1. Nostalgic Memories of Flower Seasons
As summer arrives, I find myself drifting through a vast landscape of vibrant flowers, each one stirring up memories. It feels like a sky full of recollections, gently taking me to a distant place filled with longing.
The roads, wide and bathed in sunlight and breeze, carry the warmth of a lively summer. I pause, enchanted by the blooming Jacaranda flowers that blanket the streets I walk. The familiar path I take every day is suddenly bathed in purple, softened by the summer sun as if calming the harshness of the heat. It leaves me with a wistful feeling. Looking up at the clusters of flowers, each one a symbol of memories, I find myself lost in their beauty. The streets lined with Jacaranda flowers fill me with longing, and my bicycle slows down, reluctant to move on.
Memories of youthful days flood back. The delicate petals fluttering in the evening breeze, a notebook pressed gently with a flower given by a friend—capturing the nostalgia of school days. The schoolyard, filled with green leaves and purple hues each summer, feels like a slow, romantic film—peaceful and serene, where students gather during breaks or study for exams. That place holds a special pride, an irreplaceable space marked by the memories of our beloved school.
Summer, adorned with countless flowers, creates a world all its own. The sky is flooded with the red of the Phoenix flower, a symbol of nostalgia and excitement, especially for students. As the Phoenix blooms brighter, the day of parting draws nearer. While children eagerly anticipate their summer break, final-year students are filled with quiet reflection and sadness, knowing they are about to leave school, teachers, and friends behind. Summer, though carefree, brings a quiet sorrow in its wake.
The scorching heat of summer is softened by the pink and white lotus flowers arriving in the city. The lotus, carried on humble bicycles, brings a sense of calm and serenity. Emerging from the muddy waters, it offers relief from the intensity of the sun, the heat of the season, and the noise of the city. The streets seem to quiet down, offering a peaceful respite.
April brings with it a sense of gentle longing, like the golden-yellow of the Hoàng Yến flower, painting the sky. A vibrant yellow fills the air, full of life and energy. The flowers hang down in clusters, swaying gently in the breeze. A single tree at the school gate lights up the entire space with golden sunlight. People gather to capture these memories, and even as time passes, the image of that golden tree remains etched in our minds.
When I think of summer, I recall the searing heat and the bright sun. But Hanoi has its own way of soothing the soul, whether you're staying or leaving. With its pure lotus flowers, calming lotus leaves wrapped around fragrant rice cakes, the streets filled with Jacaranda, Phoenix, and Hoàng Yến, and the narrow alleys that hold the sun's golden warmth like honey, decorating the city walls with soft golden hues.
Somewhere, there will always be a summer—one that is as passionate as it is gentle—forever in the heart...
Huệ Hương


2. Snowy White Sưa Flowers
Hanoi captivates visitors with its unique charm, leaving a lasting impression. The Sưa flowers, with their pure white petals scattered on the streets like snowflakes, enhance the city's beauty and add to its romantic allure.
Amidst the busy crowds, I looked up and was struck by a pure white color. A white so refined and untouched. How could a flower be so white? I felt as though I was seeing an illusion. My eyes were overwhelmed by its dazzling whiteness. I passed this street twice every day, yet today, looking up, I couldn't believe my eyes. When did these flowers bloom? From the stark, weathered trunks, these mesmerizing white blooms emerged. Being from the countryside, I didn’t recognize the flower. I asked around, but no one seemed to know. Only true lovers of Hanoi could identify it – the Sưa flower.
The name 'Sưa' itself evokes a feeling of nostalgia, a sense of longing and melancholy. The pure white Sưa flowers carry an aura of quiet sadness. In the light spring rain, the flowers shine with their white glow, almost as if they were awakening the earth and stirring something inside of us that had been dormant through the cold winter months. 'Oh! I am lost in joy, in awe, and in the bewilderment of a love-struck soul who briefly reunites with an old flame, rekindling long-lost feelings... That’s the Sưa tree. Hidden among the greenery, it has now awakened from its deep slumber, bursting into a canopy of white flowers, pure and untouched, like the heart of the girl I once loved and lost.' (Vũ Bằng). Indeed, the Sưa flower is as pure as the heart of a young girl in her first moments of love. Some even affectionately call it the 'snow flower,' a name that draws a parallel between the flower and snow, fulfilling the desire to witness falling snow. And here, in the heart of Hanoi, we have 'snow flowers.' As the petals fall, they resemble snowflakes drifting through the air.
The Sưa flowers, so white they seem to haunt the eyes, are mesmerizing. Staring at them for too long feels like being caught in a dream. The flowers capture the delicate balance of a young girl's emotions – both joyful and sorrowful, vibrant and subdued, deep yet gentle. A single glance leaves an indelible mark on the soul. The flowers remain white, almost unnervingly so, as people continue their busy lives. Petals fall to the ground, sometimes resting on the hair or scarves of passersby. Does anyone notice? Yes, those who hold Hanoi in their hearts, especially those who have left. This is why so many works of art have been created to honor Hanoi. The white Sưa flowers will endure through time. The spring, with its white Sưa blossoms, only adds to Hanoi's beauty, making it even more captivating and giving the city a unique charm.
