Top 10 Best Essays on School Days

Perhaps after this summer, the classroom will still be filled with students listening to lessons, with the same old lessons written on a blackboard that's almost as old as you. But sadly, you will no longer sit in that same spot, and we will no longer be the boys and girls sitting together in that classroom. Maybe after the final assembly, you won't see those friends anymore—the ones you secretly snacked with during class, or shared notes during tests. We never bargained for time. We didn't care how many classmates would show up to future reunions; we only knew that we laughed, cried, and shared our feelings, all now locked in each other's memories. That’s enough.

Talk more with your desk mate, share more moments with them, take a moment to look around your classroom that holds a whole sky of youth, and don't forget to steal glances at that special someone, whose head is down as they work. Those moments will stay with you forever. No matter how many years pass, those memories will never fade.

Maybe in the future, when you've grown up and achieved success, you'll look back at a picture from your youth, remembering when we were just innocent boys and girls, hand in hand, facing a bright and beautiful world together. We survived exams and navigated our first emotions. One day, you'll realize that a few hundred pages of conversations can never compare to two identical university admission letters. The sad truth is that after the exams, there’s no longer a time when you can easily meet all your friends. And suddenly, you'll understand that the distance between the first and fourth floors was only three years.

In every group photo, there are so many faces that represent the fleeting years of our youth. One day, you'll feel a twinge of regret over something you missed long ago, and you'll realize that while family stays, youth doesn’t come back.

Maybe one day, after a tiring workday, you'll wish to fall asleep, only to wake up in the old classroom, surrounded by the noise of your friends complaining about tough tests. And when you look outside, the sky will still be as blue as ever. But when you snap back to reality, you’ll realize: the sky may still be blue, but you're no longer the same. We owe an apology to youth and a thank you for all we've forgotten.

We met during those years when everyone shone like little suns. Some call it a dream, some call it youth, and others call it life’s best season. No matter what, everyone agrees that it’s the most beautiful time, full of the brightest memories. But when we finally understand its worth, youth will have already passed, leaving only memories.

Each of us has a unique youth, filled with joy, sorrow, and first loves. It doesn't have to be earth-shattering, but it will always be deeply moving.

To the final-year students, on the day of your graduation, make sure to smile, take lots of photos together, and hug each other tight. Join the post-exam celebration, because it might be the last time you all gather. And don't ever throw away your uniform, as it’s an important part of your youth.

As spring takes its final bow and summer approaches, with the sound of cicadas announcing the arrival of sunlight that dances across the vivid red flame tree blossoms, it’s also the time when the shy purple flowers begin to peek out, half-hidden beneath the vibrant green leaves around the corners of the school yard, in the parks, or along the sun-drenched sidewalks.

When we think of summer, the first image that comes to mind is often the brilliant red of the flame trees, a symbol of youthful dreams. Many generations of students, and those who have moved on from their school days, have been moved by the song that accompanies these memories: “The baskets of flowers carried by bicycles. Where are you taking my summer…”. However, for some of us (including myself), the purple flowers hold a more poignant place in our hearts, adorning the corners of the school yard during summer.

These flowers are captivating in every moment and every setting of summer. While many flowers only reveal their beauty at full bloom, the purple flowers are different. Even when spring hesitates to leave and summer slowly steps in, the first buds of the purple flowers begin to show their delicate purple petals. This initial shade of purple is pure yet bold, gentle yet sharp, a symbol of strength and pride. It seems as though these flowers are untouched by the sadness or parting that is often associated with them.

As the purple flowers fully bloom, their color gradually fades. Some may say the flower’s beauty starts to wane as summer matures, but to me, it’s a quiet and graceful surrender, as though the flower gives all of its vibrant beauty to life, only to retreat and return to the earth. Even when it mingles with the soil, the flower still carries the wistful hope of offering its final fragrance to the summer.

It’s not uncommon for students nearing graduation to press these delicate purple flowers between the pages of their notebooks, keeping them as mementos of the anticipation and emotions they have at the threshold of change.

Thus, the purple flowers, along with the flame trees, become symbols of youth, carrying the quiet and tender emotions of students at the time of farewells, filled with a bittersweet sadness when summer arrives, sending everyone on different paths. But this sadness is not heavy or sorrowful like other symbols; it is pure, hopeful, and filled with light. The purple flowers, whether they are still blooming or have faded and fallen, always carry within them a promise of loyalty, hope, and belief in the future, especially after every exam. We each go our own way, but every path eventually leads to light, even if we must pass through dark tunnels.

So, every time summer arrives, and the purple flowers bloom on the branches, or scatter across the ground, wrapping around the soft footsteps of students, we know that these young hearts of May still hold on to dreams, hopes, and the boundless passion of youth, eagerly awaiting the adventures that life will bring.

