Top 10 Best Essays About Tet

Some say, "As we grow older, Tet doesn't feel as joyful as it once did. We long for the Tet of our childhood." In reality, Tet remains the same; it's us who have changed. No longer are we innocent children eagerly waiting for the new year to wear fresh clothes, excited to receive red envelopes, or gathering around the pot of sticky rice cakes, free to play without worrying about the consequences.

Tet has not lost its charm; it's just that we've grown up. We now carry new responsibilities and face different challenges and social obligations. Often, we get so caught up in material pursuits that we forget the deeper, spiritual value of Tet. We no longer have time to pause and listen to our favorite songs, and this makes us dread Tet, feel indifferent to it, or believe that Tet is not what it used to be. We use this as an excuse to avoid celebrating.

Tet remains unchanged, but our homes feel emptier as children grow up and move away. The family reunion meal becomes quieter with fewer loved ones around. We no longer feel the anticipation of the old familiar scents of Tet—no more boiling the leaves for the Tet bath or the aroma of burning soapnuts on the last day of the year. The little traditions like preparing flowers for the ancestor’s altar or fixing our clothes with our mothers are fading away.

Now, when we are far from home, especially around Tet, we feel lonely, drifting away from the warmth of family. But this nostalgia only brings us back to the essence of Tet—the reunion, the return to our roots, and the simple but meaningful gathering around a meal of love and warmth. The taste of Tet remains the same, filled with love and connection, year after year. Time doesn’t dull the flavor of Tet; it is we who have changed. And perhaps it’s only when we’re far from home that we truly appreciate what Tet means—to come home, to embrace those little moments of togetherness, and to rediscover the true meaning of Tet.

Come home, and you'll feel the true flavor of Tet.

Thanh Nguyễn

Another year is swiftly passing by. 365 days of hard work, all for the sake of creating a truly warm and prosperous home. What greater happiness could there be?

But is everyone truly content with what they've experienced? Outside, in different corners of the world, there are still those struggling to make ends meet, their lives marked by hardship as they try to survive through the cold nights. As the year draws to a close, life becomes even more frantic, everyone rushing to prepare for the upcoming Tet holiday.

Tet is approaching! It’s still over a month away. Children will soon be excitedly wearing new clothes and eagerly receiving vibrant red envelopes. The elderly will reflect thoughtfully by the peach and apricot branches, observing life’s ups and downs, while casting loving looks at their children and grandchildren. Meanwhile, adults are preoccupied with worries, rushing around trying to manage everything, particularly finances. Every face carries its own blend of joy and sorrow.

Tet is near! Everyone is eager to take a little time to tidy up their homes, especially cleaning the altar for a fresh start. The incense smoke mixing with the cold air brings a sense of faith and hope that the new year will be better.

Tet is coming! Everyone wants to make sure there’s plenty of sweets, flowers, and fruits. On New Year’s Eve, families will gather together, chatting and enjoying the sweet taste of happiness.

Tet is here! But with each passing year, as we age, it’s hard not to feel a little melancholic as we see more gray in our hair...

Cậu Tú

In the city, Tet is marked by vibrant flowers, colorful market stalls, and bustling crowds, all preparing for the holiday. But Tet in the countryside has its own unique charm.

As Tet approaches, the people in my village are busy with the harvest. From early morning, when the sky is still dim and the mist hangs thick over the village roads, the women are already out in the fields. The sound of laughter and chatter fills the air as they work, the fields alive with fresh plowed lines and rows of green seedlings sprouting. As the sun rises, the entire field transforms into a lush, orderly green expanse. After planting the rice, the village comes together to clean the walkways, trim the grass, repaint the walls of the community center, and hang slogans to celebrate the New Year.

