Top 10 Best Essays on Time

CAN WE CONTROL TIME?
CHILDHOOD ALWAYS CARRIES WITH IT

I often think about the word TIME, whether I’m happy with family and friends, or feeling tired and sad, TIME always makes me reflect and think.

In everyone’s life, no one wants to live in sadness, everyone seeks happiness, and desires that good things last forever without an end.

From the moment we are born, it seems that TIME has put a coat on us.

The color and beauty of that coat depend on our perception and awareness of time.

Does time move fast or slow, loudly or gently?!

Time keeps moving forward whether we want it or not; it can’t be stopped.

Time is both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

Happiness and joy are also time.

How many times in our lives do we get to appreciate the beauty of time?!

Our lives are finite, but time is infinite.

Time brings change to all things, to us, and it stands to watch how we adapt to those changes.

Time has turned a young boy into an old man, and transformed a small sapling into a towering tree.

When I was young, I wanted to grow up quickly to do things I couldn’t do when I was small. But the faster I grew, the older my parents became, and as time passed, they grew older, and I truly became an adult.

We’ve all seen time pass by... especially when we wait for someone or something.

As a child, I would often wait for my mother in the late afternoon, watching the long shadows fade away... And in that moment, I understood that TIME was passing...

The beauty of time lies in bringing us the best things, the hope and success that comes when we achieve what we’ve set out for.

Whenever I visit home, my mother always asks, 'How long will you be here? When will you leave again?!'

No matter how long it is, whether a month or more, to a mother, it always feels too short. She always feels that time spent with her children is fleeting...

I’ve calculated: if we assume the average human life is 100 years, and I visit once a year, how many more times will I have the chance to see my mother, now 85 years old?!

When she meets me at the station, my mother always holds my hand tightly, as if afraid that I will slip away. Her hands tremble, and she guides me across the street like she did when I was a young boy... I feel my nose sting every time I visit, seeing her age more and more each year...

TIME!

There will come a time when we have to accept things we never wanted. When that time comes, we’ll wish we could go back and become younger, to meet all our loved ones again as TIME moves in one direction...

The seasons pass, others will return, time goes by, but it never comes back...

Who gives someone else their time? I believe both the giver and the receiver are happy, because in this world, we can still share time with one another...

Lê Minh

In a person's life, there are countless journeys and returns. Yet, each farewell leaves both the traveler and the one left behind feeling a deep sense of longing. The return, however, brings joy and happiness, marking the reunion. But for countless reasons, there are some separations where both individuals know that they will part forever. One such place witnessing these farewells is the train station, and one of the things that causes this bittersweet separation is the train itself.

Once, trains were a convenient means of transport for those wishing to travel far across the country. People would buy tickets, board the train, and let it carry them from station to station until they reached their final destination — whether it was where they needed to be or their home after years of being away.

My home was near one of many small stations connecting the vital North-South railway line. This modest station, humble and quiet, welcomed travelers, sending off those who were leaving and greeting those who were returning. I was very familiar with this small station, with its dim oil lamps set inside rectangular lanterns with four red glass panels, casting a soft, dim light to signal the train to stop or to indicate that the staff were at work with yellowish oil lanterns. No matter the time of day, whether at dawn, in the twilight of evening, or on a moonless night, the station dutifully saw off passengers or stood still as the trains passed by without stopping. Each train carried with it the weight of separation, the ache of longing, the tears of missing someone, and the uncertain fates of those traveling away from home.

I loved watching the trains that passed by my home. On afternoons when I tended to the cows or cut grass, I would stop and look up whenever a train rumbled by. I would watch until the train disappeared into the distance, leaving behind only the white smoke from its chimney fading into the air. I dreamed of the day when I could be one of those lucky passengers, traveling far away to a place full of beauty, energy, and allure.

There were nights when the train's horn would suddenly cut through the silence, startling a child into crying and prompting a mother to lull them to sleep. And then everything would return to the quiet stillness of the night. As a child, I, too, would sometimes cry at the sound of the nighttime train horn, only to be soothed by my mother’s tender care. As I grew older, I became accustomed to the sound of the horn and the steady clattering of steel wheels on the tracks, no longer waking in fear.