Nghiêm Thị Kim Anh


3. The White Ban Flower Fields in the Highlands
The ban flower is not as soft pink as peach blossoms, as humble as buckwheat flowers, as radiant as rhododendrons, as bright yellow as wild sunflowers in mountain towns, or as tiny and pretty as golden mustard flowers. Yet, there is a flower that blooms white across the mountains and forests every March — the ban flower. It is the soul of Northwest Vietnam, woven into the cultural and spiritual life of its people, especially the Thai ethnic group in the highlands.
When the ban flowers bloom, nearly all of Northwest Vietnam is submerged in a sea of white, with patches of flowers scattered across the mountaintops, stretching long and flowing like massive waterfalls cascading from one mountain slope to another. Everything shines with a pure, radiant white. The ban flowers descend from the mountains, reflecting their beauty in the valleys full of water, captivating visitors. The blooming of the ban flowers marks the beginning of a prosperous season for the highland people’s rice fields. When one thinks of Northwest Vietnam, they recall the winding roads, the hills and passes, some narrow and rugged, others straight but abruptly climbing into the blue sky.
In March, the ban flowers infuse the air with their scent, sending their essence into the wind and their warmth into the earth. Watching the flowers bloom, one can appreciate the simple beauty of nature, a beauty that does not need teachings or scriptures, yet remains undeniably persuasive, embodied in the thousands of white ban flowers. Suddenly, one feels truly happy amidst the skies and lands of Northwest Vietnam, touched by the presence of ban flowers. These white flowers blanket the mountainsides and valleys, releasing their fragrance to attract butterflies and bees, exuding both gentleness and purity. Among the lush green foliage and new shoots in the vast forests, the ban flowers bloom in clusters of white blossoms, soft and fluffy like clouds, floating in the air, spilling down into the valleys below.
Northwest Vietnam is the land of the ban flower, and the ban flower is a symbol of the region. In Thai, the word 'ban' means sweet flower. The flowers have five petals that spread out in the shape of a fan, with gray stems and many long branches. While ban flowers come in several colors such as purple, red, and white, the white variety is the most prevalent. The ban flowers of Northwest Vietnam bloom quietly, offering themselves selflessly. For a long time, they have been immortalized in poems, songs, music, and paintings. Nearly half a century ago, the ban flower bloomed in the writings of the writer Nguyen Tuan with 'Spring Walks Among the Flowers'. It is both touching and beautiful.
More than 40 years ago, in 1981, during a trip to Lai Chau, the poet Tran Manh Hao wrote a poem 'To Lai Chau' in which he said:
“…Ban flowers bloom like a young Thai girl
Clouds float in a water basin washing her hair”
For the people of Lai Chau, this is the most beautiful line of poetry about the ban flower, a charming metaphor for the Thai girl. In Northwest Vietnam, visiting Dien Bien and Mường Then in Mường Trời, one is immersed in the dazzling white of the legendary ban flowers, while enjoying the gentle flavors of the land. One may unexpectedly encounter a sparkling smile or a graceful figure climbing the mountain, lost in the sea of ban flowers...
The ban flower symbolizes the land and sky of Northwest Vietnam, and the Thai girl represents the soul of the ban flower, embodying purity and grace. From birth, a girl sees the ban tree, and when she grows up, the one she loves will give her a branch of ban as a keepsake of their bond. On her wedding day, ban flowers are woven into her hair, and the banquet is flavored with the essence of ban flowers. The Thai girls treasure their hair, especially nurturing it from girlhood to marriage, often using rice water and lemongrass infusions to care for it. The Piêu scarf, made by the skilled hands of the Thai women, is an inseparable part of their identity. The colors woven into the scarf are expressions of love and longing, passed down through generations. Along with the silver hairpin, the ban flowers accentuate the beauty of these women, preserving their unique identity. The Piêu scarf would be incomplete without the white ban flowers, as they enhance the beauty of the Thai girl, representing pure, modest beauty that is both wild and alluring.
In the sound of the streams trickling through the vast forests, one can hear the whispered tale of the golden-feathered bird, forever searching for its love, and the love story of the ban flower — an immortal legend of the Thai people. The ban flowers, delicate yet enduring, are woven into the mist of a distant fairy tale, intertwined with the beautiful yet tragic love story of a Thai couple, Ban and Khum. This love story marks the beginning of the people’s pride and love for the ban flower, which has become a symbol of the majestic land. The fragile yet enduring petals represent the resilience of nature, the strength of the mountains, and the grandeur of the forests. For this reason, the ban flower is considered the emblem of the highlands of Northwest Vietnam, like the ‘hand of a Thai girl,’ enduring through the trials of time with a loving heart.
When the ban flowers bloom, it also marks the start of the biggest festival of the year for the Thai people, the Sên bản, Sên mường (offering rituals for rain, blessings, and good fortune). The ban flower carries with it legends of love, marital devotion, and filial piety. In the season of the ban flowers, couples express their love, making vows of a lifetime. This is the season of love, warmth, and family reunions.