Nguyễn Thị Mỹ Tuyền

May arrives, and the wind sings a cheerful tune heralding the summer. Under the blazing sun, everywhere is ablaze with the fiery red hue of flowers. It is the flamboyant flower, representing the innocent and dreamy school days. Along with the buzzing sound of cicadas, the red flamboyant blossoms create a symphony full of vivid colors and endless sounds, bringing back the joyful, pure memories of youth — memories of school, teachers, and friends.

The flamboyant tree stands strong and tall, its lush greenery filling the corner of the school yard year after year. Its massive, rough trunk stretches out into large branches that cast shade over the entire yard. The roots, dark brown and twisting, rise above the ground like serpents. In May, the tree begins its flowering period, and by June, the flamboyant blooms in full, radiant glory. Unlike the delicate purple of the Lagerstroemia, or the graceful yellow of the golden shower, the flamboyant adds a bright red splash, vast and dazzling.

Just a few days ago, the tree had only a few scattered flowers, but now, the entire sky is painted in bright red. The flamboyant flowers are thin, silky petals with a unique spot in one of them. The center holds an oval-shaped, elongated pistil. Unlike other flowers, the flamboyant doesn’t bloom individually but in clusters, burning bright against the sky like a visual fire. Watching the flamboyant flowers in bloom stirs up a bittersweet feeling, bringing back memories of wearing white uniforms and the carefree, mischievous days at school.

I will forever remember those carefree days spent under the flamboyant tree, playing games like skipping rope, kicking shuttlecock, and tag… or simply reviewing lessons or chatting during recess. I will always remember the image of the bicycle baskets filled with flamboyant flowers, with the white ao dai fluttering in the wind. I would silently watch the long black hair, blending with the green of the tree and the red of the flowers, with laughter and playful voices echoing across the yard. It was a time full of joy, of memories that have stayed with me, even as the red flowers of the flamboyant have faded away into the pages of my school memories.

The days of exams and farewell grew nearer, and my heart was filled with nostalgia. I remember a smile as bright as the sun and the loving eyes of a close friend, shyly hiding behind a bunch of flamboyant flowers he had just picked, still unsure whether to give them to anyone. These precious memories, especially the tender feelings of an innocent first love, are unforgettable. It was a time full of dreams, joys, and sadness — the bittersweet emotions of school life. The flamboyant tree, with its brilliant red flowers, always evokes those memories and stirs the soul, making one remember their school days, the exams, the teachers, and the friendships. Every summer vacation, the flamboyant tree stands alone in the empty school yard. Eventually, the flowers fall, marking the end of an era that burned brightly.

The noisy, bustling voices of students during recess are no more. The blackboard, the chalk, and the tender lessons from the teachers are gone, as are the mischievous antics of the students. The flamboyant quietly sheds its flowers, covering the ground in a red carpet. The petals, like fireworks, are blown away by the wind. Perhaps the tree feels forgotten, forsaken. A wave of sadness washes over me, like the falling petals, as I think of a friend who is now settled in the West, while I remain alone, carrying the loneliness of a traveler far from home. The flamboyant, though once so close, now feels so distant. Farewell, dear tree, farewell.

The season of the flamboyant flowers may be fleeting, but it opens a floodgate of memories. This familiar sight, so close to our hearts, brings endless nostalgia for the school days. The red of the flamboyant represents passion and hope, a sky painted with love, dreams, and an endless desire to reach higher. The flamboyant, forever tied to youth, remains an eternal symbol: The Season of School Days.

Standing in the empty school yard beneath the old flamboyant tree, I pick up each fallen petal as the song “The Red Flowers” echoes in my mind, reminding me of an unforgettable time long past.

“…Under the fiery flowers, yearning fills the air
Walking down the quiet road of the past
Only the sound of cicadas buzzing, loud and clear
And yet, it can’t soothe the heart, not even for a moment
I am lost in a distant cloud
A sail returning to a time long gone
She softly sings an old song
About a time when youth was so full of passion
About a time of red flowers, so magical…”
(Excerpt from “Red Flowers” music by Nguyễn Đình Bảng, lyrics by Thanh Tùng)

Nguyễn Minh

When the vibrant red clusters of flamboyant flowers bloom in the sky and the jacaranda trees scatter their purple hues, one cannot help but feel the arrival of summer, the air heavy with the buzzing sounds of cicadas. School days are measured by such summers, and our hearts are filled with songs of youthful innocence, dreams, and love. Every stone bench, every tree, every corner of the yard holds a mark on our soul, a place of cherished memories that we hold dear, forever.

It is the school gate that opens to a pure world...

