Top 9 Most Interesting Tet Stories

According to the driver, this would be the last ride—the final trip of the year. It was already the eve of Tet.

The sky was growing dark. The passengers let out a collective sigh of relief, as if they had been blessed with good fortune. How could they not feel fortunate, having traveled a rugged, winding road riddled with the scars of past battles, yet avoiding any landmines?

The bus carried four lives, sitting loosely across the two rows of seats: a widow wearing a mourning scarf, an elderly woman with hair like snow, a small dog in a chicken cage, and a man recently discharged from the military due to injury. Including the driver, that made five lives: four people and one small dog. The dog was pitch black, with black eyes, a black muzzle, and a solid, chunky body. It waddled awkwardly, occasionally making soft whimpering sounds, its cries drowned by the roar of the old bus engine. The road was full of potholes. The bus bounced, swayed left and right, jerked forward, and spun around.

The elderly woman seemed weary. The younger woman leaned her head against the wooden wall, her eyes half-closed. The man, however, sat quietly, staring out at the marshy fields. The rice was growing sparsely, and many of the fields were cracked, deep fissures running through them. The entire landscape was a dull gray, stretching endlessly to the horizon. The sky above was filled with dark, leaden clouds, tinged with deep purple. The wind howled through the narrow window, while the bus continued its shaky ride. The driver’s arms bulged as he wrestled with the wheel, veins standing out as he fought to control the vehicle.

The ride was urgent. It was the eve of Tet. This was the final trip. The driver, suddenly energized, accelerated slightly, pushing the bus to eight kilometers per hour. On such a rough road, that was considered fast. Ahead, there was an unfilled minefield, and scattered along the roadside were the remnants of obstacles: a charred bus from a past explosion, broken carts beyond recognition, and heaps of blackened ash—possibly the remains of people, animals, or cargo.

Suddenly, the bus slowed, coming to a gradual stop. In front of it was a large crater, with a rusted vehicle at the bottom. Behind it, a figure in black stood, a thin hand raised in a wave. The driver eased off the accelerator, his voice trembling as he spotted the dark barrel of a rifle.

- Oh no... this is it!

The figure in black stood up fully. A pale, youthful face appeared, hidden behind messy hair. The face was barely twenty, more of a boy than a man. He was from 'the other side.' The rifle made that clear, but it was held in a calm, non-threatening manner.

Everyone on the bus turned to look at him. The boy seemed no older than fifteen. He raised the rifle to his head with both hands, his face filled with anxiety and confusion. He stammered:

- I... I... I’m a deserter! Please take me to the station...

The driver, now calmer, responded, his tone half mocking, half explaining:

- You’ve got the wrong place, kid! There aren’t any soldiers here. If you want to go back, you’ll have to head up north.

The boy, still holding the rifle to his head, slowly stepped up out of the crater. Upon seeing no soldiers in uniform, he lowered the rifle and approached the driver:

- Then take me to where the National Army is!

The driver shook his head vigorously:

- It’s too late. I’m not going back up there. The soldiers are only stationed up north.

- How far is it?

- About five or six kilometers.

- So, no one’s down here?

- No one! The soldiers won’t come down until after Tet.

- Can I come with you and wait?

- No way! I’ve got a family!

- Just keep the rifle for me. You might even get a reward!

- I’m not interested. I don’t want any part of this. I just want to make an honest living.

The boy, growing impatient, snapped:

- If you won’t take me, then you stay here with me!

The driver jumped in alarm:

- What the hell? You think I’m going to stay here with you? That’s a Viet Cong tactic, not a surrender!

The wounded man, who had been quietly observing from the back of the bus, finally spoke up:

- Can I take him with me? I’ll get him to the station later.

The driver threw up his hands in mock exasperation:

- Well, that’s just perfect!

The boy stepped away from the pit and walked toward the back of the bus, eyeing the man. The man spoke again:

- Give me the rifle.

- Do you know how to use it?

- These are nothing. The National Army collects them all the time.

The boy let out a sigh of relief:

- I thought...

- Thought what?

- I thought you were with the Front.

- So what?

- Then I would’ve had to shoot you first.

The man smiled:

- Come on, we’re comrades. Why would I shoot you?

The boy hesitated, mumbling:

- I defected. That’s a crime punishable by death.

The driver, seeing the conversation dragging on, urged:

- Enough talking! Get on the bus. It’s getting late.

