Buzz
Ah, it's March. The Sưa Season. The season of reminiscence.
I wander amidst delicate carpets of flowers, gathering petals to weave into memories.
As the sưa blossoms begin to adorn the sky, their gentle fragrance blankets the earth, heralding yet another Sưa Season. I call it the 'Sưa Season' because it's not just any ordinary season that comes and goes; it's a season of memories.
March arrives...
If you pay close attention, you'll notice a Hanoi that's not just bustling and lively with busy streets, bustling crowds, crowded eateries, or frustrating rush hours, but also has moments of serene tranquility.
Every March, as it knocks on Hanoi's door, people excitedly invite each other to admire the Sưa flowers, white blossoms clustered delicately, emerging from the leaf axils, petite like the distinctive dots of the Hanoi sky. Blooming in clusters, pure white, ethereal, interspersed with young green leaves, they bring a sense of peace. The Sưa flowers bloom in early March, amidst the lingering chill of winter, the drizzles of spring approaching, and the warmth of summer peeking through.
The flowers bloom without warning, only when, unintentionally or deliberately, one looks up to admire the sky, embracing the fresh air of a morning, and there, they see the vibrant clusters of blossoms.
Sưa trees, being woody plants, often have straight trunks and tall branches and leaves, making it difficult to find a cluster of blossoms nestled in hair or on shoulders as people pass by. But with just a gentle breeze, the tiny petals will flutter down onto the streets, creating a delicate carpet to welcome travelers' feet.
...carrying Along the Season of Memories
March arrives, and the Sưa flowers bloom, carrying along the deep memories of a corner in the Mễ Trì dormitory courtyard.
Back then, they were naive, simple students, and in a flash, everything is far away, leaving only memories. And every time that Sưa Season returns, everyone's hearts flutter, stirred by an indescribable sensation.
I wander amidst a delicate carpet of blossoms, picking petals to weave into memories. Everything slowly unfolds before my eyes—the familiar small shadows dancing in the sunlight, hair flowing, skirts billowing, laughter echoing as we embrace cardboard boxes. In the distance, a familiar bicycle rushes toward the lecture hall. The tape of memories fast forwards to moments lining up for showers, laundry, lively chatter, or quiet evenings sharing secrets over cups of fragrant lemon tea. There were also windy days, dimly lit lanterns, where we opened up about everything under the sky and earth, each of us closing our eyes to follow our own thoughts.
'Hey Trâu, want to go to the market?' 'Hey Trâu, want to grab some bún đậu?' 'Hey Trâu...'
Do you remember when we were vulnerable to life, when we pondered over numerous choices, do you recall the gatherings where I always indulged the most? Do you still remember the perilous path from home to school, the 'blue floor,' the 'golden attic,' all of which now seem like a distant past in the blink of an eye?
In that tape, each face appears vividly as if just yesterday we were together. There were sisters who always knew how to accommodate others, friends who teased, joked, even argued fiercely.
Someone has now returned to distant lands, someone has started their own family, and someone else is still diligently treading the old path.
The Mễ Trì courtyard remains. The season of flowers still comes. But the people are now far away...