Every day on the way to school, no matter how hurried, when we see the familiar gate, we slow down, almost as if to savor it. The name of the school feels like a part of our lives, and there, the friendly smile of the school guard greets us. The school gate leads us into a world so different from the chaos and noise outside. It’s a world of purity, peace, and order, where we feel a sense of calm and tranquility. We smile when we see the sign: “Every day at school is a day of joy,” hanging proudly above the gate! The joy of nurturing our minds, learning from the vast treasures of knowledge, and the culture of humanity; the joy of meeting friends and teachers—it all grows within us, becoming the driving force that propels us to school every day!

It is the schoolyard—a place to love and remember...

The schoolyard is a quiet space where, during breaks, we gaze at the rows of trees, like the majestic casuarinas or the long lines of banyan trees, and reflect on life. The yard is shaded by green leaves, and in autumn, the cool winds and gentle sunlight gather around bunches of golden banyan fruits, hanging like ornaments. Sometimes, a banyan fruit falls in the midst of a group of students, causing everyone to look around, surprised, and then burst into laughter. In winter, the red banyan leaves cover the sky, leaving only the bare branches, reaching out like thin arms to catch the cold wind. Yet, inside them flows the endless sap of life. In spring, fresh purple buds sprout, full of youthful energy. Summer brings with it green foliage and clusters of light blue banyan flowers, swaying and laughing in the breeze. And there, small sparrows hop around, chirping as they hop from branch to branch, their antics so charming and delightful.

The schoolyard is where we see classmates playing football, badminton, skipping rope, or happily running from one classroom to another. Laughter and voices echo throughout the trees. Sometimes, we chase each other around the yard, whether it's because we reached for a friend's keychain or pulled their hair, or perhaps swiped their sandals. Despite the scorching sun or the sudden downpours, the schoolyard always keeps our feet firmly planted. The memories of those carefree days remain, always with us as we grow.

It is the school drum with the rhythm of school life...

The sound of the drum at the beginning of the school year fills the air during the solemn and sacred opening ceremony, after the principal's announcement marking the start of a new school year. Throughout the year, the drum beats every day: “Boom, boom, boom...” urging students to enter class and reconnect with familiar faces, to listen to the warm and inspiring lectures from teachers. The drum calls the students together for the weekly flag-raising ceremony or collective activities. It signals the start of break time, alleviating the tension built up during lessons. The drum beats again, a long sound, signaling the end of school, with voices calling out to one another as we eagerly prepare to leave for the day.

It is the beloved class sign—where we find our school home...

As we enter the school, we turn a corner and see the class sign. How dear it is. Here is our classroom, and there is our desk. Hoa, Linh, Nam, they are there. In the corner, there are stacked chairs for the flag-raising ceremony, and over here are the four national flags wrapped in colorful paper. At the back, there is a bulletin board with each student's wishes for the year, grouped by teams. Above it hangs a picture of Uncle Ho, and below is the motto: “Striving to teach well, learn well,” with a clock and awards on display. At the teacher's desk is a chalkboard—a green board, white chalk—where the endless world of knowledge lives, where each word, each drawing, remains etched in our hearts through all the years.

It is the teachers who always cherish and nurture our dreams...

Just the sight of our homeroom teacher walking into the classroom each day fills us with warmth and closeness. With our homeroom teacher, we feel cared for, guided, protected, and loved! Then there are the subject teachers, each with their own personality—some cheerful and witty, others gentle, some deep and thoughtful, some strict but still warm and approachable. All of them are worthy of respect because they are passionate, knowledgeable, and noble in character. Every lesson is an opportunity for them to impart knowledge and life lessons, to shape our character and guide our thinking. Through every lecture, they spark our desire to learn, fostering dreams for a bright future that lies ahead for us.

It is the place where friends stand by you through joy and sorrow...

Someone once said: “Cherish the time you have and the memories you share... friendship is not an opportunity but a sweet responsibility.” Friendship during school days is pure, sacred, and beautiful. Whether we are happy or sad, friends are always by our side. Sometimes, it's just a hand squeeze or a glance that reassures us we are not alone. The petty quarrels or fleeting anger never drive us apart; in fact, they often bring us closer. When we're upset with someone, we turn to our friends to vent, and they listen in silence, helping us feel lighter. Even the accidental glance of someone outside the classroom window can leave us fluttering with emotion.

School days—how beautiful they are. These are the most wonderful, dreamy times when we live for ourselves, for our friends, for our teachers, and for our passionate dreams. We grow and fill our lives with meaning each day! Those who have passed or are about to pass through these days wish for time to rewind so they can immerse themselves once more in the sweet, vibrant youth, as someone once said: “Youth is like a summer rain, and even if you once caught a cold from it, you’d still want to bask in the rain again.”

