than sixty years ago, is spontaneously giving rise to a different version: "Now I am in the boarding house, the small neighborhood has one less person."
Night fell. The room was still without a breath of wind. In the whirring sound of the fan, someone mentioned that the sun and wind in the countryside let the hedge bloom freely. "Why are you so cruel, it makes me miss... the hedge so much, man." A light laugh, "Are you the only one who misses? Me too, I even miss the sound of crickets chirping in the hedge." Another voice chimed in, "That's nothing, I still remember our neighbors often talking about the rain and sunshine of the crops through the hedge that was only up to their chests." The room was immersed in contagious nostalgia. Suddenly, a little bit of joy when someone joked, "Is our room planning to do a collective PhD on... hedges?".
It's strange to think. The word "fence" suggests separation. But the word "shore" erases boundaries. Fences in the countryside do not separate but connect. From afar, one can see houses connected by fences with colorful flowers and gentle trees and leaves. The fences are full of bright red hibiscus flowers, bright red hibiscus flowers, bright red rose flowers, green tea leaves, rows of bushes with tiny clusters of yellow-brown fruit. Sometimes the fences run out of breath, and then a few cassava bushes take their place. Inside the fences, there is the fresh breath of the countryside, with bees and butterflies flying back and forth all day long, showing off their charm. And if childhood has a smell, it must be the smell of fences - the smell of sun and rain, of flowers and leaves that permeate the children's hair every day. That's where innocent, naive games take place. The little "groom" picks hibiscus flowers to make lipstick, uses cassava stalks to make necklaces for the "bride" who has just turned five or six. Under the shade of the fences, the children play shuttlecock. A child was playing and suddenly looked around, his nostrils flared, detecting the scent of ripe guava. The whole group crept over the fence to steal some. It was okay to have a scratch or bleed, just grated coconut pulp and apply it on and it would heal up.
Unlike the city with high walls, the countryside fence is low enough to look at each other, chat, chat, and ask about the fields and orchards. Adults can easily jump over the fence to chase the weasel and get back the baby duck. The neighbor carrying a basket of sour star fruit walks by and says over the fence: "Miss Tu, go get some star fruit to cook soup". Sometimes on this side of the fence, someone looks towards the river and says absentmindedly, "It will probably rain today, Uncle Tu". On the other side, "Yes, rain makes the land moist, why is it so sunny all the time?"
Perhaps talking about the weather, plowing, harvesting, rice prices, cows giving birth, who has a big death anniversary, who is getting married… the fence listens and remembers. People coming from far away walk on the country road, nervously passing through the rustic fences, feeling their feet fumbling on the familiar paths. The fumbling is not because of the morning glory vines, but because the fence is in "memory mode" which brings back childhood. The elderly are happy because the fence is still young, still green, clinging to the village soil, still patiently intertwining, connecting and enduring with time.
( *) Sadness in the Attic - song composed by Manh Phat - Hoai Linh
Source: https://thanhnien.vn/nhan-dam-ky-uc-bo-rao-185251018182605622.htm
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