As time passed, my childhood dreams came true. The day I left home to attend university, my family came to the station to send me off. I wore a new outfit my mother had bought for me in the local market and carried my father’s old, worn military backpack, ready for the journey into the future. My father was proud, happy that I had fulfilled his dream of continuing his own unfinished education. My younger sister, standing on tiptoe, hugged me, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “Don’t forget to bring me a gift!” That day, the small station was unusually lively as several of my peers were also going off to university. The train, as if sensing our emotions, delayed its departure, the horn sounding like it was urging us on but also unwilling to take us away. As the train began to move, I thought I saw my mother crying...

Since then, I’ve lost count of the many trips I’ve made on old, dusty, noisy trains, arriving at that small but familiar station. Most of my returns were in the late afternoon when the sunset was just beginning to fade.

Each time I came home, my mother was always happy. She would go to the market, buy food, and cook for me. She always felt sorry for my difficult life as a student. Later on, when she passed away, my little sister took over the task of cooking for me...

... This afternoon, I return home once again on a purple-tinged evening. The scenery along the road fades into the gathering darkness. Someone’s house by the road plays music, and a song catches my ear: “... The evening we bid farewell, when the shadows grow long... If I return someday, it will be on the sunset train...”.

In everyone’s life, there may be those who have left and returned only on sunset trains, bathed in a melancholy purple hue. But one thing is certain: each departure and return marks a complete cycle of sadness and joy, of the journey coming full circle. Let us travel and return on the same train of time to make the most of the moments we have with our loved ones, even if separated by distance.

Trần Trung

Though we cannot touch, grasp, or even see it, time moves steadily and is felt by all. Quietly and without warning, time passes, leaving behind traces that evoke a wide range of emotions. Whether in joy or sorrow, both people and nature cannot escape time’s inevitable rhythm.

Time has taken away many things. The moss-covered houses will eventually fade away. The streets, corners, and trees that we once knew so well are now drastically different from what they were 10 or 20 years ago. Some things remain only in memories.

Time has taken from me a beautiful period of life, one where I had both parents by my side in a warm, loving home. The sapodilla tree, the vegetable garden, the image of my parents — all these now live only in my memories. I remember being a young child, coming home from school, eager to share every little story with my parents. I recall my mother’s gentle hand on my forehead whenever I had a fever, and the same hand that cooked me delicious bowls of porridge, simple meals that are impossible to find in today’s bustling city. I remember the Tet holidays, the smell of bánh thuẫn, bánh in, and bánh tét that my mother made. I remember the beginning of each school year, when my father meticulously cut wrapping paper to create the most perfect notebooks for us to take to school.

Time has taken away the rich black color and thick volume of my hair. The dark, thick hair of my youth has thinned and turned gray. Crow’s feet have begun to appear at the corners of my eyes. The innocence of childhood and the passion of youth have now been replaced by a contemplative maturity filled with nostalgia. Within the vaults of memory left by time, there are games from my childhood, nights spent buried in textbooks, struggling with challenging math problems, or lost in the emotional pages of literature. There are also the fleeting dreams of adolescence and the aspirations for a brighter future.

Time carries us through the chaos of life, often causing us to forget what we have left behind. Only when we pause and reflect do we realize how much time has quietly passed us by, leaving behind traces that have become part of the dust.

Yet, time has also brought many things. From an innocent child, I have grown to embrace the wisdom accumulated from books and the experiences of others. As the world around me becomes vast and full of knowledge, the strands of gray hair increase, and my loved ones slowly drift away.

Time has introduced me to new friends along life’s journey. It has given me a companion, a life partner, to walk beside me through the trials of life and the passage of time. I have matured and now have my own home and children, compensating for what time has taken from me. I can now relive my childhood through the eyes of my children, share in their dreams, and find joy in their ambitions — reminding me of a youth full of unfulfilled desires, while making my aging years more bearable, knowing that “as the old bamboo gives way, new shoots will grow.”

Time turns a young sapling into a towering tree, bearing flowers and fruit that bring sweet rewards to humanity. It allows a tiny baby to grow into a vibrant young adult, brimming with life and ready to contribute to the world with both mind and heart.

Time brings comfort and the power to heal all wounds — both physical and emotional. What once seemed unbearable, even life-ending pain, is softened by time, allowing life to continue, though the scars remain etched in our memories.