On the 23rd day of the lunar month, families offer sacrifices to the Kitchen Gods, and each home proudly displays a beautifully decorated Tet tree, with red flags fluttering at its top. The trees are adorned with sparkling lights, and the village gates glow with festive brightness. Peach blossoms, fresh with buds, are cut from the garden to decorate the house, bringing wishes of prosperity and good fortune for the coming year. The preparations for Tet meals in the countryside are different from those in the city. In addition to buying fruits, candies, and household items, rural families grow their own Tet foods. These include fresh vegetables like cabbage, lettuce, and sweet potatoes, as well as herbs and greens filling the garden. Villagers also fish in the village ponds, bringing in fresh catches of fish and shrimp, their earthy, pungent smell mixing with the promise of a bountiful spring. Families work together to butcher pigs, cows, and buffaloes. The kitchen fills with the rich aromas of cooking meat, roasting peanuts, and preparing all the ingredients for the holiday meal. Afterward, the families gather for a warm, hearty dinner, sharing stories about farm life, politics, and football. After the meal, everyone gathers around a pot of hot green tea and sips, enjoying the quiet moments together. Additionally, the women prepare traditional cakes by grinding flour from sticky rice and using red fruits for coloring. I still remember sitting next to my grandmother as she prepared the cakes, the sweet smell filling the air.

The most fun part of Tet preparations is making the square cakes (Banh Chung) and cylindrical cakes (Banh Tet) on the 29th of the lunar month. Almost every family member participates. My grandmother would prepare the leaves, I would wash and dry them, my mother would soak the rice and prepare the fillings. We carefully wrapped the cakes in layers of bamboo leaves, tied them tightly with strings, and placed them in large pots to cook. After dinner, the whole family would gather around the pot, warming their hands by the fire while chatting. The cakes would be ready late at night, and the children would fall asleep, eagerly awaiting the morning to taste the freshly made cakes. When we woke up, the cakes were already ready, and we couldn't wait to taste the delicious, sticky goodness!

The last day of the year is truly special. The sound of drums from the family shrine fills the air, and the scent of incense creates a warm and sacred atmosphere. By midday on the 30th, the children are dressed in new clothes, carrying gifts of wine, incense, and cakes to the family shrine, singing and whistling as they go. Tet brings its challenges, but it is also filled with warmth and joy. This is how we grew up, celebrating Tet in the countryside.

Ha Vinh Tam

As Tet approaches, Hanoi is blanketed by a light drizzle, with the entire city wrapped in a soft, sweet chill of late winter. After a long, tiring day, I make my way home, navigating through the bustling streets filled with a mix of people and vehicles. There, in the midst of it all, a worn-out bicycle slowly rolls by, carrying vibrant bouquets of dahlias. I quickly buy a large bunch for myself, along with a few sprigs of violet. It's strange, but every time I see these dahlias, I feel that Tet is drawing near, and all the memories of past Tet celebrations flood back.

I recall those long-ago Tet mornings when my mother would take me to the flower market to pick out the most colorful dahlias, which she would arrange with violets, daisies, and zinnias. Once home, she would carefully soak the flowers in a basin of water to revive them. After drinking up the water, the blooms would brighten, and she would delicately arrange them in a porcelain vase of blue and white.

There are several tricks to keep the Tet flower arrangements fresh for as long as possible. My mother always trimmed the leaves at the bottom of the stems to prevent them from decaying in the water, which would cause the flowers to wilt. One key tip was to cut the stems at an angle while they were still submerged in water, allowing them to absorb more water and stay fresh longer. To nourish the flowers, many people used a secret mixture of one of the following: vitamin B1, aspirin, white vinegar, sugar, or lemon juice. The most important step, however, was to change the water regularly. Clean water kept the dahlias looking fresh throughout the Tet holiday.

In Hanoi, it's a tradition to display dahlias during Tet. The flower is regarded as a symbol of power and success, second only to the peony. Their bold, vibrant colors bring prosperity and good fortune for the new year. In matters of love, dahlias represent eternal happiness and deep affection that lasts through the years. Because of this, many weddings feature these flowers in their decorations.

Dahlias are perennial plants with the scientific name Dahlia variabilis Desf, originating from Mexico. They come in many colors, including purple, orange, pink, red, crimson, and white. An interesting feature of dahlias is the mix of colors in each bloom. The petals are arranged in layers that radiate outward, creating a visually striking effect. Some varieties have neatly arranged petals, while others have more disordered, ragged edges. Watching a dahlia field in full bloom is like experiencing a burst of positive energy.