Ha Vinh Tam

Tháng năm đã về bên những trang sách, trên khoảng sân trường đầy nắng gió. Hoa học trò bắt đầu chớm nụ. Nó lẳng lặng như mối tình học trò e ấp chưa kịp gọi thành tên đã phải chia xa. Những ngày dài, dài mãi… ai đó lặng thầm ôm ấp, vo tròn nỗi nhớ trong tim, đến lúc muốn ngỏ một lời bỗng… bối rối … ngập ngừng … Và mãi mãi chia xa…

Tháng năm thức giấc, bạn lớp trưởng nhắn tin vào nhóm, ngày kia làm kỉ yếu cuối cấp. Vui buồn xen lẫn. Vui bởi chuẩn bị tha hồ chụp ảnh, thoải mái tung tẩy nguyên một ngày không phải ngó nhìn vào sách vở. Buồn bởi bạn bè sắp phải chia tay. Buổi sáng tháng năm thênh thang trên con đường tới lớp thân quen mà sao vẫn thấy ngỡ ngàng, xa lạ. Qua cầu Khe Lở, cổng trường thân quen lấp ló, hiện dần và rồi chậm rãi bước trên con dốc. Sân trường lặng thing. Chỉ còn tiếng gió và lá hôn nhau từng cơn xoắn xít. Từng đợt lá xà cừ rụng rơi cuộn tròn trong gió như trong cảnh phim trường dàn dựng. Tiếng lá cọ vào nền gạch xác xao. Tiếng lòng thổn thức ngẩn ngơ, xao xác. Bất chợt vọng thoảng đâu đây giọng ấm trầm của cô giáo giảng “Sáng mát trong như tháng năm xưa/ Gió thổi mùa thu hương cốm mới/ Tôi nhớ những ngày thu đã qua/ Sáng chớm lạnh trong lòng Hà Nội/ Những phố dài xao xác hơi may/ Người ra đi đầu không ngoảnh lại/ Sau lưng thềm nắng lá rơi đầy…”. Dừng chân nơi bậc thềm trước cửa lớp, lá vướng víu vào chân, bất chợt trông thấy nhỏ bạn còn tới trường sớm hơn cả mình. Hai đứa cùng ra hành lang ngắm lá vàng tung bay trong gió, chợt nghe đâu đó tiếng thời gian khẽ thở dài. Tiếng thở dài man mác một nỗi buồn sắp sửa chia xa. Nhỏ bạn vỗ vào vai: “thôi, trực nhật cho kịp giờ”.

Tháng năm những buổi chiều về đắm chìm trong tiếng ve ngân trốn đâu đó trên cây bàng, tán phượng. Lớp học giọng thầy giảng bài dường như trầm ấm hơn: Áo chàm đưa buổi phân ly/ Cầm tay nhau biết nói gì hôm nay…”. “Biết nói gì hôm nay” không phải là không có gì để nói mà có quá nhiều điều để nói nhưng xúc động không nói nên lời. Dù không biết nói gì, nhưng cử chỉ “cầm tay nhau” đã nói lên bao tình cảm chất chứa trong lòng. Mặt khác, dấu ba chấm (…) đặt ở cuối câu thơ như càng biểu hiện rõ hơn cái tình cảm mặn nồng ấy. Nó giống như một nốt lặng trong khuôn nhạc mà ở đó, tình cảm cứ ngân dài sâu lắng”. Ừ, “cầm tay nhau biết nói gì hôm nay”. Lời bình day dứt ấy như cộng hưởng với những trái tim bé nhỏ đang thổn thức của những cô cậu học trò chúng tôi. Ngẫu nhiên nó khiến cho ai đó ngẩn ngơ nhìn qua khung cửa sổ tưởng tượng. Tưởng tượng khoảnh khắc chia tay bịn rịn, lưu luyến. Kẻ rưng rưng hát bài hát cuối không nên lời. Người cúi mặt ướt nhòe trang sách ôn thi. Chùm hoa học trò ai đó kết thành vương niệm của nỗi nhớ, vương niệm của thời gian biệt li, vương niệm của biết bao kỉ niệm ngây ngô ba năm cấp ba. Những lần đi học muộn. Đoàn trường bắt đi chăm sóc vườn hoa. Những ổi, xoài, khế bí mật truyền tay nhau và ăn ngon lành trong các giờ học. Những lần đem đến niềm vui bất ngờ cho người mình yêu thương…Trống trường vang lên, giờ học chiều kết thúc trong thoảng giật mình của cô bé đang mải nhìn qua cửa sổ. Chiều tháng năm thu mình êm nhẹ như một tiếng vâng …