Time moves silently but with a cyclical rhythm. As winter fades, spring arrives, bringing fresh shoots and vibrant flowers, filling the air with sweet fragrances, warming the earth, and adding another year to our lives, filled with accomplishments and regrets.

Time, though silent, passes quickly like a galloping horse or a fleeting arrow. Time does not wait! Each day, time takes away our youth, health, and precious moments spent with family and friends. But it also leaves us with experiences that show us life is constantly changing and new things emerge every day.

Time may turn the hair of the elderly gray, but it also nurtures new growth. Time may make the old house lean and crumble, but stronger buildings rise in their place. As the yellowed leaves fall, new shoots sprout, replacing them. Time is both sweet and sorrowful!

Time continues its silent march, second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour. Another new day, month, and year are upon us. Time never tires. What is left behind after the shadow of time?

Nguyễn Thị Thúy Ái

There is something that is colorless, tasteless, without form, endless with no beginning or end, no top or bottom, infinite and vast... and yet it possesses an extraordinary power.

From it, magnificent castles rise, breathtaking landscapes emerge. From it, countries, skies, rivers, vast seas, volcanoes, tsunamis, and storms are born and constantly transform. From it, apes evolve into the most sophisticated and civilized species, developing automobiles, skyscrapers, trains, submarines, airplanes, and the most cutting-edge technologies.

From it, the grandest castles and world wonders may crumble into ruins, decayed and forgotten.

From it, an innocent child from a humble bamboo hut can grow to become a hero. From it, the humble pages of a notebook in an old earthen house can transform into a degree, a diploma, a professorship, or a doctorate. From it, bare branches can sprout new green shoots... But from it, that innocent child also grows into an elderly person...

This incredible force, this mysterious magic, is not something foreign. It is time.

Indeed, time wields an extraordinary power.

Time always destroys one thing while simultaneously creating and nurturing something new. Countless fates, countless lives have been crushed under time’s weight, suffering in its grasp, gradually fading away. Yet, countless other fates and lives have flourished and blossomed in the embrace of time.

The essence of time is to age one thing while rejuvenating another, to darken one thing while brightening another. Time is everywhere on this Earth.

But strangely... not everyone has time? Some have time. Some have very little time. Some have no time at all.

Yes! Time belongs to no one in particular. No one can control time. No one can store time. Time waits for no one.

Time is a precious friend, invaluable yet never listens to anyone, follows anyone, or obeys anyone. To be a good companion to time, there is only one way: to cherish it throughout your life, respect it, listen to it, and never waste a single minute or second that it gives to you.

Phạm Minh Giang

This morning, from a familiar corner cafe, I watched the leaves drifting with the wind under the soft golden sunlight of the year's end. A wave of emotion washed over me. Each hour, each minute passing by, brings with it the silent weight of thoughts carried by each person. The towering trees have borne witness to countless moments like these, and here I sit with my cup of coffee, reflecting on the many seasons that have passed. Time keeps moving, each passing moment transforming life, and there are countless things happening that we wish we could express under the shadow of time.

Time is something ancient. It existed long before humanity was even aware of it. Time has seen dry seeds fall, grow into saplings, then into trees, creating forests. It has witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations from the dawn of time, experiencing the cycles of flourishing and decay through various historical eras. Everything changes, but time quietly keeps pace with the movements of the earth and sky. The instruments we use to measure time all have their limits, aging with each moment, while time itself remains eternal and unchanged.

Time moves on, and each human life is but a fleeting moment within its vast expanse. It begins when a life is formed in the womb, born, grows, and eventually ages. Time waits for no one; it is invisible, infinite, yet everything in life is finite. Time continues its flow, yet people are always reminded to complete their tasks before it runs out. This “time” we speak of is the limited time we have for each task, for each person. Within that limited time, everything must be done hastily, for there is never enough. The urgency becomes even more palpable during the year’s end, when it seems like everyone is racing to perfect everything before the new year begins.