The elders here share that from birth, the people of the village have tied their lives to the ban flower. The ban flower is not just a beautiful flower unique to the mountains of Northwest Vietnam; when it blooms, the people prepare for a new planting season. The people here have learned to live with nature, observing the changes in plants, especially the ban tree, to know the right time to sow seeds. In March, when the ban flowers bloom, one can admire their pristine white petals and join in the dances of Xòe, savoring the pure flavors of the forest flowers. At the same time, you may catch a glimpse of a sparkling smile or a graceful woman carrying ban flowers up the mountain. Here, one experiences the essence of the ban flower legend, through the lives of the people. It is also a reminder of the history and sacrifices of the people of Northwest Vietnam during the struggle for independence, epitomized by the victory at Dien Bien Phu.
Northwest Vietnam, poetic and transformed, glows with the white of the ban flowers...
March brings forth a deep sense of longing and nostalgia… we long for the wind and the ban flowers to guide us, to see the clouds weaving together in the highlands, to hear the whispering voices of the Earth and the eternal love story of the ban flowers. A tragic yet beautiful love, where the white ban flowers symbolize the Thai girl, bound by an arranged marriage by her father. When she dies, she transforms into the white ban flower. The eternal love, witnessed by heaven and earth, a love beyond words. The ban flowers, pure and white, silently speak of a heart that belongs to another.
We want to see the ban flowers reflected in the water-filled valleys, the fathers gently urging the buffalo to plow the fields, the mothers carrying children, the mist floating under the white ban trees in peace.
When the ban flower season ends, the land of Northwest Vietnam welcomes the first rains, marking the start of a new planting season. With each passing season, the love of the ban flowers remains, as they continue to share their love through their delicate petals, filling the wind and space with sweetness and warmth...
March 27, 2023
Le Minh


4. The Seasons of Rubber Flowers
The cool breeze gently caresses my soul, and on the tree branches, clusters of white rubber flowers sway in the wind. The breeze makes the moonlight flicker, and the tiny white flowers shimmer in the night, glowing like fireflies.
In the Southeast, spring is the season when rubber trees shed their old leaves, bloom, and bear fruit. When people think of rubber trees, they usually associate them with latex and wood. However, for those not from the rubber-producing regions, it’s hard to imagine that rubber trees have such beautiful flowers. Unlike the famous plum blossoms or sưa flowers from the North, rubber flowers have a gentle, rustic beauty, much like the people from the red soil of the East. Rubber flowers remind me of my childhood and the old romantic days.
The rubber flowers are most beautiful on moonlit nights. I still remember back in high school in Tan Uyen, my friend would casually sing a few lines from the song *Sông Bé Đêm Ngát Hương* by musician Phan Huynh Dieu, and I still remember them to this day: “As the moon rises, the rubber flowers gently release their fragrance, it’s the scent of your hair, sweet in the night breeze, calling spring to come.” Perhaps it was from that moment that every weekend when I returned home, I would go out into the yard to look up at the rubber tree canopy and admire the white flowers “like countless stars, gently swaying with the dew on fresh green leaves.” That was the first time I felt nostalgia for someone, and many innocent future plans were drawn under the canopy of rubber flowers.
In my hometown, every family grows rubber trees on their land, not on a plantation. To increase production, my family also utilized the empty land around the garden to plant a few dozen more trees. Back then, my house was surrounded by rubber trees, cool and refreshing throughout the year. Near Tết, the rubber leaves would fall, and my mother would sweep them into piles and burn them every morning. I would sit by the fire to warm up before going to school, with the smell of burning leaves lingering on my old woolen sweater. The rubber garden, when it was transitioning into new leaves, was also beautiful, changing colors from withered to yellow and then red. This was the time when latex collection would stop, and after the old leaves fell, the rubber trees would sprout new shoots, with clusters of flowers blossoming together.
Even though we only added a few dozen more trees, the latex collected was still quite significant. Together with the harvest from the main garden, rubber latex became the primary source of income for my family. Thanks to these white latex streams, compared to milk, my siblings and I grew up strong. Thus, for the people of my homeland, the love for rubber trees is like the love for our parents and our hometown. While the rubber tree’s trunk provides latex during its productive years, when it matures, it also yields valuable wood. Even the rubber fruit, when dried, and the branches are used for firewood for daily cooking. For sentimental people like me, rubber flowers give me the most peaceful memories of my childhood.
On those moonlit nights, each cluster of rubber flowers released a soft fragrance. I wrote naïve poems of youthful dreams. During late-night study sessions under the flickering light of a desk lamp by the window, I would be distracted by each breeze passing by, carrying the scent that stirred the heart of the girl just like the moon. Unable to resist the urge to get closer to the flowers outside, the girl stepped outside and bathed in the pure fragrance. During my college years, away from home, I missed these rubber flowers, which only grew in my hometown. I wrote in my journal on such nights, sending my youthful dreams to the rubber flowers. I also had some sadness that only the moon, the wind, and the flowers could understand. That year, a friend from school sent me a red wedding invitation. Strangely, it coincided with the blooming of the rubber flowers. That night, I stood outside in the cold mist for a long time, and my young heart seemed to skip a beat. I couldn't describe the feeling, but I only knew how to silently immerse myself in a space that had long sheltered me, just like my mother's womb. Later, I could only silently watch the worker cut down the last rubber trees to make way for a new construction project.