Tháng năm hòa mình với bọn nhỏ chụp ảnh, quay phim làm kỉ yếu. Tháng năm ngắm nhìn từng khuôn mặt đăm chiêu, lo âu bài vở, thấy mình đâu đó của một thời đã xa. Bao nhiêu kí ức của mùa hạ năm ấy tràn về. Những lá thư tay viết vội nhờ bạn bỏ vào ngăn bàn nơi có tà áo trắng mình thương. Những chữ kí chi chít lên chiếc áo trắng của bạn, của thầy trong buổi học cuối cùng. Và không thể quên được màu hoa học trò tháng năm – màu hoa phương thắm ép mình trong cuốn lưu bút chất đầy nhớ thương. Hoa học trò cháy đỏ giữa những ngày tháng năm như ước mơ, khát vọng của tuổi trẻ. Hoa học trò lặng lẽ rụng rơi khi còn tươi thắm như trái tim yêu vừa cất tiếng vang đã dang dở xa rời. Hạ vương vấn chênh chao nơi góc lớp, thổn thức, cồn cào trong suy nghĩ. Từng dòng lưu bút ai đó thổi nồng nàn cảm xúc yêu thương. Từng trang lưu bút cứ dài thêm, dài thêm cho đến buổi liên hoan cuối cùng…

Tháng năm nhắn gửi lời cuối cùng với bọn nhỏ gắn bó ba năm mà thi thoảng cứ ngập ngừng như ngày xưa mình nói lời cảm ơn tới thầy cô trong ngày li biệt. Ngày ấy, buổi tối đã chuẩn bị kĩ những gì mình sẽ đại diện lớp nói trước thầy cô vậy mà … trong khoảnh khắc chia tay mình đã im lặng không nói nên lời. Bao nhiêu năm xa cách nhưng trong lòng vẫn còn vang lên âm thanh tiếng trống trường trong ngày bế giảng. Tiếng trống réo rắt vào lòng chúng tôi trong ngày rời xa mái trường thân thương, yêu dấu. Những con mắt đỏ hoe hướng về lớp học, nơi gắn bó biết bao nhiêu kỉ niệm tươi đẹp một thưở hồn nhiên. Năm tháng đi qua, bao mùa hạ đến rồi đi, nhưng làm sao quên được khoảnh khắc cuối cùng bâng khuâng, lưu luyến ấy. Mái trường bao năm rời xa đã thay đổi. Ngày trở về thầy cô người còn, người mất, bạn bè cũng có đứa ra đi mãi mãi…Chỉ còn mỗi màu hoa học trò tươi thắm, vẹn nguyên trong kí ức thời gian…

Chiều nay, bất chợt cơn mưa ghé ngang qua trường. Chỉ còn dăm ba lớp học mười hai miệt mài ôn thi. Sân trường buồn hiu buồn hắt. Nhưng bông hoa học trò ướt nhòe rụng xuống đỏ cả sân. Dường như nghe rõ cả tiếng mưa tí tách, nhảy nhót trên sân. Có người lơ đãng hướng ánh nhìn qua cửa sổ nhẩm thầm từng câu thơ:

"Sân trường khản giọng ve ngân
Hạ đang chang nắng cơn mưa bất ngờ
Phượng buồn nước mắt học trò
Rơi rơi cánh mỏng ngẩn ngơ ngang chiều.

Ai còn mắc nợ lời yêu
Về cho kịp buổi ban chiều ngẩn ngơ
Phượng già rủ gió làm thơ
Có người phút cuối bất ngờ rưng rưng."

Hoa học trò tháng năm ơi, ai đó thầm gọi tên hoa da diết giữa những ngày hạ đỏ lửa. Vẫn con dốc thân thương ngày nào, có bàn chân ai lên xuống bên những xác hoa xưa. Chẳng biết bao nhiêu mùa hoa học trò nữa sẽ đi qua lòng mình, chỉ biết trong kí ức của người học trò cũ vẫn đung đưa trước gió chùm phượng vĩ khoe sắc năm nào. Tiếng ve hòa vào sắc hoa học trò trong nắng vàng ươm gợi biết bao niềm thương mến. Tiếng trống trường hồi cuối vang bay, lay lắt những cánh hoa bất chợt lìa cành. Mùa hoa học trò tháng năm vẫn đâu đây thắm đỏ trong lòng biết bao cô cậu học trò. Vẫn đâu đây thắm đỏ bao nỗi nhớ mong của những người đưa đò lặng lẽ…

Một mùa hạ nữa lại tới! Năm nay, trò nghỉ học sớm hơn vì covid...Kì nghỉ hè vì thế cũng sẽ kéo dài thêm. Trường học sẽ buồn hắt buồn hiu suốt mấy tháng liền. Sân trường sẽ vắng hoe vắng hoắt. Chỉ còn dàn đồng ca mùa hạ ve ngân...Chỉ còn những cánh hoa học trò rực cháy rồi tàn. Chợt lòng mênh mang bao nhiêu câu hỏi…

Bao nhiêu cô cậu học trò đã rời xa từ mái trường này?
Bao nhiêu cô cậu học trò cũng sắp sửa rời xa mái trường này?
Bao nhiêu cô cậu học trò đã may mắn có lần trở lại?
Bao nhiêu cô cậu học trò sẽ chẳng bao giờ trở về ?