I was born and raised in this small city, where every street corner holds countless memories. Many roads lined with tall pines that once gave the area its rugged mountain charm are now expanded and modernized. This change is the natural result of progress, but those who once walked beneath those trees will surely feel nostalgic. Similarly, the street corner where I sit today was once a narrow, slippery path in the rainy seasons. The tall trees along the way have witnessed the passage of time, with countless leaves falling and new shoots taking their place. I’ve taken my children down this very road, from preschool to elementary school and high school. Now, the trees stand tall, providing shade, some having been cut down over the years, and I no longer take my children there, as they have grown up.

Time moves silently, carrying the joys and sorrows of human lives, the changes in society, the shifting of nature, and the fluctuations of the universe.

Time remains, but for each person, some things are forever in the past. No one can reclaim the days that have passed. It is the end of the year, the days before the New Year, but the way I experience these moments now is so different from how I did decades ago, when I was a child living with my parents and siblings in one home. The days, months, and years are still the same, yet so many familiar faces are now lost to the distant past. I remember the busyness of my mother, the deep sighs of my father every year-end as he worried about providing for the family. I remember running out with my childhood friends on New Year’s Day, all dressed in new clothes, eagerly admiring each other, feeling as though we had all grown and become more beautiful in just one day. The simple meals we had, born of scarcity, still taste delicious and remain etched in my memory, despite the years that have passed, the elders who have left, and the younger generation who have grown up as life continues its cycle.

Time is passing, and with each person, the achievements they make are a testament to the marks of time, so that it does not pass in vain. Barren hills and muddy fields, with the hand of creativity and hard work, transform into farms and eco-tourism resorts, where trees, flowers, and plants are nurtured, creating lush and inviting landscapes. Time has taken loved ones away, but with it, new relationships are formed, and life continues in a cycle of shared love and affection. The child who once clung to their mother’s arms is now a mother herself, while the childhood friends, once carefree and sunburned, are now grandparents with silver hair. These changes are the footprints of time.

Time moves on, and as the afternoon sun fades and night falls, everyone rushes to finish the day’s tasks. Time is evident in the thinning pages of the calendar on the wall. In just a few days, another year will pass. Time keeps ticking, quietly.

Ai Nguyen

As time steadily advances towards the final destination of the year, each morning I awake to find the calendar thinning with each passing day. The closing days of the year are a moment for reflection, as we look back at the joys and sorrows, successes and setbacks, gains and losses. There’s a sense of pride in the accomplishments that have come from personal effort, a tinge of regret for the “what ifs” left unresolved, a rush to finish pending work, and a bit of excitement as we eagerly await the new year... On this last day of the year, I take a moment to reflect on the lingering taste of time.

The aftertaste of time has taught me to embrace being a unique version of myself, one that bears my personal mark. As Thich Nhat Hanh wrote: “Happiness is being yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. As long as you accept yourself, that is enough.” Truly, no matter how simply or purely one lives, to someone complex, you may seem manipulative. In any relationship, no matter how genuine you are, if you encounter a suspicious person, you will never gain their trust. Therefore, as long as your heart is pure, there’s no need to explain yourself to anyone.

In the faint rays of the last winter sun, I quietly sip my tea, watching life’s flow on the street, and quietly ask: “How many more New Year’s Eves does a person have in their life?” The answer is uncertain, for no one can predict the day they “return to dust.” Time revolves, one season follows another, and what is present today will soon belong to the past. Memories are like ashes, waiting for the wind of time to stir and ignite them within our hearts.

Life is full of unexpected twists, offering experiences that leave unforgettable impressions. I vividly remember a stormy afternoon, driving and crying, overwhelmed by frustration and sorrow in the midst of a crisis. Each raindrop, swept by the wind, mixed with my salty tears. I lost my composure, wandering through streets aimlessly. But eventually, the cool raindrops calmed me. I realized that I must face challenges with strength, on my own.

On the last day of the year, I set aside the burdens of work and return to visit my parents. It feels strange, yet I rediscover a sense of peace as I drink tea with my father, discussing literature in a room scented with incense. During this time, my mother often arranges a small vase of jasmine flowers in the corner of the living room. The tiny white blossoms, scattered like pearls, perfectly match the rustic ceramic vase. The gentle fragrance of the flowers signals the approaching of the New Year.