For those far from home, Tet often brings a sense of longing for simple things. One year, I was traveling for work just before Tet, and I carried with me a bouquet of dahlias and violets as a gift for a friend originally from Hanoi, now living in the South. When I handed it to them, they were overwhelmed with joy, exclaiming, 'Oh, I feel like you’ve brought Tet from Hanoi to me!' The joy was palpable, and I couldn't help but feel moved by their reaction.

As spring arrives, I stroll through the fields of flowers in Hanoi, and among the myriad blooms of all colors, I notice the dahlias standing tall, their colors still vivid despite the misty drizzle. Dahlias aren't just beautiful; they hold a special place in the memories of those who have lived in Hanoi. This afternoon, I placed a bouquet of dahlias in a vase and silently thought of the messages from friends near and far: 'When you see dahlias, you know Tet is here.'

Bai Vy Anh

I remember Tet from the old days, those distant days!

My memories are filled with the humble, warm Tet celebrations of the past—simple but full of love. Perhaps because we were poor, or lacking in material wealth, we filled the gaps with love and care, to forget the worries of survival and enjoy the joy of family reunion during the new year.

I recall the days leading up to Tet, when my mother would cut dong leaves and ask my siblings and me to wash them thoroughly. My father and brother would repaint our old five-room tile house. Back then, I thought the house must have felt as pampered as we did, getting a fresh coat of paint every year. My mother would laugh at my comparison and say, 'When we are more comfortable, I'll make new clothes for you all year round, not just for Tet.'

I cherish the moments when our family would sit together to make bánh chưng. My father would remind us to watch my mother and learn how to make it, so one day we could do it ourselves. I would eagerly prepare the cooked green beans for the filling, always excited because I knew my mother would let me have a few handfuls to taste. She knew I loved the soft, slightly overcooked beans, so she always prepared a little extra.

I long for those days when my brother and I would make firecrackers. The firecrackers were made from old notebooks, discarded books, and gunpowder. We created long, winding firecrackers and large, powerful mortar crackers. My brother insisted that ours had to be the biggest and loudest. To test if one of our mortar crackers would explode to its maximum potential, we took it to our neighbor’s kitchen, placed it near the stove, and lit the fuse. The explosion was deafening! Ashes flew everywhere, covering everything, including the neighbor’s pig feed pots. It was the first time I had heard such a loud blast, and it was also the first time we received a beating from our mother. That Tet, our firecrackers were definitely the loudest in the village. The booming sound echoed like the joyous laughter of my brother and me.

I loved those moments around the pot of bánh chưng, glowing red with heat. My father would take a stick and dip hot coals into cold water to prepare for roasting meat the next day. My mother would tell stories of her own childhood, much more impoverished than ours. In my time, we had enough meat to enjoy, but for my mother, even a simple bowl of white rice was considered a luxury during Tet. She would recount how her father shared a pig with over a dozen families. Her uncle would walk along the rice field to collect their portion. The smell of boiled pig’s offal was irresistible, and young as she was, my mother couldn’t stop herself from taking a bite. When he returned home, all he had to show for it was a few scraps of meat, covered in dust and dirt. My mother would tell us these stories over and over, tears always welling up in her eyes. My siblings and I never tired of hearing them, feeling nothing but sympathy for her childhood of hardship.

I always long for those family meals, sitting together with my parents and siblings. It wasn’t about the food, but the warmth of those moments, when my father was kinder, no longer distant or quiet like usual. He would reflect on the past year, giving feedback on each of us, noting our strengths and areas for improvement. He would remind us to be more considerate toward our mother, to avoid arguments and to embrace the warmth of love.

The memories of those Tet celebrations from my childhood remain etched in my mind. No one wishes to return to the poverty and struggle of those days, but in the rush of life today, we all crave that warm, genuine feeling of connection from the past.

