my home village

That was Long Ho village, an old village on the bank of Huong river - just a few miles from Hue, a lovely village with a peaceful life. When I was a little girl I came there often. Many years have passed, so many things have changed but the dream-like memory of that small village is still vividly in my heart and the warm atmosphere of the evening there seep into my mind each time I feel tired of the urban life in Saigon city.

Every evening, when the sun had just set behind Ngu Binh hills, all around us we could see the farmers walking home from the fields, tired after a long day of hard work. Some dogs were running toward their owners, wagging their tails and barking happily. The buffalos which had pulled plows along with the farmers during the hot day passed us on the way to the stables. High a top of one buffalo a boy play a lazy song with his bamboo flute as the animal slowly plodded onward. Far away, some cows were chewing the fresh grass. Here and there, kids were flying kites...

the river of my childhood

From the village a girl was singing an old folk song while washing the rice for dinner at the river’s bank. A fishing boat was quietly floating down the slow deep river. The banks of Huong River were an exploding in a carpet of green from the thick of bamboo covering. As far as the eye could see in either direction it was the same beautiful green leaves gathering a hint of gold from the setting sun. In the large empty fields the toil of the villagers had brought about a vast sea of vivid yellow ripe rice....

On the top of some houses, smoke began to curl out into the sky which was getting dark. The aroma of ripe rice, bake meat, burn straw and thatch already spread out in the fresh air of the rural evening.

From the distance came the ringing of Thien Mu pagoda's bell. The bell disturbed the peace of that warm evening as a sight of ending a day. This evening bell was as old as the girl'song, perhaps older, for it has been ringing every evening since the old village came into existence ...
One day looked like any other day in the village had just ended. Nothing different. The peasants still lived a routine life. The bell has still continued to ring for hundred of years now, joining past to present in the same way as the girl's song...

When I was a little girl, my mother took my sister and I to the village every summer and we have a good time there hanging around, riding buffalos, playing bamboo flute and flying kites with all the kids in the village.

Then one day war reached to the small village. Those were the days of Spring 1975...

My family house in Saigon was soon full of relatives and friends. Some came from that old village, some from the town of Hue near by, others from the Central Highlands...They were all moving toward the South to avoid the brief guns fights and the longer battles. By then I was happy to see back my friends and cousins from the village. At the age of 10 or less, we did not realized the dangerous of war.

Saigon fell and the long war ended. Everybody left. Somes returned to their homeland, somes fled Vietnam, others remained Saigon.

The time after war was very hard. The whole country was deep in poor and distress. We had peace but people are still continued to die for diseases, sickness and for unexploded bombs here and there. One day I heard from the village that a friend of my childhood died when his buffalo stepped on an unexploded mine hidden under the ground while pulling plow. Both the animal and human disappeared...nothing remained.

I haven't gone back to my home village since then.

Many years passed...

One day in 2001 I returned to Hue. I visit back many places. I went to my father family's house, where I spent my first years of life. I visited the hospital where I was born, Thien Mu pagoda where I had "Qui Y" to become Buddhist, the cemetary where my grandparents were buried.... But of all the places I visited there was one place where my soul cried out to return, however I was afraid to visit the small village where I considered home.

my grandmom's grave

Many things had changed since I left so long as a child. The landscape was not the same, none of the places I returned was as before. It was not as I remembered and my spirit was heavy, too heavy to continue to walk into the once magical time in my memory. My heart was craking with sadness and I knew there was no way I could go back there without breaking my heart. I am afraid of facing the present, of being a stranger in the old place.

I left Hue...never stop wondering myself... how the old place is and the people of the old days...? I may never stop being afraid to have that question answered.

As time goes by, my life moves on and things do change with my family and children of my own, but always somewhere in my mind I will remain a child in that small village ... just as it was more than 30 years ago. I promised my daughters one day I would take them back to the place that holds a part of my childhood. But for now, it is only in my deep dreams that the old village comes back to life where the the boy rides the water buffalo and dogs bark in excitement. My memory brings back the smell of rice and wood fires and where once again I listen to the insects sing their evening song. A tear from the Huong river runs down my check and I know that land will be kept warm in my heart as long as it still beats with life...

tpt