Sometimes, a wave of sadness washes over me when I notice the passage of time in my parents’ wrinkles and graying hair. I feel guilty for not spending enough time with them, as every visit feels rushed. That’s why, at times, I disconnect from the whirlwind of daily life and social obligations to enjoy the sweet moments with my parents.

On this final day of the year, the aftertaste of time teaches me that some moments, special and fleeting, will never return. Some sorrows will remain behind when the final page of the calendar falls.

The aftertaste of time allows us to taste the bittersweet nature of life through 365 days, each filled with its highs and lows. The old year is gradually closing its chapter. Together, we look toward the new year with hopes for a brighter future. Let us allow time to leave us with a lingering taste of peace, happiness, and fulfillment in our memories.

Written by Vy Anh

In life, there are times when we make mistakes, regrets that linger until the very end, regrets that stay with us until we depart this world. I have deeply regretted what I did to my mother!

The creaky bicycle carried me and my young child through the cold fog, under the faint moonlight shining down on the road, with the distant cry of an owl echoing through the trees as I made my way to the bus station to return home.

I returned upon receiving the telegram with the news: My mother is seriously ill, it’s feared she won’t survive! Back then, communication was through the postal system, and the fastest method was a telegram, which reached me after more than a day.

When I received the telegram, I felt dizzy, not knowing what I had done, packed, or prepared; I moved through everything in a daze to return home.

The day I left my hometown, I didn’t know how long I would be gone or how far I would go! I left behind friends, the memories of youth, and the one person I thought I could never be separated from—my mother.

The Central Highlands welcomed me during the flowering season of wild sunflowers, their golden petals vibrant yet tinged with sadness. Those long nights in the highlands in November, the cold winter wind biting through, I couldn’t sleep, my heart ached with longing for home, for my mother, and sometimes I wanted to return immediately. My tears soaked my pillow, but I didn’t give up. How could I give up? How could I abandon my career?

Then I got married, had children, and life dragged me into the whirlwind of work, farming, and raising my children. The hardships of life left me no time to think, no time to miss anyone. Even when I did, I reassured myself that my mother was fine, still safe. But only in the quiet of night, under dim lights, as I taught my child to read, writing about mother in sentences like: “Mother carried the pain of childbirth and brought me into the world from a spot of red blood. From the moment I was born, mother held me in her arms. Every day, she fed me the sweet milk from her breasts and rocked me to sleep... she felt immense joy the first time I called her: Mother!” These lessons blurred my vision with tears. My daughter asked: “Why are you crying, Mommy?” I quickly hid my tears and said: “It’s just some dust in my eyes.” And that night, I sang lullabies my mother used to sing to me: “My mother is like a ripe banana tree…” My heart ached even more.

My mother was a poor rural woman, married to my father, a civil servant, but she endured sacrifices and hardship throughout her life.

When my mother moved to live far from her hometown, she was separated from her family and friends. She must have been very lonely! Luckily, my father and grandmother were kind, so my mother found solace and comfort in them.

She dedicated her life to her husband and children, never complaining or grumbling about anything. My father worked away from home and only returned occasionally. Raising and caring for the children was all my mother’s responsibility, whether she was sick or busy with their studies.

My mother spent her entire life working tirelessly for us! In my mind, the image of my mother is always clear: sometimes in the dusk, she returned from the fields, her pants rolled up, covered in mud, with wild vegetables in her hat. Other times, early in the morning before dawn, as the rooster crowed at the crack of dawn, my mother’s silhouette appeared in the kitchen, cooking rice by the dim light of the fire. Sometimes, she would return in the rain, carrying a bundle of beans. Whatever good food there was, she always saved it for us. She always said: “I’ve eaten, now you eat!” Throughout our years of study, she endured hardships to ensure we received a proper education. My mother didn’t want her children to suffer as she had.

But I didn’t make it in time! By the time I arrived home, they had already prepared my mother’s body. With pain and sorrow, I held my mother’s coffin: “Mother, oh Mother!”

My siblings and I took my mother to the fields under the scorching midday sun. Even the sky seemed to weep but held back its tears. After everyone had left, I remained alone in the field, staring at the bowl of rice and egg—how lonely my mother must have been…!

