Top 10 Best Essays on Dreams

In August, autumn sweeps in with refreshing rains that cool the sky after the relentless heat of summer, soothing my soul amidst concerns about the pandemic. Instead of the crispness of a cool autumn breeze, there’s still a lingering warmth. Perhaps summer isn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. Sometimes, I ask myself: Has autumn truly arrived? But when I see the golden guavas swaying on the branches and the fragrant fruits peeking out from beneath the green leaves, I know autumn is here, quietly settling in.

I’m not sure why, but every autumn, nature fills my heart with a mix of emotions: a gentle longing, a quiet nostalgia, and now, an eager anticipation. After a long summer break spent avoiding Covid-19, the arrival of autumn brings hope and excitement for the new season, shared by both teachers and students.

Autumn always arrives uninvited but on time, gently knocking at our door, bringing with it changes to the world around us. It stirs new emotions within me and in the hearts of young students. Autumn whispers, “Summer is over, my friend, let’s begin a new journey together.” In my dreams, autumn guides me to the first day of school, filled with excitement and joy, with teachers and students gathering in the wide schoolyard, golden leaves swirling at our feet.

It’s natural to dream about the first day of school, as children have been eagerly waiting to reunite with their teachers and friends after being apart for so long. Saying goodbye to summer, we long to start a new chapter in life, filled with adventures and challenges.

This autumn, the sky remains clear, the soft drizzle of rain filling the air with a gentle melody. Here, amidst this poetic landscape, I pause, but my heart is also filled with a sense of melancholy...

In these trying times, as the nation battles the deadly Covid-19 virus, social distancing measures are enforced across many regions. Many have lost their lives, and the entire country has united in the fight against the virus with the motto: “Homes apart, villages apart, districts apart.” Autumn seems quieter this year, and we wonder: Are we ready for the first day of school amidst this pandemic?

The emptiness I feel is hard to put into words. I’ve always associated autumn with the joy of returning to school, the time when students reunite with their teachers, with the sound of laughter in the air. Yet, this year, both students and teachers are weighed down by the sense of longing, nostalgia, and uncertainty... It’s an emotion that can only be truly felt in these circumstances.

For now, teachers and students continue their extended break, uncertain of when it will end. This August is no longer the season of reunions, of joyful gatherings. This August is quieter, marked by the sighs of the earth, the sad eyes of children, and an unending longing in the hearts of the young.

In the midst of the pandemic, as the rain continues to fall, I find solace in the brightness of ripe fruits hanging from the trees. That brightness brings me hope, a belief that soon the pandemic will be behind us. Then, autumn will truly arrive, and we will celebrate the first day of school with smiles, laughter, and joy. Every time I think of this moment, my heart swells with an indescribable happiness.

Tonight, the autumn breeze is cool, with a hint of chill. As I sleep under a light blanket, I dream of the bustling, joyful first day back to school.

Nguyễn Thanh Thuỷ

There are mornings when you wake up feeling at peace, but there are also mornings when your heart feels heavy. The longer we live, the more we go through the pages of time, the more memories we accumulate — memories of joy, sorrow, mistakes, regrets, and the good and bad in our hearts.

People are full of mysteries, even though we may deceive ourselves and hide our true feelings consciously, we cannot escape them in our unconscious minds. When we lie down and close our eyes to sleep, we temporarily lose control of our minds, and that means our conscious thoughts no longer hold power. Everything buried deep within, which we try to erase or forget, resurfaces in our dreams.

And it’s strange — the happy moments we try to remember are often the ones that fade away, while the mistakes we long to forget keep coming back to haunt us. The painful experiences resurface in our dreams, and we are filled with regret and sorrow for what we’ve done or failed to do. That feeling is a deep sadness, as we regret our actions or inactions.

When we were children, making mistakes was as simple as running to our parents, mustering up the courage to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ and when they forgave us, we felt light again and ran off to play. But now, even though our parents, loved ones, and family are still with us, we no longer dare to speak up. As we grow older, we become better at enduring, at hiding our true feelings, and pretending that we’re okay. Pretending that we’re fine, that we’re happy, and that we’re walking confidently through life.