Chiều kia, bất chợt cơn mưa lại ngang qua trường... Có ai đó nhắn rằng, thầy có nhớ bọn em không, có còn cây xoài ở gần phòng hiệu bộ, có bức ảnh nào chụp cảnh mưa trên sân trường không, gửi cho bọn em với...xa trường rồi nhớ lắm thầy ơi...Chỉ biết nhắn rằng, trường mình dưới mưa buồn mà đẹp, chỉ còn một màu nhớ phủ đầy trên những xác phượng mỏng manh…Ai đó biết có còn nhớ màu hoa học trò tháng năm lặng thầm e ấp như mối tình đầu chưa kịp gọi thành tên. Màu hoa học trò tháng năm bối rối … ngập ngừng…

Và mãi mãi chia xa …

NGUYỄN ĐÌNH ÁNH

The purple flowers of the Lagerstroemia are beginning to bloom, their delicate shade of purple nestled among the dark green leaves and the brown, dried fruits from last year's season. These unfallen fruits stretch their eyes wide, gazing at the increasingly clear blue sky and the fluffy white clouds above. The golden sunshine playfully dances through the gaps in the leaves, casting lively shadows on the ground. The flame-red flowers of the Phoenix trees begin to light up, bringing the season alive...

Summer glides over the grass, the streets, and the schoolyard, where the last yellow leaf of the season gently falls. May dances through the school in the carefree white uniforms, unaware of the bittersweet farewell in the eyes of the students. On a bicycle basket, someone offers a beloved branch of Phoenix flowers with their vivid red petals swaying in the breeze.

The enchanting summer brings two unforgettable flowers for the student’s age. The Phoenix flower blazes brightly every summer, embodying the burning desires and dreams of youth, as if their hopes are ignited by the flames of the heart, infused into the fiery red hue. The red symbolizes the energy and passion of eighteen-year-olds, their hearts filled with zeal, as their youthful blood flows intensely through their veins. At eighteen, the youthful ambitions soar like birds flying into the vast sky, leaving the school, friends, and teachers behind. The memories are tied to the steadfast purple Lagerstroemia flowers, and the promise that the old, twisted Banyan tree at the school corner will always stand, with its leaves turning red each year as the seasons change. The old corridors and the cool breeze of winter remind us of our teachers, whose hair turns gray with time. And the sound of laughter from friends, so pure and carefree...

Destiny and luck led me to dedicate my life to teaching. The memories of my youth remain vivid, never fading. Each summer, as I bid farewell to a new batch of students, watching the clouds carry their dreams across the wide sky, my heart aches, as if I lost something familiar. Though I know they must grow and find their own paths in life, the sorrow still lingers.

My youth has passed for more than two decades, but every time May approaches, I flip through my old yearbook, its ink faded, the clumsy handwriting smudged by time. Yet the pressed purple Lagerstroemia flowers still linger, bringing back memories. My eighteen years live on in these students, as their youth connects me to the past—a bridge to the days by the riverbank, the playful breeze ruffling our hair, and the dreams we wrote on paper boats, watching them drift away, fading out of sight. On warm summer nights, under the vast sky, May carries the stars, sprinkling them over the river, the night deep and endless. We sat together, tears in our eyes. There are emotions that words can't capture, only tears. Summer, you’ve gone too soon!

All these memories, though not captured in a yearbook photo, have been etched into our hearts forever. The moments are preserved in the warmth of our love and nostalgia...

The season has changed, tomorrow is the day of farewell. Little birds, spread your wings and soar through the storms to embrace the beautiful life ahead. And I, will remain here, keeping the love you left behind, waiting for the day when you return to visit the place where it all began...