Yet, during those days when my mother was still well, I was always caught up with this or that work, and never once took the time to care for her for even a single day! Every time I returned, my mother would be overjoyed as if she were young again, as if someone had given her a precious gift. She would share everything with me and the children. But when I left, she was so sad. She would wait until I was out of the house and then secretly wipe her tears with her sleeve.

My regret deepened when I read a story about a little girl who bought roses for her mother, a mother who had already passed away. The young girl’s helper bought the flowers for her, and when the helper realized the situation, she traveled hundreds of miles overnight to visit her mother, fearing it would be too late. I wasn’t as thoughtful as that little girl, and I didn’t realize in time like that captain did!

I once read a story about a young woman who worked at the post office. Her continuous work made her fear that one day letters wouldn’t be delivered, that important news would not reach the people who needed it. Her work kept her so busy that she couldn’t get away in time when her mother passed away! It was a teacher who had to replace her and take her mother to the cemetery. This story haunted the woman for the rest of her life, and she would always feel guilty, asking herself: “Only my mother could carry that burden…” But would there ever be another time? I felt like that woman, carrying the weight of guilt in my heart!

Later, I read the Buddhist teaching: “The greatest sin in life is filial ingratitude,” and I regretted even more!

At my workplace, whenever someone lost their mother, I would cry because I understood the deep loss they felt. I cried for myself, for them, because we had lost the greatest support we could ever have. My colleagues would often comfort me: “Don’t cry anymore, don’t blame yourself! Life is what it is! You’ve done well in everything; it’s your way of repaying your mother’s wishes, isn’t that right? Don’t cry anymore!” But I couldn’t stop regretting. I wish I could turn back time…

Later on, I would return home from time to time, standing in the old garden, recalling the words of Thich Nhat Hanh:

“Ten years the old garden flourishes
Twenty years the sun shines on the hut
My mother calls me back
By the river to wash my feet
Warming my hands over the stove
Waiting for dinner when night falls.
I’ll never grow up
Whether it’s ten years, twenty years, or thirty years.”

Yes, I never grew up!

If only I could turn back time! If only I could turn back time! Mother, oh Mother!

Le Phuong

It is often said that time is the remedy for all wounds, slowly soothing our pain. Everything, it seems, bears the marks of time. Whether it is a solid wall, a steadfast heart, or a human being, time leaves its indelible traces.

Time drifts by, slowly passing through us, always by our side, never leaving, more constant than even our shadow, for a shadow can sometimes vanish or drift away. Are we too preoccupied with our dreams, daily tasks, and life's distractions to notice time passing? Have we ever looked back at the time that has passed? When we reflect on the journey we've made, do we consider what we've gained, lost, or learned? Perhaps both you and I have forgotten the true value of time, losing track of how quickly it has slipped away. I wonder when we will finally realize the true face of time. What we see now may be just its mask, a mere shell of time. And perhaps only we ourselves can see its true face—only through our perspective, how we feel, and how we face it. Others only see the mask. How will you feel when you finally discover it? What will you do when you know this? How will you face life and those around you?

At one point, I wondered what life would be like if we could take off our masks. I don't know how I would react. Would I be happy, sad, or uncertain about how to approach life? Even if we took off our masks, life would continue, like a wheel that never stops turning. Events still unfold, and its hustle continues. Would we then slow down enough to truly feel life, to notice every moment, every mark time has left, and the unforgettable memories that shape us?

Will you continue or stop? What plans do you have for your life? There will be times when you feel discouraged, when you want to give up. But perhaps we all hope for a better future. We want to reach our full potential, to become something meaningful in this vast world. We dream that when the sun rises tomorrow, we will be better people—more complete, kinder—and each step we take will leave a lasting mark. We strive for better things, think more positively, and create a world where all masks are removed, where people live with sincerity, love one another, and build a magical world together.

Maybe reality won't match our hopes, and when things don’t go as we wish, we must accept them as they are. We will continue, facing life’s challenges, even if they are just masks. Time has already donned its own mask. Perhaps there’s no need to waste time removing it; instead, we should accept it as part of our reality. As the saying goes, the truth is often hard to accept and even harsh. So, perhaps the mask that time wears is meant to give us a better outlook, to build trust, confidence, and the courage to face the trials it presents. Doesn’t that sound right? I’ll think of it that way to make life easier and more joyful, giving me faith and motivation to keep moving forward.