There is a positive side to this, but only on certain days, and today, we must face our inner selves. The mistakes of the past are undeniable. But if you think carefully, we only live one life, and in the end, we’ll close our eyes for the last time, leaving everything behind. So why cling to the fleeting years that have passed? Everything is just a phase, and that phase has passed, and now we are walking a new path.

If we ever look back, let us do so with the most peaceful state of mind, to reflect and learn from it, so that we don’t repeat those mistakes. Don’t look back with regret, for in doing so, we only cause ourselves more pain, living in the sorrow of the past, we hurt ourselves once more.

Though it’s not easy, we must try to uplift ourselves, to bring back the positive feelings. I can’t promise that if you get through it once, it’ll be easier the next time. Suffering is like a toxic tree root, deeply embedded in our consciousness, and even when the suffering passes, it will return. But as long as we live, we must continue to fight. Life is precious, so why let suffering cloud the clear sky? Every time the sorrow returns, we don’t need to run away from it. Instead, we should face it with calm, and listen to it with our whole heart.

A Zen master once said, ‘Observe silently without reacting!’ If you can train yourself to reach this level, when the pain returns, it will still hurt, but it will no longer be able to make you suffer.

Author: Trúc Châu

Life is a long journey of challenges, but after every trial, we find ourselves a little bit stronger. Instead of dwelling on the past or dreaming about a distant future, let’s focus on living fully in the present.

There was a time when I loved someone without a second thought, without worrying about the future. Love, at that time, was simple; it was just love. I ignored all the advice from my parents, friends, and pursued this love with absolute trust. Back then, I cried and pouted like a child denied candy. Every night I would listen to romantic stories on the radio, eyes blurred with tears, imagining a love that had no end. I dreamed of a wedding with plenty of flowers, a bride looking like a princess in a white gown, and a groom dressed like a prince in a black suit, walking hand-in-hand into the church. We would live in a small but cozy house, with a bougainvillea vine swaying in the wind, a tiny fish pond, a few playful cats and dogs, and some little children running around. Every morning, the husband would take the wife to work, and in the evening, they would pick up their child and cook dinner together.

As I grew older and entered the workforce, facing the challenges of life, I realized I had matured. The many responsibilities of daily life gradually woke me up from that fairy tale dream. After a few heartbreaks, I became more hardened, and my faith in love and people began to wane.

Now, when I love someone, it’s no longer as simple as just the two of us, as if love is enough. I now realize that love involves so much more — so many things to worry about, so many things to consider, so many obstacles to overcome. Love today means confronting the reality of marriage, with all its responsibilities, not just the fairy tale dreams of a princess. And sometimes, due to life’s little inconveniences, distance grows between us. Conflicts pile up like sparks, ready to ignite at any moment. At those times, I find myself thinking, ‘What if…?’ or ‘If only…’ I long to be young again, to hold hands and walk together through the winter streets, strolling around town at night, or to roam aimlessly in the sudden rain.

Humans are naturally greedy; we rarely find contentment with the present. We either long for an imagined future or we chase after things that are far behind us. But in reality, ‘you can’t bathe in the same river twice’ — and before we realize it, the moment of now is gone. Whether in sorrow or happiness, it all belongs to the past. Instead of waking it up, let it rest peacefully. Tomorrow is uncertain. Life is a series of challenges, but after each one, we find ourselves growing just a little. Instead of living in the past or dreaming of the distant future, let us focus on living fully today.

Collected by:

Father sips tea slowly, peeling bamboo strips with practiced hands. Mother smooths out the banana leaves dried under the evening sun. My siblings and I sit around the crackling fire… I wake up, startled, realizing I’ve just had a dream—a dream of my family reunited.

One year. It doesn’t seem long, does it, Mother? But it’s enough to twist my insides with longing.

Mother often says: “A person may forget the thousands of steps they’ve taken, and may not remember everything they’ve experienced, but they must always remember one place to return to—home.” After almost twenty years away, I’ve carried her words with me, for whenever I feel exhausted or weary from the bustling, cold streets of the city, I know where to return.

