New Year's Eve

(NB&CL) When I was young, the greatest joy was definitely Tet. Every moment was joyful if counted from the afternoon of the 30th of Tet. But the happiest and most emotional moment for me was still New Year's Eve!

I don’t know why I feel that way. My second sister pretended to be knowledgeable and explained: because New Year’s Eve also means… Tet! The reason seemed clear at first. However, that very clear thing contained an element… unclear. Why does it have to be New Year’s Eve to get to Tet? On the afternoon of the 30th of December, we had our year-end feast; everywhere in the village streets and alleys were hung with flags and flowers; every household’s gramophone was playing spring music: Tet, Tet, Tet has come, Tet has come in everyone’s heart…. In that space, it was clear that Tet had no end, why wait until New Year’s Eve? In short, I don’t know what the real reason was; but – deep down – we always assumed that New Year’s Eve was something very… special, sacred; so – if we wanted a complete Tet – we had to stay up to welcome New Year’s Eve at all costs!

As a result, every year on the thirtieth night, before going to bed, I would tell my mother over and over again: “Remember to wake me up on New Year’s Eve!” I was a sleepyhead, used to sleeping early at night. But that was a normal day, not the thirtieth of Tet. New Year’s Eve was only once a year, so how could I sleep early? I remember the first year I knew about New Year’s Eve, I just tried to tell New Year’s Eve to wake me up but my mother scolded me: “Kid, sleep early to grow up quickly, what is New Year’s Eve for! ” I pouted: “No, I want to welcome New Year’s Eve! Mom didn’t tell me to wake up on my own”…

To tell the truth, on the thirtieth night I tried to find something to do while waiting for New Year's Eve. I was bored and looked back at the clock, New Year's Eve was still... far away! Seeing the boy sitting there nodding off, my mother felt sorry for him and "gave in": "Okay, go to sleep, New Year's Eve is calling me!" I was so happy that I said "yes" loudly and jumped straight into bed, falling unconscious. I slept soundly; when I opened my eyes, it was... bright! I cried and went to find my mother to ask for compensation. My mother cried: "I called you several times but you were sleeping soundly, why didn't you wake up?" I was upset but had to give up because I knew my mother was telling the truth. Learning from experience, in the following years I told her: "If New Year's Eve calls you and you don't wake up, I just... pinch you really hard!" My mother listened; she nodded and smiled but couldn't bear to pinch me. My mother chose to wake me up by... tickling my hips. The effect was immediate because I was very ticklish!

At that time, the village did not have electricity. On New Year's Eve, only a lamp was lit, but it was a huge "family heirloom" lamp that was usually kept carefully in the cupboard. On the afternoon of the thirtieth, my father carefully took the lamp out, carefully cleaned it from the body to the bulb, and filled the bulb with oil. My father placed the "huge" lamp in the middle of the main altar, and when it got dark, it lit up the whole house, which was still dim at night. My sisters sat on chairs, watching my mother arrange the cakes, watching my father fumble around to adjust the altar, place the cakes, light the incense, watching the shadows of the whole family cast on the wall, moving back and forth as if watching... a movie.

Outside, it was dark and cold, in contrast to the warm, bright heat of the lamp inside the house. The smoke from the three incense sticks rose up, swirling around every shimmering, shimmering detail on the altar before gently drifting out the door. The smoke was like a fragile thread connecting two worlds , connecting the cozy house with heaven and earth (also quiet and solemn) at the moment of New Year's Eve. The sisters patiently sat and waited. Occasionally impatient, one nudged the other and whispered, not daring to speak loudly. Finally, the time came for the incense to burn out so that Dad could bow in thanks, then take the plate of cakes on the altar down. Strange; it was still the same cakes and candies, but why did they always taste better at New Year's Eve... than at other times? They rushed in, competing to pick them up as if afraid of being snatched away, and in a flash, they were all gone. The youngest sister, with her eyes half-closed, bit into a piece of spicy ginger jam, her face turning red. But she only sniffed, not crying...

We grew up, left the nest and flew away, no longer spending New Year's Eve together like when we were young. When it was my turn to be a father, I also had to worry about New Year's Eve offerings. Different; my children now say "welcome New Year's Eve" and none of them are excited anymore. Suddenly I realized - for a long time - that on New Year's Eve I was the only one left, quietly burning incense on the ancestral altar, sitting alone to welcome New Year's Eve...

Y Nguyen

Source: https://www.congluan.vn/thuc-don-giao-thua-post331240.html