The bus began moving again, climbing a small hill before following a narrow path marked by the tracks of a large truck that had passed before. The sight of the bus weaving through the obstacles was nothing new. It was just another ride, returning home in the middle of spring, across a land still engulfed in smoke and flames.

Every Tet holiday, I am filled with nostalgia for a memory that I will never forget for the rest of my life.

That year, the warm sun returned, and the earth, sky, trees, grass, mountains, rivers, and streams seemed to awaken after days of misty rain, harsh winds, and freezing cold. I was in eighth grade, and my younger brother, Thao, was in fifth grade. We both had an early Tet break.

When we were young, we occasionally visited our hometown, carried on our parents' backs. We never visited during Tet, so we knew nothing about Tet in the countryside.

Seeing us absorbed in playing video games, watching TV, or playing chess, occasionally reading a book, while all the chores at home were taken care of by the housekeeper, our parents said:

- Grandma is gone, and Grandpa is over seventy. The house in the mountains is only a few dozen meters from the neighbor's. It’s a pity to leave Grandpa alone. This year, let the two of you go to the village early so Grandpa won't feel so lonely. We'll come later.

We were both excited. Thao cheered:

- Can we go today, mom?

- Do you remember the way back to the village?

- Of course! We can take the bus to the district, then catch another one to the county, from there we follow the riverbank road to a big banyan tree, and turn into the mountain road to reach Grandpa’s house.

- The road is different now; we'll go tomorrow morning. I also want to see if you two can manage on your own without us.

We were both so eager, like students who had been working hard and were finally going home for the summer.

Used to city life, we only knew how to eat and study, without lifting a finger for chores. Our parents, and the housekeeper, did everything for us. They only required that we study hard. That was the only way to make a living later.

Since we were young, we had always been pampered, served by others, never needing to serve anyone else. Even for the smallest tasks, like fetching a toothpick for an adult, we had never learned to help. We lived in a city apartment, confined to a few square meters, feeling suffocated at times. We couldn’t go outside without an adult, fearing accidents or falling into bad habits.

Our parents were from the mountains, but we had never swum in a stream, climbed a mountain, or seen the mountainside except on TV. Every time we went back, we stayed in Grandpa’s wooden house and left soon after.

Now, we were going to the mountains, without our parents, and the excitement was beyond words.

On the way, everything felt new. We saw peach trees and apricot trees blooming in the gardens along the road, and both of us were thrilled, walking without feeling tired. Thao asked:

- Does Grandpa’s house have peach and apricot trees?

- Of course! Every house in the mountains has them. Look at the flowers; they signal the arrival of spring.

- Why don’t they trim the branches and sell them like in the city?

- No one buys them here.

- It’s so beautiful, the whole village is filled with red peach flowers and white apricot blossoms, what could be more beautiful?

The river was shallow this time of year, with many rocks sticking out of the water. We saw village girls washing dong leaves, sorting sticky rice, and mung beans. Thao asked:

- What are they doing, brother?

- They’re washing dong leaves and preparing ingredients to wrap the square cakes.

- Why don’t they do that in the city during Tet?

- People buy square cakes from the supermarket in the city, silly. In the countryside, everything is done by hand.

Our mother said the road had changed a lot. It used to be narrow, but now it’s wider, with a bridge crossing the river, and more motorbikes on the road.

When we reached the village, we were sweating and hot. Thao and I took off our jackets, revealing our traditional blue tunics, buttoned across the chest. Our mother had told us, “When you visit the mountains, you must wear the ethnic clothes to look like a true mountain boy.”

As we walked, we marveled at the surroundings. A young man on a motorbike stopped by and asked:

- Are you both from the city? Which village are you from? He asked in the local dialect, but we didn’t understand. He then switched to Vietnamese, and we understood him.

- We’re from the city, visiting for Tet. We’re from the Kẹo village.

- Oh, you know the road that goes past the banyan tree by the river, right? Why don’t you speak the local language? Didn’t your parents teach you?

- They did, but we can’t speak it yet.

- You should learn. It’s important to speak your own language. If you’re from the mountains, you must speak the mountain dialect. That’s what makes you a real mountain boy. Get on my bike, I’ll give you a ride.

When we reached the banyan tree, we saw the local people preparing for the Tet games: throwing the ring, archery, and tug-of-war. It was all set up for fun. The young man who had given us a ride asked:

- Do you know the way to the village?

- Yes, thank you, we’ll be fine.