When I come back, it’s just to share a meal prepared by Mother, to hide behind the hammock with the scent of Father’s sweat still lingering, or to wander in the garden for a while, before quickly leaving again, never with enough time for Father and Mother to ask about everything. Sometimes I hear Mother call, “Why come back if you’re in such a hurry? Come when you have time to rest.” I smile. Coming home is the time I feel the most at peace. Coming home is when a man nearly forty, like me, suddenly becomes a child again, longing to be scolded by my parents. They may be older now and not as sharp as we are, but just by looking into Mother’s eyes or seeing Father’s smile, I feel recharged to continue my journey. I know, whether I succeed or fail, there’s always a solid emotional anchor waiting for me at home. So for me, coming home is simply… returning.

I remember when the city was under lockdown during the Covid-19 pandemic. Sitting in a room surrounded by four cold white walls, I found myself craving the garden at home more than ever. If I were home, I’d help Father fix the chicken coop, tidy up the vegetable beds, plant some sweet potatoes, or simply lie down on the grass like I did when I was younger, listening to the rustling of the wind. If I were home, I’d help Mother use the empty space by the side of the house to plant some spring onions, coriander, or add more vegetables to the garden she had been growing for years. If I were home, I wouldn’t hear the piercing sound of the ambulance sirens in the middle of the night, or feel the unease of being in a quiet neighborhood with few people around. If I were home… I think about it a lot, Mother.

And then, at my loneliest and most desperate moment, trapped in a room, unable to leave, with everything in short supply, as the number of cases around me kept rising, it was still Father and Mother’s daily phone calls, the fresh vegetables from home, and the small amount of money Mother had scrimped and saved. When I held the two million dong Mother sent, I felt as though a thorn had pierced my heart. That money was probably earned with Father’s sweat after months of chopping wood on the hill or from the chickens Mother had been raising for six months. Yet there was a time when I’d spend more than that on pointless drinking sessions, thinking it was normal, even though Mother had reminded me, “Life is never smooth sailing, save for the future.” I thought, “I earned it, so I can spend it.” I’d just nod and brush her off, only to regret it later. After four months of lockdown and unemployment, I had to stretch every meal, and I finally understood Mother’s advice.

Now, the city is beginning to move into the “new normal” phase. Although the number of cases is still high, life must go on. We can’t stay in lockdown forever, and just like everyone else, I have to adapt to this new situation and learn to live with the pandemic. I’ve been vaccinated, follow safety protocols, and if I happen to get infected, I’ll treat it as a sickness and recover, no longer fearful like before. I want to be like Father, maintaining an optimistic and steady spirit in all situations. Only when the spirit is strong can the body remain healthy, right, Mother?

The weather has started to change, with gusts of wind growing stronger, making my heart feel even colder, reminding me of the warmth from the fire back home, the smell of smoke and sweet potatoes. Many times, when I take my bike out for work, I almost ride straight home to be with Father and Mother. It would only take me a few hours to travel the two hundred kilometers. But then, I hesitate… At home, many people still haven’t received the vaccine, and Mother has so many health issues. If I came back from a high-risk area, what would happen to me?

With just over a month until Tết, I hope the vaccine will be widely distributed everywhere, not just here, but in every corner of this S-shaped country. Even if Covid-19 doesn’t completely disappear, it will eventually subside, and all of us who are far from home can return safely. By then, it won’t just be me, but also Tư and Năm, all of us back home with Father and Mother. In the mornings, when the mist lingers at the doorstep, the three of us will gather with Father and Mother by the fire, laughing and chatting. That smile will be just like the ones in my dreams.

“Dreams of our family’s reunion,
Even if it’s only a dream, it’s sweet enough.”
VAN BICH

But I hope that wherever you are, you won't let dark clouds overshadow your brilliance. Even if the path you're on seems dim, you always have your own light to guide the way. You are the sun shining in your own sky.