Rubber flowers don’t have the strong fragrance of milk flowers, their scent is light and delicate, lingering in the air under the moonlight, both of spring and of my youth. Youth with songs full of pride about love and homeland. “On quiet nights, listen to the gentle breeze stir the moon. The pollen carries a subtle fragrance. Who knows if someone’s heart still lingers? Like me waiting for you, tender and shy among the green leaves. Silent years of longing. The bright green will always stay with the homeland…”
I had those seasons of rubber flowers. Every time the Lunar New Year arrived, it felt like the flowers also bloomed in the memories of past springs.
Kim Loan.


5. The White Coffee Blossoms of March
In the Central Highlands, March brings a lingering sense of nostalgia under the gentle heat of a spring transitioning into summer. The sky is a dreamy blue, like a giant sieve sweeping away the fine mist of clouds swirling in the wind. Amidst the vast highlands bathed in warm sun and a soft breeze, we find ourselves lost in a sea of white coffee blossoms. The delicate, fragrant flowers grow in clusters, blanketing the countryside, hillsides, and plantations. My heart swells with a deep, passionate love for this breathtaking view, where the white petals of the coffee flowers gently sway in the breeze.
The coffee blossoms are pure white, their ethereal color evoking a sense of calm and sweetness. Their fragrance is light and delicate, a gentle and timeless scent that seems to linger in every sense. As I walk slowly through the fields, the mist brushes my clothes, and the sweet scent fills my heart, allowing me to breathe in the essence of the majestic Central Highlands. I cherish every moment of March, when the coffee trees bloom, and each morning, standing by the wooden door of the stilt house, I gaze at the snowy white blossoms, hearing the sound of coffee beans falling into a filter, the bitter aroma of coffee rising and filling the air.
This fragrance takes me back to an ancient tale from when the ethnic villages in the Highlands were still young. A brave young man, born and raised within the loving embrace of his village, faced a fierce bird that terrorized the people. The village fled, only to be chased relentlessly by the bird. The young man, determined to protect his people, sought a sacred metal atop the highest mountain, forging a magical sword. He battled the monstrous bird, and after a long struggle, pierced its heart. The bird fell, its blood staining the sky, turning the clouds and rivers red. In the place where he died, a strange tree grew, bearing fruit that was red when ripe, eventually turning black. People named it the coffee tree, which grew proudly in the red soil of the region, blessed by the sun and wind. The tale of the brave young man lives on, whispered by the firelight in every house, forever reminding us of the noble blood of the Central Highlands.
The coffee flowers are white, with delicate stamens intertwined in clusters of two or three, resembling chrysanthemums with a hint of jasmine's fragrance. The flowers bloom quickly, lasting only three to four days, covering the branches with a snow-like whiteness, releasing their pure aroma into the air, as if gathering the fresh energy of the morning sun. Coffee came to Vietnam through the footsteps of the French, and it soon found its place in the red soil of the Highlands, flourishing with unwavering resilience in the gentle sunshine and cool mountain breeze. Over time, coffee has become a favorite beverage, cherished for its unique bitterness, a flavor that encapsulates the essence of the sun, wind, and mountains. The aroma of coffee is refined, rich, and inviting, never overpowering, but just enough to captivate the senses. If you ever visit the Central Highlands in March, when the bees gather nectar and the coffee trees bloom, you’ll be swept away by the sight of these delicate, snow-like blossoms, as if you could inhale the pure mountain air deeply into your lungs, holding its gentle, fragrant sweetness forever.
One clear morning, I stand still in the purity of the moment, watching the coffee flowers tremble softly in the breeze, their petals fluttering in the vast open sky. I feel a deep love for my homeland, full of passion and longing.
Trần Hiền


6. The Mourning Glory, a Flower that Stirs the Heart
Along with the vibrant red of the Phoenix flowers that evoke nostalgia for students and those who adore its color, the purple blossoms of the Lagerstroemia also bloom in a magnificent display, painting the sky with their soft, melancholic hues. Summer brings memories of tender love, evoked by the gentle, serene beauty of the Mourning Glory. If the Phoenix flower is tied to the emotions of exam season, and the purple Lagerstroemia symbolizes the innocent, pure love of youth, I would say that the Mourning Glory is the flower that stirs the heart.
One June morning, I woke up, stepped outside, and was unexpectedly captivated by the sight of the Mourning Glory in full bloom in front of my house. Just the day before, it was still a bundle of tightly closed buds, shyly basking in the scorching summer sun. But overnight, these buds seemed to gather together, eagerly bursting into full bloom, greeting the sunrise with their graceful, delicate, and joyful petals, promising a new day full of beauty. The Mourning Glory added a touch of magic and wonder to the yard. The space became more beautiful, and life felt sweeter with its hypnotic colors.
The Mourning Glory is a flower with delicate petals that blooms in clusters, all at once. Life is full of colors, and so is the Mourning Glory! Pink, white, purple, red... Each color carries a different meaning, but they all convey messages of love. I still remember the first time I saw this enchanting flower bloom at the doorstep of a friend's house. I was so taken by its beauty that I immediately sought out a pink one to plant in my own yard.