- If you’re still around later, come join us. The village youth will be gathering for the games. Do you know how to play?

- We’ve never played before.

- In the city, you don’t have these games, right? Come and learn. Don’t forget to ask Grandpa to teach you some local greetings. If you don’t know how to greet others, they’ll laugh at you. Remember, a greeting is more important than a feast.

Hearing this, we felt ashamed. Our parents had taught us some of the local dialect, but we never learned it, thinking it wasn’t important. I asked Thao:

- Do you remember the greetings mom taught us?

- I only remember a little.

- A little won’t work. We need to practice with Grandpa.

As we approached the house, we saw Grandpa carrying a long bamboo pole. He hadn’t recognized us at first but eventually did after we called out to him. He smiled and said:

- Oh, Thao! You’re back. Go inside and help me set up the Tet pole.

We went inside and saw the village kids helping Grandpa plant a Tet pole in front of the house. Grandpa explained that the Tet pole, made from bamboo or a tree branch, was decorated with colorful paper and a red flag to welcome spirits and protect the family.

Later, Grandpa asked if we had ever played any of the local games like the ring toss or the stilts race. I had to admit we hadn’t. Thao joked, teasing me:

- Have you given up yet? Do you think you can keep up with the village boys?

Grandpa’s lessons and the new experiences of village life humbled me. I saw how much I had missed by staying in the city, focusing only on studying, while these kids had learned both their culture and how to help their families. It was a lesson I would never forget.

Years later, after finishing school, I made the decision to study Forestry at the university, determined to return to the mountains and help protect the forests, ensuring the people there could thrive in harmony with nature.

And every Tet, I remember my time in the village, the lessons learned, and the simple, fulfilling life that made me appreciate the mountains even more.

Every year when Spring comes, we children eagerly wait for Tet. Some of us look forward to new clothes, others are excited about the food and the lucky money. Some even make the adults laugh by saying, "I like Tet because I get a year older." But for me, it's the festive atmosphere of Tet that I love. Every child loves Tet, but they don’t understand why adults dread it so much.

Grandma returned from the market, dropping her basket at the door and calling out, "Bống... where are you?"

Bống had been playing with friends in the neighborhood. When she heard Grandma’s voice, she immediately rushed back home.

- "Grandma, what did you buy for me?"

- "You’re so naughty! You didn’t take care of the house, and now the chickens have made a mess in the kitchen. I’m angry, and now I won’t buy you anything!"

Bống felt really sad. Grandma was right to scold her. She had been asked to watch the house carefully, but as soon as Grandma left, her friends came calling, "Bống, come play!" And Bống had run off without thinking. Now, she would have to do without her gift.

Bống looked at the basket with curiosity. Maybe there was a sweet rice cake or a bag of candy inside.

No, it must be a "phòng phòng"—a puffed rice chicken in bright colors that chirped when blown on, and you could eat it afterward! It sounded so delicious! How frustrating to have to wait!

Suddenly, the cover of the basket rustled. Meow… Bống’s eyes widened. Meow… "A kitten! Grandma, please can I keep it?"

Inside the basket were two wide green eyes, trembling with fear, blinking at her. The kitten had soft black-tipped ears that twitched, and it meowed softly, curled up in the basket.

- "Come out, Miu!"

Bống gently picked up the kitten, cradling it in her arms and cuddling it. Grandma smiled and said:

- "Take it to the kitchen and tie it to the stove for a few days to get used to the place. Make sure you care for it so it can grow big enough to catch the mice. We have so many mice in the house lately!"

The little kitten refused to eat. The rope tied around its leg was getting in the way, and every time it tried to run, it was pulled back. "Meow meow, why can’t I run anymore?" The kitten lifted its paw to try and free itself, but it was no use. Eventually, exhausted, it curled up in the warm ashes.

Bống brought over a bowl of rice and coaxed, "Miu, eat something."

The kitten still wouldn’t eat.

- "Meow meow, where did my mother go? Who brought me here and tied me up like this? Meow meow, I can’t even nurse from my mom anymore."

Later in the evening, Grandma returned and asked:

- "Where is the kitten, Bống?"

- "Grandma bought it for me! I’ll take it upstairs so it can sleep, okay?"

- "No, leave it in the kitchen. Let it meow to scare away the mice."

It was almost Tet, and the kitten would help keep the mice away. So, that night, the kitten spent its first night alone in the strange kitchen.