Hạnh Nguyễn

Many young families these days prefer to travel during the Lunar New Year. Several of my friends are busy hunting for tickets, booking tours, and reserving accommodations to experience Tet in different places. It's a polished way of saying it. Simply put, it's often called "escaping Tet." People escape Tet for various reasons. For some, the festive spirit of Tet has waned, and it no longer holds the joy it once did. There's a saying: "Tet should be joyful," that Tet means happiness. So, wherever joy is found, there, perhaps, lies Tet. Traveling during spring is a modern way of celebrating Tet.

We are also young. Having settled far from home, Tet has become the most meaningful time of the year to return. A friend once compared the costs of a Tet trip to the expenses of traveling back home and concluded that sometimes saving all year doesn’t cover the cost of returning to the hometown, while traveling can be much cheaper. Money can be calculated, but many valuable things can’t be measured so easily. Clearly, today’s Tet can never be the same as the Tet of the past. The Tet in this modern era must differ from the difficult Tet of earlier years. Tet for adults can never resemble the Tet of childhood... Some lament, "If this continues, traditional Tet will be lost." Others suggest: let’s replace the traditional Tet with Western Tet, in line with global trends... These ideas, though, aren’t without reason.

I remember reading somewhere a quote from a poet, which essentially said: stop complaining and forcing everything to go your way. If you want to find something, look within first. By this logic, we should search for Tet within ourselves. Life changes constantly, but there are values embedded in our consciousness that cannot fade. The cozy family meal on the eve of Tet, the sweet fragrance of incense blending with the cool breeze; the lively laughter, exchanging good wishes; the open moment where we let go of grievances to shake hands in harmony; the excitement as we admire the young blossoms, full of hope... These aren’t just habits. They’re the freshness of familiar things, a cultural legacy preserved amid life's changes. When I was in school, I loved reading "Tet Market" by Doan Van Cu, admiring the vibrant yet nostalgic colors of Tet. Later, I learned more about Tet through Vu Bang’s writings, where I found it elegantly refined and full of charm. And so many other vivid depictions of Tet have been written with love, passion, and warmth in the hearts of writers. Surely, each of us has our own very Vietnamese feeling of Tet. Reading "Vietnamese Customs" by Phan Ke Binh, one can easily sense a fresh perspective on traditional Tet in the early 20th century. Many customs and practices from the old days have changed, but the spirit of Tet has never dulled. As long as we understand our roots and still yearn for life’s beginnings, Tet will never be lost.

Our children still look forward to the year-end holiday. They enjoy traveling by train to the hometown. The Tet trains are lively, and the stations are bustling with people and goods. Passengers are busy yet eager, while rivers and hills wake up after a long winter. Everywhere, there’s a unique, familiar taste of Tet. At every stop, we count down the remaining stations. The journey isn’t as long as people often make it out to be. The calls from my parents near Tet always come with careful instructions, even though we are grown-ups. Perhaps, my parents count the days until they can see us again. I wonder, for the elderly like my parents, where do they find Tet to be as "joyful as Tet"? Maybe they find it in the younger generation, whom they long for with all their love.

...I rediscovered these lines while cleaning my computer after a busy year of working online. Coincidentally, it appeared just as Tet was approaching. It’s been a year of instability and sorrow, but the dramatic changes in life have taught us valuable lessons on adaptability, making us truly appreciate the simple joys. What we once took for granted now feels so difficult. This Tet will be the first we won’t spend with our parents. There’s a tightness in my chest whenever someone asks, "Will you go home for Tet?" Why does every answer feel hesitant and filled with self-doubt? My parents had already gently blocked the idea: "Don’t come back! It’s fine not to come this year."; "Don’t come! It’s dangerous and troublesome."... Behind these firm statements are deep longings and suppressed emotions. I often steer the conversation to lighter, more optimistic topics to avoid exposing my inner turmoil. Amid the flood of memories, images of smoke curling up on misty December days, the sweet ginger jam mother stirred in the cast-iron pan, the pots of herbs steaming on Tet’s Eve, all come flooding back. At the end of the day, my father would sit on the porch, stretching his leg down the steps, making tea, quietly watching his shadow grow long as he gazed out at the street. Meanwhile, my mother would busy herself with the kitchen preparations, forgetting one thing after another, and eventually realizing: this year, it feels different. I’ve imagined this scene many times while debating whether to return for Tet. That’s why, though I decided to stay, my heart feels torn and adrift. Among the overwhelming news of the pandemic, looking back at the past year, I understand that our greatest happiness at this point is the safety of our loved ones. That means we still have the opportunity to gather together, to recover what we’ve missed, to begin anew. This thought sparks a small joy. We will wait for Tet, welcome Tet, and feel its sacredness in our hearts...

