In March, I hold onto another spring

 March is still near, yet I already feel nostalgic...

In March, I preserve another spring

In March, some return to the mountains. They say the mountains have changed now, they say the mountains are no longer as they used to be. Still, hope is embraced, it's just that others exaggerate. Yet reality proves harsher than rumors, I pass by familiar corners but find nothing familiar. The old coffee spot now feels estranged, the scenery is no more, and the coffee tastes duller than before.

In March, there's someone lying still in a small room, at the corner of a small roadside inn, nestled on a hill. There's a window overlooking the mountains, waking up to a haze, the first thing they do is pull the curtains; outside, there's mist or sunshine; outside, there's sunshine lingering on the hills; outside, there are people, some scattered across the golden mustard fields; or outside, there's thick fog, straining eyes trying to spot figures through the hills of that day.

In March, someone unexpectedly embarks on a journey, from the bustling city streets to Y Ty. The Hoang Lien Pass clears at the turn towards Muong Hum, bringing a sense of relief.

What luck! Finally escaped, the sky turns blue again, the mountain passes reveal themselves, no more crowded traffic, no more overtaking. The road to Y Ty is beautiful now, very beautiful, bustling with traffic, passing through Muong Hum, Den Sang, and finally reaching Y Ty.

Y Ty ingrained in the mind retains the 20,000 VND pho stall, chicken pieces enough to count on one hand; Y Ty this March also retains the playground at Choan Then, the road up to Ngai Thau Thuong that two people jokingly call the road to heaven.

Then there are the shadows of the people of Y Ty, leisurely walking, crossing through the mist, ascending the steep pass, rising above the sun, connecting the memories of wanderers in the present to the past of the first days of wandering.

In March, someone finds joy on the mountain. A tiny joy, so shy that it's hard to catch. There's the excited smile of a student receiving a gift; there's the smile of a few children, gathering wildflowers of spring, making flower crowns, giggling when someone takes a sneak photo; there's the shy smile nodding when told to pose for a photo, just one photo...

Oh, and there are three little girls, holding in their hands a few white flowers from the forest, one of them runs down to ask for some photos and then asks about the flower names; she says the flowers taste 'sour'; oh dear, sourness in life doesn't need to be known at this moment, can we just be happy, happy today?

March, spring halts at O Quy Ho. The bustling sky gate now hosts makeshift shops, unexpectedly good finds. Meeting people from Saigon here, buying and selling, faces slightly tired but voices still carry the essence of 'Saigon'.

They tell tales of a light-hearted life, of someone leaving the urban hustle for the hills, of meeting and loving their spouse, of hills and mountains, of forest adventures, and of happiness.

It's been so long since I truly felt happiness from someone saying I am happy. The simple happiness of being content with what I have. Looking back, it seems like all the springs have dried up...

According to Manh Quan/Youth

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Reference: Travel Guide from Mytour