The Mourning Glory is found in many places: in parks, gardens, yards, and in decorative pots. People fall in love with it for its gentle, alluring beauty, much like the charm of a young girl. Though it seems fragile, delicate, and in need of protection, it is, in fact, incredibly strong and resilient in the face of storms and hardships. Heavy rain, wild winds, or the scorching midday sun cannot bring the Mourning Glory down. Unlike the bright, glamorous beauty of roses, lilies, or orchids, the Mourning Glory exudes a pure, simple, and modest elegance, like the graceful vitality of a country girl. Each season, when the Mourning Glory blooms, swarms of bees buzz happily around its charming flowers, and butterflies flutter through, making the summer atmosphere more lively and vibrant. The beauty of the Mourning Glory touches the hearts of many. It has appeared in poetry, literature, and has inspired filmmakers. Despite this love and admiration, few take the time to learn about the origins of this flower.
“The Mourning Glory flower has its roots in a sad love story of a lonely princess who lived in a palace high up in the mountains. The cool mountain air, coupled with the gentle sunlight, caused her cheeks to flush and her lips to become a deep, moist red. Her long, dark hair shone in the sunlight, and her eyes sparkled like morning dew. With a beauty unparalleled by any other, the princess was nonetheless confined to her palace due to a prophecy by an old man, which foretold that she would experience much sorrow in her life. Each evening, she would sit by the window, gazing out at the river, singing songs that resonated through the mountains, playing with the birds. The rumors of her beauty spread far and wide, and many suitors came to seek her hand in marriage, but her father, the king, rejected them, hoping for someone more worthy. One day, the princess fell gravely ill, and none of the doctors could cure her. Just when hope seemed lost, the old man returned, claiming that only the petals of a rare white flower, growing on a cliff between two deep ravines and a waterfall, could save her. The king, desperate to save his daughter, announced that whoever found the flower and cured the princess would be rewarded with her hand in marriage. People rushed to the mountains to search for the flower, but it proved nearly impossible to reach. As the princess's health declined, a poor woodcutter appeared with the flower, as described by the old man. The princess drank the medicine made from the flower, and she recovered. Their wedding was held shortly thereafter. However, soon after, the kingdom fell into turmoil. The woodcutter left to fight for his country, with a promise to reunite with her. The years passed, and they exchanged letters through carrier pigeons. However, one day the princess received bad news. Overcome with grief, she threw herself off a cliff. From that spot, red flowers began to bloom, resembling the white flowers that had saved her life. These flowers bloomed near the waterfall, graceful and serene, yet strong and defiant against the harsh winds of the highlands. Strangely, when a traveler looked into the water, he saw the reflection of these flowers, which seemed to resemble the princess's eyes. From that moment on, the flowers were called Mourning Glory, in memory of the faithful princess who waited for her love.”
The legend of the Mourning Glory is profound and precious. That is why I am so enchanted by this flower, which I love as a symbol of enduring, faithful love.
The Mourning Glory possesses a pure, simple beauty. I am also drawn to this flower because of the film “The Thin Mourning Glory Petal” directed by Tran Huu Phuc. The beautiful love story of the young couple, Tường Vy and Mạnh Quân, and the trials they face along with their sacrifices for love, have left a deep emotional impact on the audience.
The Mourning Glory season is a time of intense summer sunshine, filled with sweet affection; a season marking the turning point for final-year students with exams and bittersweet feelings about leaving school. Together with the red Phoenix flowers and the purple Lagerstroemia, the Mourning Glory contributes to a brilliant summer, with its unique and striking hues. Anyone who has experienced the longing of love, or who has adored the purple Lagerstroemia or the red Phoenix flowers, cannot help but be moved by the passionate and heartwarming color of the Mourning Glory.
The Mourning Glory – the flower that stirs the heart!
Every time I gaze at the carpet of Mourning Glory spread across my yard, all my tiredness, worries, and sorrows seem to fade away. I reflect on this flower: delicate, simple, yet full of silent, noble sacrifice; a love that is faithful and unbroken; an extraordinary will to live. I realize that true beauty in life is not just about outward displays, but about the values we contribute to the world around us.
Đoàn Hạnh


7. Wildflowers
The bitter cold of the last days of winter has finally passed, making way for the blooming spring flowers and the tiny buds that stretch their green tips to gaze at the vast world. It's also the time when birds return to their old nests, and nature sings songs of love and renewal. Everything is busy changing clothes and welcoming spring. And so do the wildflowers.
I decorate my garden and home with wildflowers. I don’t even remember when I started loving them. Perhaps it began when I was a child, running with friends to catch grasshoppers in the fields, and then admiring those tiny wildflowers that looked just like my age? Or maybe it started when I began playing house, using flowers to cook imaginary meals, make makeup powders, and decorate the bride and groom in pretend wedding games? It could also be from the days I followed my mother by the village pond, seeing the beautiful water hyacinths floating lazily, the lotus flowers as white as my school uniform, or the sunflowers as round and sweet as candy? ... I don’t really remember anymore. But I do know that on days when I can’t see the delicate white moonflowers, the soft pink of the morning glories, or the golden yellow petals of the wild ginger flowers, it feels like something is missing.