Hoang Dao Ngoc Trinh

As the spring fragrance touches the doorstep, the breeze stirs lightly in the misty drizzle, memories of Tết from days long gone slowly return to my mind. For me, a child born and raised in Hanoi during the subsidized period, Tết in Hanoi always had a unique flavor, leaving a deep and lasting impression.

By the middle of December, my mother would start getting ready for Tết. I always remember the bustling department stores with their glittering lights, selling Tết gift bags filled with standard goodies. My mother would join long lines from early morning to buy these gift bags. In the late afternoon, when she came home, my siblings and I would rush over to look at the items she had brought. There were red boxes of Tết candy decorated with peach blossoms, soft candy, bottles of orange or lime liqueur, and packs of Thủ đô cigarettes wrapped in silver. Besides these, there were also noodles, dried pork skin, pepper, and MSG... Oh, just one standard gift bag, and already I could feel Tết filling our home.

I also remember that as Tết approached, the older girls would gather to buy starfruit, tomatoes, plums, apples, ginger, and carrots to make candied fruits. This was also an opportunity for them to show off their domestic skills. They would carefully prepare these treats, following their own recipes to create sweets with a delicate, sweet-sour flavor to offer guests during Tết. Some nights, in our apartment complex yard, the girls would cook the candy while we children eagerly watched. Occasionally, they’d let us sample the sweets, and each type had its own unique taste, which was a real joy.

Tết in my memories is also marked by the crowded trolleybus rides during the final days of the year. With Tết nearing, the buses were packed. People rushed to bring goods to the market in time for the holiday. Shoppers were equally eager to purchase everything they needed. During a time I lived away from home, I still dreamt of the “clang-clang” sound of the trolleybuses passing by on the streets.

On the 23rd of December, families eagerly prepared offerings to honor the Kitchen Gods. I still recall the thrill of riding behind my older brother on his bicycle, heading to West Lake to release the carp and send the Kitchen Gods back to heaven. He would park the bike by the edge of the lake and quietly release the fish into the water. We would stand by, watching the golden carp gliding along the waves of West Lake, gradually disappearing into the distance on that final afternoon of the year.

As Tết grew nearer, the old flower markets in Hanoi's Old Quarter began to bustle. Peach branches from Nhật Tân and Nghi Tàm, with buds just beginning to bloom, greeted the spring rain, while the kumquat trees from Tứ Liên stood heavy with bright golden fruit on Hàng Lược Street. Hàng Khoai Street sold traditional flowers like violets, gladioluses, and dahlias, while Hàng Mã offered paper flowers, lanterns, and balloons, all used to decorate homes for Tết. If you walked to Hàng Rươi Street, you would find shops selling old ceremonial items, and antique bronze goods displayed on the sidewalks. Elderly folks would leisurely stroll through the Cống Chéo intersection, choosing porcelain, small garden sculptures, and miniature landscapes to decorate their homes.

During the Tết preparations, wrapping bánh chưng (square sticky rice cakes) was always the most exciting event. The women gathered to wash dong leaves, prepare mung beans, and rinse rice at the communal water tap. Their hands, red and cold from the winter chill, would still chat cheerfully. At night, my father would carefully strip the leaves and weave the strings, while my mother cooked the green beans and marinated the pork for the cakes. The scent of pepper and fish sauce marinating the pork belly was mouthwatering. My father wrapped the cakes swiftly and skillfully, finishing in no time. The wrapped cakes were then placed into a large pot and set on the stove to cook. The bubbling sound of the boiling bánh chưng filled the air with the aroma of sticky rice and dong leaves, creating a warm, festive atmosphere. The women often slipped a few sweet potatoes or cassava into the stove for the children to nibble on. The night the bánh chưng was cooked, the whole apartment complex would be alive with joy. The happiness even followed us into our dreams.