When you're striving towards your dreams, but the results seem elusive, and doubt creeps in, leaving you unsure how to face your own choices, the future feels just as unclear as the present. We often find ourselves running, only to realize the road we're on is wrong. Ultimately, we stand alone, uncertain of what lies ahead. I know you're walking cautiously, carrying the burdens of life's pressures. For someone without natural talents or skills, you have to try a hundred times harder than others. At the same time, if you don't have a dream, a goal, everything feels empty. You work every day, but don't know why, or what kind of future you're working toward.

As children, we all had dreams of becoming someone or doing something. But as we grow up, we realize how harsh life is. The dreams we had as kids, full of passion, are crushed by the harsh realities of the world. The sound of those dreams fades away in your heart. I, too, have big dreams, but my talents cannot keep up with them. Adults often tell us, 'Nobody does that anymore, your dream will never come true.' People themselves are the ones who make us lose faith in our passions. Over time, I too forgot my dreams, lost to society's standards. Everything people say seems to emphasize material success, and passion becomes a luxury. Dreams must also be tied to money, to practicality. The dreams of our childhood are slowly shaped into something more realistic by the truth of life.

We have our dreams, but we often compromise for the stability that comes with age. Society tells us it's time to settle down, get married, take care of a family. This is the life we are meant to live. If you simply grow up and become what everyone expects, what makes you different from the rest?

How many times have you and I thought we've had enough, that we don't want to strive anymore? Maybe it's better to just stop here, find someone to settle down with, and build a happy family. Isn't that better than facing the hardships of the world? Like clouds in the sky, they move because they can. If they stay still, they will only become rain and fall.

You have big dreams, but you can't convince yourself in the present that you can achieve them. You fall into the spiral of your fate, unable to define what you really want. You let life's gears turn however they wish, not realizing that if you stand still like a cloud, you will eventually fall to the ground. When you stop pursuing your dreams, your heart will remain uncertain and restless. People often say they regret what they didn't do, not what they tried but failed. So, do everything you can, even though there will be obstacles, and you will feel an incredible strength coming from your heart. That will always lead you to where you want to be.

Only when you truly don't want to continue can you allow yourself to stop. Until then, no one else has the right to decide for you. It doesn't matter how others judge it, what's important is how you perceive it. Don't fear the mystery of the future; be true to yourself and pursue your passion wholeheartedly. Life, if viewed from the harsh perspective, can destroy all your dreams, but if viewed from another angle, it will find ways to support you. It all depends on your attitude toward your passion. If you pour your heart into it, it will never betray you. On this path, we will always walk together, step by step, towards the life we desire, pursuing our dreams with sincere hearts.

But I hope that wherever you are, you won't let dark clouds overshadow your brilliance. Even if the path you're on seems dim, you always have your own light to guide the way. You are the sun shining in your own sky.

Sora

"In winter, clusters of green fruits slowly turn golden, eventually becoming a deep orange, resembling the color of a well-boiled egg yolk. Standing under the tree, looking up at the branches, both low and high, the bright yellow color seems to warm the cold, gray sky. The sharp, pungent scent of the fruit when it's green is now replaced by a delicate, sweet fragrance that's quite striking."

My childhood dreams were often filled with the flowers of the eggfruit tree, also known as the 'le-ki-ma' tree in the South. I have a deep fondness for this tree, always present and familiar in the gardens and fences of every house across rural villages, with its lush, green leaves year-round. One day, while wandering the busy streets of the city, I unexpectedly came across a leaning eggfruit tree beside a familiar shop, and a soft smile spread across my face as I longed for a piece of home.

Far from home, in the letters I sent back to my family, I always dedicated a few lines to this quiet tree that stood in the corner of the familiar garden: "Did our eggfruit tree survive the storm last night, Dad?", "I miss Mom tying up the last bunch of yellow fruits for the Tet offerings", "The kids in the neighborhood are probably gathering fruits and laughing, their hands and faces covered in the yellow of the ripe fruits, aren't they, Sis?" It's strange how some memories, like a gentle breeze, pass by, leaving behind a soft fragrance that stays forever in our hearts.