Back in the days when Phuong (a close friend from my village) was by my side, we would often go together to admire the wildflower clusters in the fields and talk endlessly, not realizing how time passed. One day, Phuong showed me a wild coriander flower blooming in her garden. It was the first time I had seen it bloom. Each flower was like a tiny white star, smaller than a baby’s finger. I bent down, gently touched the flower with my nose, and closed my eyes to catch the faint spicy scent. Suddenly, I felt like the flower and I were one. The flower wasn’t flashy or fragrant, just simple white, just like me. I didn’t inherit my mother’s beauty or her cooking skills. I wasn’t the center of attention among my friends, but I had my own personality, so I wasn’t completely invisible either, like the coriander flower, which has a strong smell that no other flower shares. You laughed and called me sentimental. I said you were just careless. We argued, but we couldn’t stay angry for long. Then you went to university in Hanoi to pursue your dream of becoming a French teacher. Since then, we’ve been apart. Every time I see a wild coriander flower, I remember you, and countless memories flood back. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the song I made up (just humming, since I didn’t have music lessons back then) called “The Memory of Wild Coriander Flowers.” Whenever I think of you, I still hum, 'Looking at the flowers, I remember you... Do you, far away, still have the soul of a flower, just like the one here?' The feeling of not being able to see the flowers is the same as the feeling of missing you, Phuong!
Each wildflower has its own story. The flowers tell the wind their tales every day. I can feel it. And whenever I’m exhausted from the endless grind of life, chasing time for survival, I sit quietly, close my eyes, and listen to the story the flowers tell. If the story of the moonflower is one of innocent eyes, pure smiles, and childhood mischief, then the sensitive mimosa (also called the shy flower) tells the tale of a wise soul, carrying the bittersweet weight of human pride and humility. Maybe it understands that behind sweet words, there are thoughts carried on the wind. So, the moment the wind touches it, it closes its petals, half in fear, half in shyness. Each of these wildflowers is like a camera, capturing every scene of life. Or perhaps, when I’m in a chaotic emotional state, I send my feelings into the flowers. Maybe that’s why every time I admire the flowers, my heart feels more at peace.
But what I love most are the floating water hyacinths, their deep purple color reflecting the dreams of lovers and the sadness of those with unfulfilled destinies. I place water hyacinths in a large pot by the entrance of my house. Water hyacinths give me a special feeling compared to other flowers. I love them because, although they appear fragile, they survive through all kinds of weather, thriving in water without needing anyone to care for them. They stay fresh and beautiful, regardless of the seasons. Whether it’s winter or summer, spring or fall, the water hyacinths remain the same. The flowers are fair to all four seasons, neither blooming because of spring nor wilting in the sadness of autumn. They never lose their color because of the cold winter or wither in the dry summer. Though people may not appreciate them, water hyacinths still bloom and light up the places they grow. Maybe the flowers are used to their wandering fate, drifting through floods and droughts, never caring about things that don’t belong to them, so they always stay vibrant. Maybe they’ve accepted their fate by the river, so they live humbly and alone. I pour my sensitive and emotional thoughts into these flowers. The flowers quietly send their purple hue into my heart. But since I met him, an artist from a central province, the water hyacinths in my heart have taken on new meaning. Knowing I love wildflowers, he sends me photos of wildflowers every morning along with a greeting. Of course, water hyacinths are never left out.
When I’m sad, he’s always ready to listen and share. Sometimes, even at 2 AM, he messages me, telling me to sleep. 'I can’t sleep until you do!' With the same values and interests, we communicate very well. He told me that when the COVID pandemic is over, he will design a garden full of wildflowers, so I can admire them all year round. But I know this is as far as it can go between us. When he confessed his feelings, I immediately turned him down without hesitation. Because he is like a strong pine tree in the wilderness, while I am just a water hyacinth, drifting on a river of fate made from countless tears, originating from a spring of love. We met too late. I couldn’t erase the scars left by my ex-husband. Although he promised to smooth everything over, love me, cherish me, and bring me happiness, even sending me photos of beautiful water hyacinths displayed in luxurious places, I couldn’t change my belief. I believe that water hyacinths can only live harmoniously in the river. So, we parted ways. That’s why, for me, water hyacinths are not just flowers, but memories, reminders of a good friend, and the deep sadness in the heart of a woman who has been hurt too much.
This spring, my friend in the capital messaged me: 'Wildflowers are now in vogue! Do you remember the wild rose bush (others call it the spring rose)?' Of course, I do! The bush in your yard replaced the fence. We used to cut the flowers to play house, and it grew so quickly that we couldn’t keep up with the trimming! That's right! Now, people in Hanoi are very fond of it. I placed an order for four days and finally bought two bunches of these spring roses, at three times the price of other flowers. My parents-in-law bought two large glass aquariums for New Year, and they’re putting water hyacinths in them. They said it cost over two million, much more expensive than roses! My sister-in-law just bought several pots of impatiens and wild chrysanthemums to plant at 10 o’clock tonight. It's true that times have changed. If you think wildflowers are worthless and no one cares about water hyacinths, you’re outdated now!
Her words felt like a breeze that blew away the dust of self-doubt that had been in my heart for years. The image of the proud purple water hyacinths blooming in the glass pot in my friend’s beautiful villa awakened me. It turns out that whether wildflowers or cultivated flowers are valued depends on how people perceive and appreciate them. Nature doesn’t favor or discriminate against any of its children. Every flower has its own beauty and value, coloring the world. It’s just whether we can recognize it or not.