After a fight between the kitten and a cobra, the Copper Pot seemed to have developed a great respect for the little cat. That morning, when the house was empty, the kitten was sleeping in the warm ashes. The Copper Pot started a conversation:

- "Boom boom, little Miu, do you dare to fight the big rats?"

- "Of course!"

- "Impressive!"

The Copper Pot closed its eyes and shivered.

- "Little Miu, today Grandma is going to the Tet market! She’s going to bring back all kinds of food like braised pork, fried fish, pork rolls, and many other tasty dishes."

- "Why so much, Copper Pot?"

- "Tet is almost here! Don’t you know?"

- "What’s Tet?"

- "Boom boom. Tet is Tet, what else? You’re so clueless!"

The kitten still didn’t understand. The Broomstick laughed and explained further:

- "You’re still too young to know about Tet! Tet is the first day of the new year. Everyone takes a break, dresses in new clothes, and goes out to visit friends. Every house makes bánh chưng, wraps pork rolls, cooks sweet soup, and sets up a New Year tree. It’s a joyful time, and in just a few days, you’ll see!"

- "Meow, that sounds wonderful! But the Rat said it would return near Tet and cause trouble!"

- "Oh no, that makes me nervous just thinking about it!"

The Copper Pot wiped its face, sweat dripping down. The kitten reassured:

- "Don’t worry. This time, I won’t let them get away with it. But both you and the Broomstick need to help too. You’re big and strong, Copper Pot. You can fight them. And you, Broomstick, you gave me quite a blow last time. We’ll stand up to them together!"

The Broomstick seemed to think it over. The Copper Pot puffed up its round mouth and said:

- "Well, let’s see…"

On the first morning of Tet, the weather was cool and pleasant. Bống cradled the kitten in her arms and tied a red ribbon around its neck, saying:

- "Let’s put a flower knot on Miu so we can go with Mom to visit Grandpa at the martyrs’ cemetery!"

- "Meow meow."

Grandma smiled and said:

- "Be careful not to forget the kitten somewhere! Miu is very good. Even though it’s small, it can fight the rats!"

As they passed the kitchen, the kitten called out:

- "Meow! Copper Pot, Broomstick, enjoy your day at home!"

- "Alright, just don’t get lost. There will be a lot of people around today!"

Grandma took Bống’s hand, and they walked outside. The wind blew, butterflies fluttered, and flowers bloomed. The bamboo rustled, and the rice plants swayed gently in the fields. A group of people walked across the field, following a red flag with a golden star flying in the wind.

Oh, Tet is such a beautiful and joyful time! The kitten lay in Bống’s arms, poking its head out and looking around, meowing softly.

Long ago, when people had not yet learned to measure time or age, there was a wise and virtuous king in a distant land.

One day, during a festive occasion, the king wanted to reward the oldest person in the kingdom, but no village could find anyone who fit that description. So, the king sent his messengers to seek out the gods for guidance on how to find the oldest living being.

The first god they encountered was the River God:

- "I’ve been here a long time, but my mother, the Sea God, is even older. Go ask her."

However, the Sea God replied:

- "You should ask the Mountain God, who predates me. When I was young, the Mountain God was already ancient."

The messengers then traveled to the Mountain God:

- "You should ask the Sun God. When I was born, I had to close my eyes from the intensity of the Sun’s rays."

But the Sun God was unreachable. The messengers, feeling disheartened, returned. In a forest, they stumbled upon an elderly woman sitting by a peach blossom tree. The messengers asked her:

- "Grandmother, why are you sitting here?"

The old woman answered:

- "I come here to pick the peach blossoms. Long ago, my child went far away, and this tree blooms every year. Now, every time the peach blossoms bloom, I come to pick one to remember my child."

A sudden thought struck the messengers, and they took the old woman back to the palace to present her to the king. The wise king came up with a way to measure the passage of time: each blooming of the peach blossoms represented one more year of life.

The king was overjoyed and moved by the old woman's story. He decreed that every time the peach blossoms bloomed, a festival would be held for three days and nights. These joyful days became known as Tet, a tradition that has continued to this day.

Long ago, in the eastern foothills of Soc Son Mountain, northern Vietnam, there stood an ancient peach tree. Its branches were thick and expansive, casting a vast shadow over the surrounding land.