Summer. Eagerly, I packed my backpack and set off. I could picture the simple thatched house and the garden where the eggfruit tree was beginning to sprout tiny brown buds at the end of its branches. Then came the small, spiral-shaped flowers in shades of jade, blooming with a subtle fragrance that danced with the wind. Every time a gust of wind blew, the flowers gently fell to the ground, and a few children would sit for hours, carefully picking each tiny blossom and fashioning them into flower crowns, pretending to be princesses and queens... These memories still appear before me, a sweet, innocent, and nostalgic part of my childhood.

By winter, the clusters of green fruits would slowly turn a rich yellow and finally a deep orange, like the yolk of a perfectly boiled egg. Standing under the tree, gazing at the branches, I could see the vivid yellow that seemed to brighten the gray, winter sky. The pungent smell of the green fruit was replaced with a delicate sweetness, a fragrance that lingered in the air. Occasionally, a few ripe fruits would fall from the branches with a soft thud... thud... onto the ground. At moments like these, I would rush to pick them up and savor the sweetness in my belly. Over time, the garden at my home has welcomed many new trees. Yet, the eggfruit tree still stands humbly in its corner, surviving the harsh winter and faithfully offering its vibrant colors, like a miracle of sunshine. This afternoon, as I followed the special fragrance wafting from that corner of the garden, I eagerly plucked a ripe, cracked eggfruit from the tree, bit into its soft, smooth, and rich flesh, and was suddenly reminded of my grandmother's warm smile. After every day in the fields, she would bring out this 'country treat' to eat while sitting under the sun, her cheeks crinkling with joy... Suddenly, I heard the children outside, and I asked my niece to bring some of the plump, golden eggfruits from the basket for them, just like we used to share as kids. The little boy looked at me with a puzzled expression, "What for, aunt? None of them want to eat that stuff!" Then he walked off, shaking his head. Standing under the tree, I saw the golden eggfruits scattered on the ground, crushed and broken. I stood there, stunned. My throat tightened, and a sour feeling crept over me.

The wind suddenly stirred the branches. The thin petals of the eggfruit flowers, like dreams, fluttered down in the afternoon light, slowly fading away...

Years have passed, and some things remain only in memory. Some dreams will never return...

Đinh Thu Huế

Once, I dreamed of leaving the bustling city behind and returning to Cuc Phuong, to the untouched beauty of the mountains and forests. Late in the year, with the chilly air still lingering, Cuc Phuong remained draped in the vibrant green of nature. And when the first spring rains began to fall, the mountainsides became veiled in a mystical white fog, the trees and grass gleamed with fresh dew. It was then that the Mường people eagerly gathered to prepare for Tet at the local market.

Living in close-knit communities, the Kinh and Mường people have woven their cultures into the unique and familiar fabric of the market day.

At the market, women of all ages would crowd together, greeting each other with smiles and excitement. They would chat happily, warmly inviting each other to visit for the New Year. For visitors from afar, the sound of their voices was like birds welcoming the spring, yet at the same time, as deep and mysterious as the mountains themselves.

Amid the vibrant colors of life, I sought a quiet corner, a touch of calm, something I could never quite let go of—like a habit that had become deeply ingrained in my being through an unspoken bond.

The market here sold everything needed for a complete Tet celebration: from everyday essentials to special items for the holiday. In addition to seasonal fruits and vegetables, there were dried goods and a dazzling array of fresh flowers, each one eager to show off its beauty.

After only a few steps, I was drawn to a woman in traditional Mường attire, her white headscarf highlighting the softness of her youthful face. The Mường people's clothing, while not flamboyant, had a quiet elegance. A short white blouse, a black indigo skirt, and a green belt... simple, yet deeply moving... Who could deny the beauty in this?

Passing another stall, I saw an elderly woman, her weathered face chewing betel nut, sitting among bundles of wild dong leaves, tightly wrapped for sale. The exchange of these bundles between buyers and sellers, the rough, worn hands that had grown from the soil, brought a sting to my eyes. These hands, which spent days laboring in the fields, had also shaped the intricate patterns on the gong drums, a connection to the ancient memories of the past. The Mường people's gongs in Cuc Phuong had existed since time immemorial. The elders never needed an explanation. It was simply known that the gongs had been there since the first sunrise. The old woman carefully placed the small coins into her pocket, the opening sealed with a pin, as though holding on to the spirit of Tet and the sacred power of the gong.