It’s been a long time since I received a message from him. He sent me a photo of the water hyacinth pot he carefully placed in his office, saying that every time he sees the flower, he remembers me. 'I can’t forget you, even though we’re apart due to COVID.' Now that the city has lifted the lockdown, travel has resumed. He asked if I would be able to join him for the New Year, to celebrate and enjoy the wildflowers together. I haven’t replied yet. But this afternoon, I will go buy more pots and plant many more wildflowers. This New Year, in addition to the blooming peach blossoms, my house will be filled with the scent of wildflowers. Standing by the water hyacinth pot, I will lean on his shoulder and listen to the beat of my heart.
Vu Tuyet Nhung


8. The Memory of Flowers
There are certain beauties in life that are difficult to recognize without a sharp eye and a heart full of passion. Flowers are nature’s gifts, offering us countless subtle beauties to enjoy and share.
On the road from Buôn Mê Thuột to Đắc Min, the wild sunflowers blaze in bright yellow, stretching endlessly across the fields. Even in the dry season, when dust rises from the red earth, it cannot overshadow the freshness of the scene—the golden sunflower field. If you miss this flower when visiting Tây Nguyên, something important will be missing from the essence of the land, as it contributes a vital note to the grand symphony of the region. The golden sunflower evokes images of ancient pioneers, wandering the wilderness, with an unrelenting longing for home. It brings back memories of childhood innocence, the purity of simple days.
During the late days of the lunar new year season, in the chill of early winter, I often find myself wandering in the fields by the house. Some fields have just been plowed, and water floods the dikes. The sun, a perfect golden circle, glows faintly behind the treetops and banana trees. Suddenly, my eyes catch the sight of wild sunflowers blooming by the riverbank. The delicate petals glimmer in soft yellow, swaying gently in the breeze, reminding me of the days when I would pick these flowers and weave them into garlands to play wedding games with you. I remember laughing at your shyness, and now, so many years later, I wonder where you are, and whether you carry the same memories. But whenever I think of those flowers, a deep ache fills my heart, longing for the days that are gone forever.
Now, approaching my friend's house, I walk down the narrow lane, past the fence, and there it is—the familiar smile of my friend, just like the tầm xuân flowers in full bloom. These flowers, though small and thorny, are like my friend—humble and quiet. They may not be as colorful as other flowers, but they hold a refined elegance that is hard to find elsewhere. “The tầm xuân flowers bloom in vibrant green—too bad, you’re married now, I’ll always miss you,” I used to think as I walked by their fence at home, imagining these flowers growing, mixed with other plants in a dreamlike search.
When I visited Đà Lạt, I stared in wonder at an unfamiliar flower at the end of a slope. My friend N. explained, “This is mimosa, sometimes called the flower of love (people often give flowers symbolic meanings to reflect their relationships). It was probably introduced from France and found its way into Đà Lạt, becoming a symbol of the region. Poets and musicians adore it; almost every work about Đà Lạt includes mimosa as a reflection of their inner feelings.” I, too, fell in love with the mimosa—not just for its dreamy nature but for the way its delicate form seems to haunt me, like mist, lingering in my dreams whenever I think of Đà Lạt.
Flowers brighten the bride’s bouquet on her wedding day. They bring warmth to the grave. They are placed on ancestral altars, marking the passage of time. They speak the language of beginnings, of new encounters, and of the rhythms of life and death. To me, flowers symbolize fragile yet eternal beauty—small yet enduring, familiar yet awe-inspiring, simple yet majestic. Oh, how fleeting are these blossoms of life!
NGUYỄN THANH KIM


9. A Song for a Flower
The early morning chill wraps the city, and Hanoi awakens from its deep slumber, surprised to realize that winter has arrived. The wind blows cold, rustling the leaves that lie lifeless outside, while sunlight sneaks through the green-tinted windows like a mystical journey.
Hanoi seems deeper, perhaps because of the unexpected early cold or the slow-moving traffic covered in the pure white of daisies. The season is shifting again, and I quickly throw on a scarf before heading out, feeling a flutter of excitement when I spot a charming cluster of daisies on the street. This flower, with its wild, dreamy appearance, feels like the faithful lover of Hanoi during these early winter days. Today, the daisies are everywhere, their white blossoms carrying a soft wave of emotion.
Perhaps many have fallen in love with this flower, drawn to its pure, delicate beauty that feels familiar, calm, and subtly inviting when we gaze upon it.
Though autumn is lingering, unwilling to leave, winter has begun to creep into every alley, awakening the delicate white blooms that have been hidden behind buds. The daisy, a flower that flourishes in the chilly air of early winter, may seem small, but it gently reveals its beauty amid the biting cold of Hanoi without hesitation.
This petite flower, though it lacks the strong fragrance of the milk flower in autumn or the bold hues of roses and peonies, still captures the hearts of many for its unique beauty. Holding a daisy in your hand feels like experiencing a moment of peace in this chaotic world. We are bound to feel a nostalgic longing as we follow the trail of a flower cart and breathe in the purest scents that nature has blessed us with. And in this way, we get lost in the intoxication of daisies and Hanoi without even realizing it.