Đỗ Hải

The sound of the drum beats echoed loudly from a school by the roadside, shaking the pure, peaceful morning air, causing the red maple leaves on the branches to flutter and drift in the breeze. It broke the silence of distant memories long forgotten, bringing back the unforgettable days of school. The most exciting sound was always the opening drum. After a summer break, every student was eager to return to school, to study and play with friends. The joyful beats signaling the first day back were present in the minds of many even a week before, keeping them awake with anticipation. What stood out most was the sound of the drum during the first year of school. Early in the morning, I was woken up groggily by my mother, and although I could barely keep my eyes open, she dragged me along the village road, even though I had spent the entire night savoring the excitement of going to school, wearing a new backpack, new clothes, and walking into a school that I had only dared to glimpse from afar. When the drum sounded, I was startled, looking around, unsure where to stand, until the teacher came over, took my hand, and placed me in line with the others, though I couldn’t help but look toward the gate where my mother and other parents stood, afraid that my mother would leave without me. In tenth grade, I went to a district school. There, I met not only my friends from the same village, but also kids from the town and other villages, which felt very unfamiliar. Some students were dressed so well, while I wore mismatched clothes and rode an old bicycle without a fender, a makeshift vehicle for carrying rice. But I didn't feel completely out of place, as there were others who were in similar situations. When the drum signaled the start of the school year, I stood in line behind the girls, feeling shy because some of them were already wearing bras like grown-ups. I felt embarrassed too because my face was covered with acne, some of which were painful and itchy, and I kept scratching them, making my face look unsightly. By twelfth grade, the first day of school felt different. The excitement and playfulness were gone. Everyone arrived early, quietly looking around and lining up. It was the final back-to-school day in our lives, and each of us knew that this would be the last time we would ever experience this, and that the final school year was the last time we would be here, saying goodbye to a place full of memories. When the drum sounded, it was hard to hold back the tears, and we all felt an overwhelming mixture of emotions about the upcoming final year and the memories of the years gone by. The sound of the bell signaling the start of class always made everyone anxious. Anyone who has been through school remembers it, even waking up in a panic sometimes in their dreams. There were mornings when I overslept, rushed to class with messy clothes and hair, yet still arrived late. Sometimes, I fell while riding my bike in the rain, so dirty I had to clean myself up before going to class. I feared being scolded, feared the teacher's stern gaze as I hesitated outside the door, unsure if I could enter. I dreaded the silence between classes when I was alone in the courtyard, my classmates' eyes following me as I hurried by. But the scariest moments were the classes I hadn't prepared for, the subjects I didn’t enjoy, and the tests I hadn’t studied for. After the bell rang, we all anxiously waited, hoping the teacher wouldn't call on us. When my name was called, my hands and legs would tremble, and I would stumble in front of the class, nervously looking at the teacher's serious face and my friends’ curious gazes. I would sigh in relief if I managed to get a passing grade, but there were also days when the bell meant joy—when we got a break because the teacher was absent or busy. It was funny and embarrassing to think about those carefree days, especially when I remembered how we would skip class for months because our teacher had passed away from cancer. We had never visited her grave or apologized for our carelessness. The most exciting bell was the one that signaled recess. Usually, about ten minutes before, everyone was eagerly waiting for the bell, ready to burst out of the classroom, even though the teacher continued teaching. As soon as we were allowed, we would rush outside to play and shout in joy. The schoolyard became our playground, filled with innocent teenage love, pranks, and laughter. We would tease each other and play games, even when we knew we shouldn’t. Those moments remain unforgettable. The saddest sound was the bell at the end of the school day. It marked the end of our shared moments and sent us back to our separate homes. Not many were happy like they were during recess; many of us walked home, tired and longing for the comfort of family. Some had to prepare for work in the fields, riding a buffalo or collecting water plants for animal feed. It was always a relief to wear clean clothes again the next day and return to school. Today, school children no longer face the same hardships, but the sound of the opening bell still stirs the hearts of anyone who has experienced the youth of school life.

As I watch the vivid red blossoms of the flame trees under the summer sun this afternoon, memories begin to flood back. The sight of the hanging bunches of fiery flowers fills me with an enduring belief and hope, as though they will forever remind me of the days spent with the pure white pages of a student’s notebook.

It’s once again the summer, with its stifling heat. The sun weaves through every street, spreading its warmth far and wide. The distinctiveness of summer lies in its heat and sunlight. Yet, amidst it all, the summer blooms with flowers more vibrant than ever before. There are the rich purple blossoms of the jacaranda, the golden petals of the senna, and of course, the flame tree – known as the flower of students – proudly blooming to welcome the season. The red petals of the flame tree burn with intensity, reflecting the deep emotions of a student bidding farewell to friends, teachers, and their beloved school. In each fiery bloom, the green leaves seem to try to soften the scorching heat of the sun, just as they mirror the bittersweet feelings of farewell that students carry within them.

During school years, especially in the final year of high school, as summer approaches, time feels like it’s racing by. I remember when there was no Facebook or Zalo, and we would pass around the yearbooks, writing heartfelt messages and exchanging memories of our school days. Everyone would want to leave something behind, be it a signature or a drawing of flowers, the school building, or a pressed blossom of the flame tree shaped like a butterfly in the pages of the yearbook. The anticipation of summer’s arrival was palpable, yet in the twelfth grade, as we awaited the blooming of the flame trees, it was replaced by the looming thoughts of parting with school and the anxieties of preparing for the university entrance exams, for stepping into the future, for deciding on careers. The final bloom of the flame tree seems tinged with a deeper sense of nostalgia, more poignant than ever.