The young men were playfully teasing, joking about marriage proposals. "This Tet, will you come home and be my wife?" Her eyes lowered shyly, her cheeks tinged with the color of wild peach blossoms. And in that moment, I longed for the peaceful beauty of it all, to lose myself in the cherry blossom forests of Cuc Phuong, whether they were there or not... So that when I returned to the city, I felt as though my soul had been cleansed. I lingered just a little longer, eavesdropping on their casual conversation, wondering if our paths would cross again at the gong festival.

At the market, buying for a warm and joyful Tet, I no longer feared the distance between us. At the market, I found the excitement of my childhood, the longing for new clothes that still carried the scent of dye. At the market, there was the exchange of joyful wishes for the New Year, and who knows, we might all become one family. At the market, someone might sell me the sound of the mountain gongs... I think, the gongs will keep ringing, resounding, as simple as the earth and stone of the mountains, proud and strong in the land of Cuc Phuong - Ky Phu - Phu Long, always pulling travelers in. Who would sell me the sound of the gong? I, a wandering traveler, have nothing of value; I, a lost soul among the noise, surely am not in a position to haggle over the spiritual treasures of the people... But perhaps a little sincerity and a kind heart would be enough...

Oh, in the market, I dream of the sound of the gong amidst the endless green of the mountains. And I will search for you... I will find you in the sacred dance, in the springtime songs. Will you still be there, part of the folk dance troupe that preserves the cultural heritage of your people?

In the market, the wanderer seems lost, searching for something invisible, while the curious eyes of the children are unhidden. Their laughter rings out like pure, bright notes. The chubby cheeks of each child are rosy and full. I think, around me, life is sprouting and growing...

Going to the market at the end of the year is a joy. Going to the market at the end of the year, seeing the exchange of goods and greetings, is a happiness beyond measure. Where will life go if one day the market culture disappears? Where will people's hearts go if there is no longer a peaceful place to hold on to?

And so, there will be times when I leave the city behind, seeking out Cuc Phuong, returning to the pristine beauty of the mountains. Late in the year, with the air still sharp and cold, Cuc Phuong will surely wear its natural green cloak. And when the first spring raindrops fall, the mountains will fade into a mystical mist, and the trees and grass will shine with new life. It is then that I will search for you in the resonant sound of the gongs in the vast forests. Oh, in the market, a traveler stands dazed, holding onto a piece of their soul...

T.H

Each passing season has carried away the years of my life, leaving traces of time etched in the rocks and pebbles along the road.

Who still remembers, or has forgotten, the memories of childhood?

For some reason, I always recall those blazing summer days. Back then, every story seemed to begin with the words “once upon a time.” On the trellis where my grandfather grew gourds, the golden flowers bloomed vibrantly, and the bees buzzed around merrily. My grandmother waved her fan, but the breeze from her hand never quite lulled me to sleep. When she turned toward the wall, I quietly slipped out, following the sound of my friend's call to the street corner. The sweat poured down my face after a few quarrels with my friends, only to make up and play again.

The grown-ups were busy working in the fields, while we, always full of energy, prepared for our pretend play in the little kitchen of Ha’s house during the midday heat. We plucked leaves to make money, used bricks to grind and make rice, mixed it with water, and gathered firewood to cook. Some days, we argued and fought, then reconciled with each other. In the late afternoon, I sat on the porch, arranging small bricks into houses with gardens and pathways. When my friends saw how well I did it, they crowded around and asked to join in. We giggled, talking and laughing together.

