Birthplace

After indulging myself in the trivial things of a long vacation,  I decided to return there, my birthplace, to have a change of scene and to visit my uncle and my aunt. The trip recalled much of the long lost emotion I used to have for this place.

It was in here that I spent the first six years of my life enjoying a happy childhood. I lived with my mom while my dad was away on business. Our house was small, and only five houses away from my uncle’s. Our neighborhood where everyone knew each other so well was the most joyous place I had ever known. The adults always had topics to converse when they met, and the children always enjoyed each other’s company. I remember before each Mid Autumn’s festival, we-children, then at age 5, 6, 7, 8, would gather and discuss which role we would play on the big day. (It was a tradition among the children to act as one of the characters in our favorite movies at that time such as Ton Ngo Khong, Tru Bat Gioi, Lion dancer, and so on.) We would even rehearse matching in line around the neighborhood singing cheerfully some children’s songs while carrying  hand-made lanterns made from used-up washing powder boxes  with a candle put inside. Such simple toys lightened our lampless road and delighted us greatly.  

In my neighborhood, the  border barrier surrounding each house ( known as “ tường bao”) was so  short that we could  talk to someone living four houses away.  My cousins and their friends would use the wall as the net in their badminton or foot shuttlecock games. Despite the ease of getting from one house to another, it was safe in my place with no reported case of theft or vandalism.
In my neighborhood, things like neighborhood association meetings or road maintenance events were treated like community work that everyone, young and old alike, enjoyed getting involved in. My uncle was then a residential group leader whose main duty, for me, was to deliver retirement income for the old people. I would help him clean the house before the payday when dozens of people would come to get their pension. My uncle would praise me for my work, and get me something nice to eat.
When they retired, my uncle and my ant ran a small shop in the local market where they sold many different things  such as shoes, kitchen devices, and toys, but they sold no food. Whenever I came to the market, my aunt would treat me a dish of Banh Beo or Che thap cam in a nearby food stand, which I enjoyed so much.
While my mom insisted on me, then at 6,  focusing  on study, my uncle tried to persuade her to let me play. He said I would study when I wanted to. Such lenient treatment was favorable to me. There was times I thought being with my uncle and my aunt was more fun than with my mom who was often very strict.

When  I was enjoying my exciting and loving childhood time, my dad returned. He told me about the capital city where there were so many things to do, and not long after that mom announced our house moving. I was so excited at the thought of leaving that I failed to see my uncle and aunt’s sadness. I remember people coming to my house to bid us farewell. I gave some of my favorite ones my photos to remind them not to forget me quickly. On our departure day, almost everyone in my neighborhood turned out and waved us good bye.
After that, only in summer would mom let me go back there for a month or two to visit my uncle and my aunt. That happened for four or five successive summers.  Whenever I came back there, my uncle and my aunt would welcome me , treat me so leniently and bring me my favorite dishes. However, when I started my highschool time, I stopped going there as I had to attend extra classes in summer. For the next ten years, I only returned three or four times. Some families  in my neighborhood already  left for a different place.  But those who stay  were still hospitable and still recognized me when I returned. They eagerly asked after my mom and my dad and how we were doing in our new home. Such is what I will never forget.

I had never visited my uncle and my aunt during Tet, so this year, I wanted to make a change. When I arrived, I was welcomed by my two six-year-old nephews who were my uncle and my aunt’s grandsons. One hour later, my uncle and my aunt came home. They  looked much older than they were one year ago. As the house was small, ten people of  us had to sit at two seperate tables during meal time: I was with my sister, my nephews and my cousin, while my uncle and my aunt were with another cousin, his wife and his second son. My aunt frequently left  her place to  check over our table to  make sure that we ate all the food and our bowls were full. My aunt was my favorite person. Harsh as her life was, she was always gentle and never stopped caring for other people.  It saddens me  that  she is only getting older every day.
When  I returned to the city with my cousin and his son on the next morning, I listened to  the song Hometown, which  almost brought me to tears. Though my birthplace is where I only spent the first six years of my life, and though I get lost whenever I come back there, it is still my hometown where I long to return, and where  I am welcomed by my beloved people.