I recall the prose of Xuân Diệu, the master of love poetry: "The flame tree does not have a fragrance, nor is it necessarily beautiful, but the red of its blooms and the abundance of them give it a sharp, expansive soul…" His words stir within me a longing for the past – for the old school, the old class, the old friends, and all the countless memories of school days. The memory of seeing the first blossoms of the season, of hearing the sounds of cicadas singing under the scorching sun, of watching the flame trees spread their red petals, evokes such a deep sense of beauty and loss. I remember last year’s reunion, thirty years after we graduated from high school. Some of my classmates recalled how when we opened our yearbooks, we would handle with great care the pages where the flame tree petals had been pressed, for fear they would crumble away. Time, oh time…

As I look at the first blossoms of the flame tree this summer, I can’t help but recall the sweet melodies like “May is filled with the red flowers of the flame tree…” or “The road is covered in flame trees with no way through.” Or the wistful verses about farewells: “The baskets full of flame flowers / Where are you taking my summer away…” This season, as students approach the end of their school years, their social media posts are filled with images of flame trees and words expressing the sentiment of their “youthful days.” I think to myself, without the flame tree, how could such emotions be captured in words, in images? How would we preserve such memories of youth, of innocence? Yet, as I see fewer and fewer flame trees in the school yard, I feel a pang in my heart. The summer is here, and the flame trees will continue to bloom, their red petals serving as a reminder that, for all the busyness of life, there are moments to pause and reflect, to cherish the past, and to move forward.

Hồ Thu

May has arrived, and Hanoi greets the season with early morning showers, sometimes even appearing unexpectedly at night. May brings the faint purple of the Lagerstroemia trees lining the streets, and the fiery red of phoenix flowers sneaks its way through the avenues. It seems quiet, yet May slowly slips by unnoticed...

May is like a farewell, a recurring meeting that we can't stop anticipating!

For you young friends in your twenties who have already left your school days behind, perhaps you, like me, are feeling nostalgic or longing for those May moments.

May is a time of longing, of getting lost in memories of yesterday that are still vivid. There are things left undone, words left unsaid, and dreams of returning to moments when we could laugh freely with a close friend, share heartfelt notes, and shyly miss an important meeting that still lingers in our hearts: What if we could return to those moments to say what we truly meant back then?

Do you know? May is all about remembering, cherishing, and rushing to revisit what we thought we had put away, a time we hesitated to let go of but still piece together, full of unspoken regrets, difficult to name. I missed a story, you missed a word from the heart!

What does May mean to you? For me, May is a time of unusual emotions, a time when I reflect with a sense of nostalgia.

There were those May moments when someone bravely confessed, when handwritten letters filled desks, and the crimson of phoenix flowers marked the way home from school.

There was a May like that, when we were mature enough to make decisions for our future, brave enough to step toward new paths on our own.

Hey, have you left anything behind in May? I still hear the scratch of pens on paper. Someone is still studying late at night. The final-year students are still buried in their books, reviewing for exams. Have you heard the first sounds of the cicadas? The phoenix flowers have bloomed, and the Lagerstroemia trees are in full purple bloom. But are the students still caught up in their notebooks, their tests?

At this time, the students probably don’t realize that a long farewell is looming. They’re either still busy with their textbooks, or they’re blissfully unaware that their youthful days are nearing their end. They don’t glance up at the phoenix trees, nor notice the purple Lagerstroemia flowers, nor hear the cicadas chirping. No one can foresee that May will slip away so quickly.

May quietly fades away, quietly gathering the new memories of each person and tucking them away. And at some point, when you have enough time to look back, when you’re mature enough to feel the regret, it will return, bringing with it the memories from the past.

Have you prepared for May yet?

The farewells are coming, the little gifts for teachers, the long-awaited confessions to the ones we love, the promises for the years of youth we will leave behind. In a hurry to write last-minute notes, making peace with a childhood friend, or simply pausing for a few moments to listen to the cicadas, watching the Lagerstroemia flowers fade to a soft purple, picking a fallen phoenix petal, cherishing a voice... May has come, but don’t let it pass too quickly!

My friends, have you prepared for the end of school in May? Or like me, are you laughing at the innocent mistakes and naïveté of our school days? That May, I didn’t prepare anything, and it just came and brought its farewells. I stood there, surprised by the farewell notes, stunned by the falling phoenix petals in the yard, amazed as the Lagerstroemia flowers faded from purple to pink, then white, and eventually drifted away with the chalk dust. That May left a story unfinished, to be continued in this May, which gives us a reason to remember last May.

For me, those Mays are about farewells, and this May is about maturity, while future Mays will be filled with experiences.

Yến Vũ – blogradio.vn

To you, my youth's springtime

The affection I hold for my school years is truly pure and innocent. It is an indelible mark of youth, a beautiful memory from my high school years.

I vividly remember those days when we walked to school together, shared cold ice creams, and chatted on the stone bench in the school yard. We went through important exams together, confided in each other, and told each other countless stories of the day. Sometimes, I wished I could freeze those precious moments with you, so we could have more time together. Yet, reality often contrasts with our wishes. Even though we may not walk the same path when a new chapter in life begins, I hope we will always think of each other and cherish the wonderful memories of our youthful days.

- Collected -