On the morning of the 30th of December, after the house had been tidied up, my mother would often take me to the flower market. We’d walk around while she selected a beautiful peach blossom branch with full flowers and buds tightly clustered together. It was an exquisite branch with flowers and buds close to one another, a delicate sight to behold. Then she would leisurely pick traditional flowers such as soft violet, vibrant dahlias, bright red chrysanthemums, pale pink roses, sturdy gladioluses, and gentle butterfly flowers. These flowers were arranged together like a spring garden in full bloom in the living room. For us Hanoians, seeing the traditional flower arrangement meant that Tết had truly arrived, bringing spring into the home.

On New Year's Eve, families prepared offerings for the ancestors with an array of meticulously prepared dishes. The way the meal was arranged reflected the skill and care of the women in the family. The bánh chưng was placed beside bright red sticky rice, golden roasted chicken, dry bamboo shoots cooked with pig’s trotters, crispy fried spring rolls, slices of Vietnamese sausage, pickled onions, stir-fried mixed vegetables, and the unique canh bóng soup... The entire feast was fragrant and delicate. The Tết meal not only delighted the taste buds but also became an important cultural ritual, symbolizing the family’s respect and devotion to their ancestors.

After the New Year's Eve meal, my mother would be busy preparing the chicken, steaming sticky rice, and cooking sweet soup for the New Year’s Eve offering. I vividly remember the image of my father, bowing deeply in the New Year’s ritual during the turning of the year. It seemed that in that moment, all the hopes for the new year were silently conveyed through his prayers.

On the first day of the new year, or “Chính đán,” my siblings and I would be dressed in new clothes, receiving lucky money from our grandparents and parents. Even as I grew older, I would always remember the joy of receiving those crisp new bills as New Year’s gifts.

Years have passed, but every time Tết approaches, I deeply miss the fragrance of the boiled herbal water my mother prepared on New Year’s Eve, the sight of the streets covered in fresh firecracker remnants, the scent of incense mingling with the smoke of firecrackers, and the delicate perfume of flowers floating gently in the spring breeze… The taste of Tết in Hanoi remains etched in my memory—peaceful, profound, and remarkably cherished.

Vy Anh

Waking up on a chilly morning, the light mist drifting like dust across the streets, the sound of a song full of spring's essence floats through the window, filled with the nostalgia of the first Tet. It's the lyrics of the song “First Spring” by composer Van Cao, which always calms the heart, bringing peace and emotion in the days just before Tet.

Outside, the streets are buzzing with the excitement of the approaching new year. The world is blooming, and spring is truly in the air, with the fresh buds on every tree. As the year comes to a close, everyone is busier, faces filled with anticipation. Everyone hopes for a better, more peaceful year ahead. We reflect on what we have achieved and what remains unfinished in a year full of change. The joy and sorrow of life's challenges fade away as Tet approaches, and we make room for renewal.

In the days leading up to Tet, everyone seeks peace, surrounded by family and loved ones. It's a time to pause, to watch the busy streets, observe the flow of people and vehicles, and appreciate the sight of peach blossoms gently kissed by morning dew. Spring has arrived, and the scent of Tet is already in the air, mingling with the light mist.

In just a few days, it will be the day of the Kitchen Gods' return to the heavens. For many, this is a significant part of the end-of-year celebrations, with families preparing the most elaborate meals to honor the Kitchen Gods. Fish is offered, with hopes that the fish will transform into dragons, carrying the Kitchen Gods back to the heavens.

After the Kitchen Gods' day, families in the countryside begin the tradition of tomb-sweeping. Those who live far away return early, and locals head to the graves in the late afternoon of the 30th of the lunar month. The fields are filled with smoke from incense as people clear weeds, trim trees, and tidy up the graves of their ancestors and loved ones. The tomb-sweeping tradition is a meaningful end-of-year ritual, a way to express gratitude to those who came before and to honor one's lineage.