On warm evenings, my grandmother would spread a mat outside, pointing out the starry constellations. She showed me the God of Agriculture in the sky, a figure shaped by bright stars. One leg bent, the other extended, wearing a winged hat, sitting by a water bucket, taking care of crops and irrigation for the farmers below. I would lie on the mat, the breeze soothing me as her stories gently led me to sleep, and before I knew it, I had drifted into a sweet dream. In my dream, I flew up to meet the fairies; one of them gave me sticky rice and candy. My small hand grasped them tightly as the fairy flew away, leaving the treats in my palm. In the vast dream, I tasted the sweetness of fruits from distant trees.

By the time I was nine or ten, I started going with my friends to the far fields to cut grass. I would gather bundles of fresh grass, shake off the dirt, and pile them onto the yoke. The fields near the cows and buffaloes were already bare, so everyone had to trek further to find good, fresh grass. The first time, I wasn't used to carrying such a heavy load, and I grimaced as the yoke pressed down on my shoulders. Quynh, seeing me struggle, felt sorry for me. She had come along just for fun, but her family didn't have cows or buffaloes.

Out of pity, she helped me carry it for a while. Normally, I used to tease her, but today, I felt so guilty as she became my savior. Just the day before, I had made her run to get guavas for me, and I had forced her to pick vegetables and sweep the yard, only to give her a plastic doll that my father had brought from a trip. She played with it for a while, but I quickly took it back.

“Na, carry the grass. It's not mine, why should I always do it?” I complained. Quynh put the yoke down, her face showing no interest in pleasing me anymore. A storm approached from the distance, dark clouds covered the sky. I knew that at this moment, I had no excuse to bother Quynh anymore. I struggled to keep up with the heavy yoke, but after a few steps, it broke. I sat down helplessly, crying for the second time.

The whole group of us stopped to help. They took turns carrying some of the load for me. Quynh and I trailed behind, no longer crying because there was no more weight to bear. I held her hand and said, “Next time, come to my house, and I'll let you play with my doll until you get bored.” Quynh smiled and nodded happily. But after that day, she never came to my house again. That night, Quynh and her family moved south, and I never received a letter from her.

Sometimes I think of Quynh, but I forget as soon as I join in the games under the scorching sun with my other friends of all ages. Some older, some younger, some the same age, but we all called each other friends, close and easy to talk to.

By the fence, we caught dragonflies and let them bite our belly buttons to teach us how to swim. The dragonflies bit, but none of us could swim in the clear, shallow pond. After tiring of that, we played jump rope and a game of “O An Quan.” I could even jump through the rope when it reached my ears. We grew tired, and when we couldn’t make the rope go any higher, we coiled it up in a pile.

We switched to “O An Quan.” Ha’s house was rich in pebbles, while Huyen’s house was poor and had to borrow pebbles to play. They argued and threw both the “people” and “officials” out of the lines drawn in the dirt. We giggled and started weaving ropes from the golden straw left after harvest to hang swings and enjoy the breeze by the green bamboo hedge.

Seasons passed, the lime tree in my garden bore flowers and fruits. My friends came over to pick the limes, mix them with sugar water to make a refreshing drink in the hot afternoon. The lime leaves smelled fresh, and while I was picking them for my grandmother to make water for washing hair, I once pricked my finger on a thorn.

Now, having gone through many years, I still remember every story my grandmother told me, every childhood game. There’s a paradox: Everyone wishes to grow up, but when they do, they long to return to their carefree childhood.

Even though I’ve grown older, I still remember the dreams of those days. Life has changed, and sometimes, I long for the comfort of my pillow, to find again the simple dreams I once had. I know, after all the hardships and setbacks, I’ve learned that tears have a salty taste, and life is not as sweet as those old dreams.

Nguyen Thanh Nga

Time passes swiftly, never pausing for even a moment to let me rest, nor offering a second to stop growing.

I still think of today as the day I’m just a child asking for my mother’s gifts, still imagining I could curl up in a warm blanket and dream of fairy tales. I still think that tonight I’ll dream of being a knight, riding a gentle dinosaur and battling fierce tornadoes. My princess sleeps soundly in her cave. I would come to her, using my strength and love to wake her after a long slumber.