Each person chooses a path in life, a life to strive for, with values they've set for themselves to achieve.

But no matter what path we choose, time will always be part of the journey. Let us make time our companion, marking the milestones of our lives, storing the ups and downs of our existence. So, when we look back, we won't have regrets. Perhaps by then, we’ll only see a slow-moving film of our lives unfolding...

-TTKD-

Time is always moving, invisible and indifferent, yet people can easily perceive the passing of time through themselves.

Time never returns, and this is true for every individual. Age is the time of each person, once passed, it cannot be reversed.

Humans are born in a moment of innocence, unaware that time begins to envelop them from that point. At times we eagerly wait for time to come, other times we fear its passing, and there are also moments when we try to escape it. Some spend years mastering the ability to confront time. The power of time is immense, yet it is gentle. It comes and goes with cold indifference, unhurried and unmoved. It does not easily listen to anyone, nor does it aggressively harm anyone. It is fair and impartial to all humans and creatures alike.

Humans are but small beings, born, grow, and eventually fade away. Life is intertwined with time, yet humans cannot reach the end of time. Time is infinite, while humans are finite. As humans age, time remains forever young. People often blame time for destroying the beauty created by humankind, and even the beauty created by nature itself. Meanwhile, time does not hold us accountable for wasting it, as it continues its swift journey outside the window.

Knowing that they cannot fight time, people begin to count it, measuring it in hours, minutes, days, months, years... to trap and control it. Some even try to use time to surpass it and reach immortality. But no matter how much people stir the clock of life, time remains silent, calmly following its path. Humanity keeps counting, grasping, stacking, but can never catch up with time, even though it moves slowly.

Slowly. Very slowly. But time is never late. It knocks on the door of every person, marking the milestones of life. A time of innocence spent with parents, within the loving arms of family. From a small yard, the warm kitchen, to the fragrant garden and fields of fresh green rice. Time changes the color of the vast rice fields stretching to the horizon, the rivers at the end of the rainy season, the thousand-year-old buildings, and even the hair on our heads. Time gives a great deal, but it also takes a lot back if we fail to use it properly, at the right moment, in the right place, and with the right meaning.

Time does not abandon anyone, only humans fail to value it. At times, we bury it in pointless gambles and unnecessary parties. During such moments, time passes swiftly, though to others it still moves at its measured pace. If we cherish and make use of it, time will bring creativity and joy to our lives. From the farmers who sweat on fields and gardens, bringing life to the world and fruits to people, to the scientists who use time to make discoveries that push the progress of human civilization. Doctors continuously research and experiment, using their skills to defeat illness and save countless lives. Religious leaders and philosophers meditate with patience and spiritual clarity to transform life, guiding humans toward goodness and beauty, living with humanity and ethics, returning to their innate compassion. Artists use their sensitive souls to discover, praise, and celebrate beauty, bringing life, love, and meaning to the world. Without time, none of these accomplishments would be possible.

Time also grants us experience, mastery, and excellence in our professions, leaving behind masterpieces, glory that captivates hearts, and marks on history. Great works for life and humanity are born from time. It is for those who know how to make the most of time to shape themselves, using it wisely to create and contribute. Without living fully, time will take many things from us. Innocence in childhood, the passion of youth, both fleeting and fast, leaving behind old age filled with tranquility, weakness, and illness.

In childhood, we approached time carelessly, allowing it to go wherever it pleased. In adolescence, we saw time as a slow companion, waiting for something that never seemed to hurry. Every school day, we longed for the bell to signal the end of class; in the mornings, we waited for our mother to return with delicious treats, and every year, we looked forward to the New Year to wear new clothes and play with the money from our red envelopes… Yet, time passed very slowly, so very slowly. In middle age, we walk side by side with time, often racing against it to achieve results, both of us smiling contentedly as we continue our journey. As we approach the twilight of life, we suddenly fear time, dreading its decay and destruction, but it arrives swiftly, though it still revolves in the cycle of day and night. It accumulates years upon us, granting us longevity but simultaneously shortening our lives.