Memories often stir a variety of emotions. I fondly recall the evenings of the 30th of the lunar month, spent in my childhood village by the Da River. I remember the smell of incense and white lilies on misty, rainy nights, the scent of burnt rice husks next to the steaming pot of green sticky rice cakes, and the crackling of the old radio broadcasting poetry programs. I recall the deep, earthy scent of incense sticks that my grandmother would light at the family altar. That fragrance, like the memories themselves, lingers in my mind—something real, yet indescribable, and never fading.

A new spring is almost here. The melodies of Tet echo in the streets with every step. I hear the soft patter of spring rain on peach branches just beginning to bloom, and the sweet words of the song “Listening to Spring Arrive” by composer Duong Thu, “What rain falls so gently on the streets? What fragrance drifts so sweetly in the breeze? And I wait for you, just as we promised...”

Yes! The days leading up to Tet are drawing near.

Din Tien Hai

Tet is an integral part of Vietnamese culture. Everything is done for Tet. Phrases like “even if we're hungry, it's Tet; even if things are tight, it's still Tet” and “as joyous as Tet” reflect the fullness and happiness that accompany this holiday. The wealthy prepare grand feasts, while the less fortunate still do their best to have a proper meal. No matter how life changes, Tet always holds the same significance for the Vietnamese. It’s a time for family reunions, for putting aside worries, and for hoping for a better, brighter year ahead. With the turning of the seasons, Tet always comes around. Whether we anticipate it or not, we all make preparations for the holiday in whatever way we can.

As children, we eagerly awaited Tet with innocent excitement, unaware of the passage of time. Whether we were from affluent families or living with less, there were always reasons to look forward to Tet. Children from wealthier families awaited new clothes, generous red envelopes, and trips with their families. Children in poorer households looked forward to new outfits, better meals, and the chance to visit relatives. Those simpler Tet celebrations, when transportation was just walking or cycling, with large families and little opportunity for travel, were filled with joy just in watching the street festivities. The modest clothes sewn with extra fabric felt like they made us look older and more beautiful. We carefully stored our new clothes, shoes, and hats, and on the morning of Tet, we would excitedly dress up and share laughter with one another. No other time in life is Tet awaited with such pure joy as in childhood.

For parents, Tet brings not just excitement but also anxiety. In the past, Tet preparations started months in advance. In October, after the harvest, rural mothers would carefully save and sell some of their rice to buy fabric and sew clothes for their children. Every item was budgeted and saved, cherished piece by piece. There was constant concern over whether the vegetable and flower gardens would bloom in time to sell for extra income, or whether the pigs and chickens raised for Tet would grow big enough to offer a proper feast for ancestor worship. Small traders, too, were busier than ever during Tet, rushing from market to market, trying to gather enough money to ensure their children could enjoy some treats during the holiday. Tet was not just about food and clothes, but also about honoring the deceased. Cleaning graves and maintaining ancestral altars were essential duties. A proper altar, adorned and warm, was necessary for the ancestors to visit and bless the family in the coming year.

For students living away from home and migrant workers, Tet starts around late December, when buses and trains fill with people returning home. Everyone wants to arrive early to clean, prepare, and celebrate with their families. But some students and workers, unable to travel back due to financial or work constraints, may feel that Tet loses some of its meaning. For families with missing members, Tet lacks its full joy. For smaller families, however, Tet is a time to gather, share meals, and create memories, memories that will remain cherished after loved ones are gone. Every generation continues the Tet tradition, preserving the spirit of the holiday no matter how far apart we may be or how life changes. Each year, when the yellow apricot blossoms and pink peach flowers bloom, the Vietnamese people feel a deep, shared longing for a perfect Tet celebration.

Once a year, when the calendar pages are turned, Tet arrives. No matter the circumstances, Tet holds a special place in the hearts of the Vietnamese. The passing of the old year and the arrival of the new year bring reflection on the past and anticipation for the future. The customs of Tet bring the Vietnamese closer together in many ways. Tet belongs to everyone, it is the holiday of every home!

Ai Nguyen