Two gods, named Tra and Ut Luy, made their home in the grand peach tree. They were known for driving away evil spirits, ensuring that the villagers lived peaceful and prosperous lives. The demons, fearful of the gods' power, also dreaded the sight of the peach tree. The mere appearance of its branches would send them fleeing in terror.

However, as the year came to a close, Tra and Ut Luy, like all other gods, had to ascend to the heavenly realm to meet the Jade Emperor. With their absence, the demons were free to cause chaos. To protect themselves, the villagers devised a clever solution: they would cut branches from the peach tree and place them in vases inside their homes. Those who couldn't find a branch would draw pictures of the two gods on red paper and hang them by the door to drive away the evil spirits. Since then, every year during Tet, families continue the tradition of cutting peach branches to display in their homes to ward off demons.

Tet arrives from the last month of the lunar year. The cold, busy December—how could one forget the beloved month of Chạp?

The days leading up to Tet are filled with cherished memories and a touch of nostalgia.

When I was three, my father took me to the Tet market. It was cold, the wind was strong. He bought me a red velvet checkered jacket. That jacket still sits in the corner of my closet—too small for me now, but its warmth still lingers, a symbol of my father's love for us. My mother would tell me how, when she was young, she would sleep next to my father on the narrow wooden bed, while I slept beside her. To escape the bitter winter cold, my sisters would crawl into my father's jacket on either side of him, while my mother would let me rest my head on her arm.

The last days of the year are inseparable from the December market. It signals the approach of Tet. Our village was not far from the market town. This was the very market where my father bought my velvet jacket. The market opened during the sugar cane harvest season, as people from our village would bring bundles of sugar cane to sell. Even before dawn, the hum of activity could be heard as villagers transported their goods on carts to the town market. By noon, the cart would be empty, while my father would carry a bundle of sugar cane and my mother would hold the purse with the earnings.

In our village, we had more than just the town market; we had a district market and a village market. But the town market was the most frequently visited, just five or six kilometers away from the village. It was convenient with its paved roads and a wide variety of goods. The market operated every day, but in December, it would become especially crowded, with people preparing for the new year. On Tet market days, many men would gather to share a bowl of hot noodle soup and a drink, a way to see off the old year and welcome the new one.

From the moment the Kitchen Gods depart for Heaven, the Tet atmosphere fills the village. The roads leading to the market are bustling with activity, as is the town itself. I bought dried goods from the supermarket—noodles, dried bamboo shoots, green beans, monosodium glutamate, sugar, and candy. Fresh vegetables, meat, and fish had to be purchased from the market. The Tet market was different from the usual days; there were bundles of green dong leaves and strings for wrapping bánh chưng, which would soon be displayed. I bought some kohlrabi from a chubby lady with a full figure. Nearby, there were piles of cabbage. At the side entrance, there were two baskets of ripe yellow oranges on a motorbike. I walked over to a cucumber stand, where the cucumbers were fresh and fragrant. The vendor, a woman over sixty, was thin and dark-skinned. While weighing my cucumbers, she accidentally revealed a photo on her ID card—a picture of a man in a police uniform. I said, 'Wow! You were quite the officer back in the day!' She smiled and replied, 'That was a photo from back then.'

I stopped at the pickled onion stand. It was a tradition for our family to have pickled onions at Tet. When I was younger, I couldn’t eat them because of their strong taste. Back then, my mother would always pickle onions for our everyday meals. As I grew older, my mother did less of the traditional Tet foods because we all had our own lives to live, and her health wasn’t what it used to be. She didn't want to waste any food, so she stopped making it unless I asked. I learned how to pickle onions from her. I enjoy the process of peeling the onions, washing them clean, and placing them into jars with saltwater. The sight of pickled onions means Tet has truly arrived.

New Year's Eve is a sacred moment. The sound of firecrackers, the loud crackling of fireworks, was once a defining feature of our Tet celebrations. On the evening of the 30th, when I was eight or nine years old, I would snuggle under the blanket, peek out at my father lighting firecrackers outside the door. I will never forget the feeling of that night. The silence of the evening was suddenly broken by the burst of fireworks. The popping sound seemed to awaken the spring spirit. It marked the arrival of the new year. The spent firecrackers, pink and red, would pile up in a corner of the house, and people would avoid sweeping during the first three days of Tet.