In the blink of an eye, the day is over
Flustered, the week passes by
Just after the New Year's festival
Suddenly, it's the middle of the year

The heart feels a fleeting sense of melancholy
The seasons pass like shadows
The bright red phoenix flowers bloom
July arrives with Vu Lan

Oh, the full moon blooms
The Mid-Autumn sky is vast
The wick of the lantern hangs from the branch
Then, it transforms into spring...

These are the feelings of someone in the later years of life, when what we wish would not arrive, or would come slowly, suddenly rushes toward us. Yet all is governed by the laws of nature, whether slow or fast, depending on our souls.

Cherish time and become one with it. When time becomes your own life, it is truly meaningful to walk alongside it on this short journey, yet immersed in the essence of eternity. Eventually, time will part from us. Live beautifully, live well with life and others, for this also means living forever with time…

TRỊNH BỬU HOÀI

Time is often measured by minutes, hours, days, and years, yet there are countless other ways to perceive it. In ancient times, people would observe the phases of the moon to mark months and days. They would also teach children how to estimate the time based on the direction of their shadow. Time can be witnessed in the blossoming flowers or the ripening fruits that herald a season of abundance. Some people measure time by the graying of their mother’s hair. Each person finds their own method of measuring time, reminding themselves that the cycles of coming and going are a constant, marking the beginning or end of a journey.

For me, time is not just a set of arbitrary numbers. I measure it by the scars that have healed, yet never truly disappear. These scars are the silent witnesses to my personal experiences. Perhaps it’s universally acknowledged that time holds incredible power; it can blur and heal the wounds of life. Yet, these experiences, in one form or another, remain etched on our bodies or minds, serving as proof of our existence in the past. I refer to these traces as the 'mark of time.'

From the moment a baby cries for the first time, asserting its presence, it carries its first wound. Along with the pain of childbirth, there is the scar marking the end of the connection between mother and child. The umbilical cord, which nourished and sustained the child for nine months, has completed its purpose. This scar stays with the child throughout their life, a sweet reminder of the sacred bond of love.

In this journey, who does not accumulate additional scars? A child’s first steps, marked by bruises on soft knees. Careless bumps on the forehead or chin from furniture leave faint but permanent traces on a child’s innocent face. Then there are insect bites, scratches, and many “small flowers” blooming on tender skin. In the past, almost every ten-year-old’s hands were filled with scars, large and small, from cutting banana tree trunks or helping their mother with chores. These scars accompany them through years of poverty, scarcity, and unimaginable hardship.

But truly, these small, innocent scars pale when compared to the deep ones caused by enemy bombs. I suddenly recall a line from a song about mothers, which also reflects the sorrow of those returning from the battlefield: “And the wounds on father’s chest still ache whenever the wind shifts.” How can we fully recount all the sacrifices, losses, and body parts left behind on the battlefield? Perhaps the image of “the round footprints still walking along the dusty path of my homeland” is both beautiful and haunting, deeply resonating through generations. These scars have helped shape the peaceful life we live today.

Some pains are visible, leaving traces of time on the body. Yet, the deepest and most harrowing traces are carried by women who lose their sons, husbands, and children, never to return. These silent wounds, far worse than any physical injury, slowly drain youth, strength, and spirit, leaving only a vast emptiness. These invisible scars wreak havoc on the lives of women, often considered physically frail, who carry them throughout their entire lives. The words “Mother’s tears have run dry, crying for children, one by one, who leave forever...” echo like a drilling sound, forever piercing the depths of the human soul.

I remember the words of an elder friend after I had given birth. After congratulating me on the safe arrival of my child, he reassured me, saying, “The scar you bear for your child is worth it, be proud of it.” At that moment, I no longer complained about the long scar on my body. I understood that everything has its price. Though the scar caused me pain and affected my appearance, it ensured the safety of my child when natural birth was not an option. Sometimes, we must accept sacrifice in exchange for pain and happiness—a sweet happiness that transcends past, present, and future.

Throughout each person’s journey, the mark of time is the truest witness, reminding us of the essence of life. Do not fear your scars, whether small or large, for they are the marks of courage, of overcoming obstacles, and of memories that are not easily erased. Gently bow down and kiss your scars as you would kiss the lips of someone you love, so that you may see the mark of time as tender as clouds drifting across the sky...

Ngô Thanh Vân