Amid the cool breeze filling the streets, we catch sight of the familiar image of a Hanoi girl, her long hair flowing in the wind, strolling casually with a bouquet of daisies in hand. A love-struck gaze lingers on her gentle smile, as the daisy unknowingly becomes part of a romantic story, the little flower silently conveying feelings that might never be expressed in words. One girl might fall for the daisy, while the boy falls for her...
The delicate white daisies rest on the bike’s basket, quietly accompanying their owner along the streets. Their subtle fragrance fills the air, bringing Hanoi back to life with memories of youthful days. Now I understand why so many people eagerly await the arrival of daisy season, as if it’s a habit ingrained in their hearts. Each season of these flowers carries its own emotions—hope, a sense of peace that fills the mind and heart, making the wait for such a precious gift worthwhile. And whenever I walk down the street, seeing a bike carrying daisies, I can’t help but pause, unwilling to let go of the pure white beauty.
Ah, the daisy—such a tiny, fragile flower, resembling a delicate page from a book, with each petal holding the simple yet refined emotions of Hanoi’s people. As winter arrives, the cold creeps in, and mothers and grandmothers buy bunches of daisies to brighten their homes. The flowers also add a delicate touch to the photographs of young girls in their prime, with pinkish lips and sparkling eyes, standing beside the graceful daisies like jade flowers. Every daisy season makes us fall deeper in love with the fleeting moments of changing seasons—a bit of cold, a touch of wind, and the fragrance of flowers that refresh the soul and bring peace to the heart. It is from these moments that our love for life grows.
As the soft sunlight filters through the porch, warming the space on this early winter day, the hurried footsteps of those racing against time are heard. Meanwhile, Hanoi is trying to hold onto the dreamy moments of this daisy season, before it fades away. This flower, with its unusual name, may not have the loud songs of a nightingale, but it still creates its own beautiful melody, dedicated to life.
Sometimes, I just wish to retreat into a little attic, sip a warm cup of milk coffee, and silently watch the daisies, feeling that life needs nothing more than this. How I adore these daisies, how I love their pure white color, glowing in the new sunlight, how I love...
Yến Dương


10. There's a Flower That Feels Shy
In my hometown, we call it the Shy Flower. In some places, it's known as the Sensitive Plant. As kids, we called it the Pretend Flower. Meanwhile, composer Tran Thien Thanh referred to it as ‘Gently lifting a folded leaf, it falls into a deep sleep, …’ and calls it ‘The Virgin Flower…’
The Sensitive Plant is a wild flower that grows everywhere; from rocky soils to sandy patches, from fertile grounds to barren lands, it thrives regardless of weather conditions. The flower is round like a pink ball. Its leaves resemble bird feathers and will close up when touched. The plant is covered with fine hairs and sharp thorns, which cause intense pain if pricked. Yet, if someone accidentally touches it, the leaves will immediately fold inwards, like a shy girl trying to hide from a boy sneaking a peek!
Many myths explain the origin of this plant’s name, but the story I like most is about a girl who ignored her mother’s advice and went astray. After her mother passed away, the girl wandered from house to house, begging for food. But no one could keep giving her food forever. One day, she died from hunger by the roadside, and where she died, a strange plant grew. Its tiny leaves, whenever touched, would shudder and fold as if avoiding contact. This plant was called the Shy Flower.
The Sensitive Plant has become part of many childhoods. Anyone who passed by it would touch its leaves gently to see it shyly close up. Perhaps this shy nature, like a virgin girl caught off guard by a glance, also carries a story of a first love—innocent, pure, yet romantic and sincere—told through its charmingly folded leaves. This may be how the name ‘Virgin Flower’ came to be.
As a child, I spent countless sunny afternoons with my friends, teasing the Sensitive Plant. When we touched one leaf and it closed, the others would follow. But in no time, the leaves would open again, and we’d repeat the teasing! It was just like the Pretend Flower we had fun with. But one shouldn’t get too rough or aggressive, for despite its gentle nature, the Sensitive Plant would defend itself by pricking with sharp thorns.
This image resembles a delicate girl with a sharp edge, charming but reserved. Girls would gently pick its small round pink flowers and tuck them in their hair. The Sensitive Plant followed us along the way to school, so close and familiar. But as I grew older, whenever I saw a patch of it by the roadside, I couldn’t bear to touch it for fear of disturbing its innocent, pure beauty. I would admire its soft pink petals, its shy nature. But sometimes, I’d gently touch the leaves, letting the memories of childhood flood back.
Thinking of the names of this humble flower that grows everywhere, even its name—Shy Flower or Sensitive Plant—evokes the virtues of self-respect. A person with self-respect is one who feels ashamed when they’ve done something wrong.
There was a proposal to make this flower the national flower. Although it wasn’t widely accepted, there was some logic behind it. In today’s fast-paced world, many have lost their sense of shame. If people saw or heard the name of this flower, perhaps they would be reminded of what they’ve lost…
And now, I find myself lost in thoughts about this humble flower with its strong yet simple life, just like the people in my hometown.
Ngô Văn Cư