Tet still carries the taste of chè lam (a traditional cake). Chè lam is made from sugarcane molasses, glutinous rice flour, ginger water, and peanuts. In those years, sugarcane molasses was plentiful in our village. Sugarcane would be cut from the fields and boiled down into syrup. The glutinous rice was roasted, ground into flour, and peanuts were roasted and peeled. Ginger was roasted and squeezed for juice. The molasses would be heated, then mixed with rice flour, peanuts, and ginger water to form a smooth dough. The mixture would then be molded into shapes resembling a mortar and pestle. The cake has a sweet and nutty flavor, with a hint of ginger. My childhood Tet was filled with the aroma of chè lam. Even today, though chè lam is no longer as common, I sometimes make it on Tet to relive those memories. Everyone in the family praises it, though none speak it aloud.

In recent years, I’ve made it a habit to admire Tet flowers as spring approaches. I gaze at the peach blossom branches, the orchids, lilies, gladiolus, and chrysanthemums—flowers that bloom during Tet. Sometimes, I’ll ride my motorcycle on the 29th or 30th day of the lunar year and pick out a few roses, gladiolus, or chrysanthemums. It is then that I seem to understand what Tet truly means. Tet means it lives on forever.

I answer this way because no one can fully define Tet. Tet is about returning to oneself. In the simplest terms, that is all it means to me.

Mom, another spring has passed without me coming home, another Tet when Dad is busy with work... but our family will always stay together, you know! The clock is ticking toward the end of the year...

I'm spending yet another Tet far from home, and it will be three or four more Tet holidays before I can gather with the family for the year-end feast, before I can return to our hometown to breathe in that unmistakable scent of spring and Tet...

On Facebook, my friends have been sharing Tet statuses, eagerly awaiting the new year. I feel a pang of longing. Last night, I heard you telling me on the phone how the family is preparing for Tet—bánh chưng, candies, pickled fruits, peach blossoms, and apricot flowers. I can already feel Tet approaching, it's so close...

But then I felt a wave of sadness when your voice faltered. 'This Tet, Dad is on duty, so he won’t be home. This Tet, our home will be missing both your father and you...' Tears welled up in my eyes, and after hanging up, I cried uncontrollably.

Mom, I miss home...

Tet is the time for family reunions, and while everyone is celebrating together, our home will be missing two men. I know this will make you feel lonely and tired, but please try not to be sad. Even from afar, Dad and I will always be there for you, supporting you in spirit.

I remember the Tets from before—how every year, Dad and I would go to pick out the perfect peach blossom branches and buy flowers together. The golden apricot trees sparkling in the sunlight, the vibrant pink peach blossoms filling the air with color, and countless other flowers all proudly showing off their beauty. Dad and I would travel from one place to another, searching for the most beautiful peach branch for Tet. Once we were home, we would both work together to carefully set them up, so that Mom would be proud of our handiwork.

I remember the last days of the year, going to the market to help Mom carry bags. It was tiring but joyful. I could feel the Tet spirit all around, in the streets, in the smiles and glances of the people. I could feel Tet in the hands of my hardworking mother...

I remember the times when Grandpa and I would make bánh chưng. I would carefully wash the dong leaves, dry them off, and arrange them neatly while Grandma prepared the filling. The square green cakes would be tightly wrapped with strings, filled with sticky rice, beans, and fatty pork.

And then there were the nights spent staying up to watch the bánh chưng cook. The cold of the last days of the year couldn’t compare to the warmth and meaningful atmosphere of those moments. The crackling of the firewood, the bubbling of the bánh chưng pot, the soft murmur of people chatting—these were the moments that made Tet so special.

I remember the year-end family meals, gathered together with everyone. This was the only time during the year when our large family could all be together. The conversations, the sharing of the joys and sorrows of the past year, the hopes for the new one... the last afternoon of the year was always so meaningful.

I remember the fireworks on New Year’s Eve in our hometown, the laughter of the children running from house to house. I remember the bright red envelopes, the first trip to the temple with the whole family...

Oh, how I wish I could reach out and touch Tet in my hometown. I wish the world would suddenly shrink, that I could go home to join in the Tet festivities with everyone.

This Tet, for me, is still about snow, exams, and schoolwork... It’s about meeting up with my Vietnamese friends on New Year’s Eve to ease some of the homesickness... It’s about the homemade fake peach blossoms, the imperfect bánh chưng that doesn’t have enough of the right filling... It’s about comforting myself, telling myself that in just a few years, I'll be home for Tet again...

Mom, another spring has passed without me coming home, another Tet when Dad is busy with work... but our family will always stay together, you know!