But tonight, I won’t be the brave knight, nor will I meet my princess. She will sleep forever, lost in her own dreams. As for the knight, he tosses and turns in an empty bed, praying for the night to stretch just a little longer. The night is filled with dreams, but I long to dream forever. My life is not as I dreamt it, and now, I don’t even have time to dream.

Today, I leave behind the fairy dreams, the dinosaur at the window, and the knight on the roof. Tonight, I curl up in my blanket, but I only sleep, no longer daring to dream. I no longer sing the songs of my childhood, nor hum the lullabies my mother sang. I lull myself into a restless sleep with unfamiliar “songs” written in my syllabus.

I no longer feel the urge to sing lullabies, nor do I wait for the “Good Night” show at 9:30 pm before going to bed. I neither love nor hate anything. My life just flows along, like a cloud drifting by, hurriedly falling and fading away. I am like water hyacinth, drifting endlessly in the river. I am a cloud, indifferent as I pass from one side to another. Drifting through life, preoccupied with fleeting distractions, I have unknowingly lost my princess. She has forgotten the knight, waking from her own dream and freeing herself from the endless nightmares. As for the knight, he is still tangled in storms, unable to raise his sword and save himself. The storms swirl endlessly in my mind, knocking me down and shattering the dreams I once held dear.

Yesterday I dreamed, today I sleep. Sleep and dream again. The storms continue to swirl in my heart, rushing at me like a violent storm, destroying the dreams I carelessly lost. Tonight, there is no princess, no knight, nor the lonely dinosaur sleeping beside the house. Tonight, only the wind whispers, clouds drift by, and bats flutter outside the window. They settle and listen as I sing my own lullaby to myself:

“The little stork
Perches on a bamboo branch
It doesn’t ask its mother
Which way to go…”

Which way to go, which path to take, little stork? The road is full of broken glass, full of storms. Where is the road that leads to my princess?

Tonight, there is yet another fool who gathers the scattered pieces of his broken dreams. Dreams unfulfilled, and a soul growing weary.

Tuc Ha

Yesterday, I had a strange dream. I dreamed of an embrace from behind, hearing whispers of affection, smelling the scent of a peaceful meal. Perhaps it was the dream I’ve been hiding for so long. After all, no girl can remain strong forever, we all have our fragile moments, always on the edge of tears, ready to collapse at any given moment. But that ‘any given moment’ has conditions.

The condition for a girl to show weakness, to return to her true self, is finding someone to lean on. Someone who will wipe away her tears, someone who would frantically search for her if she suddenly vanished, and when found, hold her tight as if life would lose its meaning without her. But even that isn’t enough, right? Girls are complicated. Even if someone finds you, your heart may not beat for them. If your heart doesn’t beat for them, how can you rely on them? You may know they love you, but you don’t love them, so what can you do? In a relationship, if only one person loves the other, both will suffer. And for those whose hearts do stir, they quickly realize they cannot rely on anyone, not even for a moment. So, the girl must bear the burden of being strong alone.

How much fate does it take to meet someone you can depend on and want to depend on for a peaceful life? But a lifetime is long, fragile, and filled with doubt. How can you know if they’ll suddenly leave, leaving you lost in the sorrowful streets of life? How can you foresee the twists and turns of fate or the hardships of the future? All you can do is search, stumble, and be filled with fear. You stretch out your hand, then pull it back hesitantly. Outside, people speak sweet words, but how many of them are sincere, and how long will they last? The girl slowly shuts herself off, asking herself a thousand unanswerable questions. As the years pass, she forgets that she needs someone to lean on.

She says she’s forgotten, but she can never truly forget because she is reminded every day. She watches couples who are deeply in love, and then those who betray each other. She doesn’t know which is real, or rather, which will be her truth in the future. She envies others who are cherished, but she dreads the pain they endure. What she fears most isn’t choosing the wrong person; she’s terrified of choosing right and still being abandoned. She fears that when that happens, she may not be able to be strong again. She fears that someone will come to pamper her like a child, then suddenly push her away, forcing her to grow up in an instant. How could she bear such a pain? How could she allow herself to be weak?

Dong Tan