I remember when I was a student at the People's Police Academy, carrying books to the lecture hall during the day, waiting for my friends in the dormitory to go to bed at night to tiptoe to get up, pulling out a clumsy laptop from the bed trunk, in the quiet night, writing short stories, essays, and pretty poems to send to large and small newsrooms from North to South with the hope that my name would once appear in a humble position in the most meaningful issue of the year, sometimes just in the section... "Reader mailbox" is enough to be excited throughout the warm Spring. Writing - sending - waiting! That series of journeys continues from this Tet newspaper season to another Tet newspaper season. Writing quite quickly, sending even faster. Just waiting is the longest time, nervous as if exam candidates hold their breath to access the university exam score check link.
Tet newspapers are often the "land of performance" for famous writers in the literary and journalistic world. Therefore, an unknown collaborator like me back then wanted to find a place on the Tet newspaper page, in addition to writing meticulously and meticulously, I also had to rely on the element of luck. There was a Tet newspaper season, "plowing" 10 articles, all 10 articles... disappeared without a trace. There was another season, when the editor replied "the story is stable, but...", the sentence behind the word "but" always has a terrible weight, "not yet usable because it is about funerals". At that time, my heart was even sadder than failing the exam. How long will the next season last? In my dreams, I still faintly smell the fresh smell of Tet newspapers, the smell of words stirring to remind me not to give up. Because I have fallen in love with this writing career that was painful and also full of joy, how can I be determined to quit.
My personality is easily complacent and also quickly calms down. All the worries suddenly vanished one morning when I suddenly discovered my name lurking under a bright lemon-yellow newspaper wrapped around a handful of unfinished sticky rice with clumsy 4-word poems: "Wake up on Spring Day / Sadness stays / Beautiful sunlight sprouts / Kiss wild grass lips". Overjoyed to the point of bursting, I quickly wiped the newspaper, sun-dried it, stroked it flatly and then excitedly took it to show off to my friends in the room. Some people praised it, praised it. Some half-jokingly, half-seriously, stubbornly said: "It's really stupid. Why write so much? Nowadays, who wants to read? And it also becomes sticky rice wrapping paper". Regardless of the gossip, I still cherish and preserve that sticky rice wrapping paper as a beautiful memory, even though later, the editorial office sent me a brand new, neat newspaper as a gift.
For the majority of writers and artists, at the beginning of the new year, it's okay to lack beautiful clothes, but missing Tet newspapers makes their hearts flutter with endless regret. Therefore, seeing the letters they diligently plant and care for blooming on the Tet newspaper field, their souls become radiant and fresh like "Grass welcomes the first and second lunar month, swallows meet the season" (poem by Che Lan Vien).
Some Tet newspapers are excitedly taking photos to show off on Facebook. Some Tet newspapers are excitedly opened, read over and over again, and then displayed in the most elegant position in the living room so that anyone visiting the house can see them first. Also that kind of paper, that kind of ink, but for some reason, holding the Tet newspaper in my hand, I felt like smelling the smell of nostalgia of the old days, the smell of current love and the smell of aspiration for the future blending and spreading. Suddenly, in a moment, my heart is still as clear as a child.
Graduating from university and starting to work, the work cycle is dizzying, I try to maintain the habit of reading books, but writing is still bumpy. But every October, November comes, when passion starts to stir up, no matter how busy I am, ten fingertips still want to swipe through the keyboard, write something for the Tet newspaper, even just a few poems or ten lines of small essays.
Not because of royalties, and certainly not because of fame, writing Tet newspapers, simply to soothe memories that are mossy, to awaken streams of emotions, to mark the upcoming journeys and most importantly, to be green again in the excitement of waiting after months of aridity and uncertainty. Because someone once said roughly: "The scariest thing in the world is that there is nothing left to wait for.
In the period from the end of 2018 to 2021, I was fortunate to win a number of prestigious literary awards. Editors prioritized "promising young writers", ordering quite a lot of articles, almost tailor-made, let's do this, let's do that. Quickly seizing the opportunity, I wrote continuously at all times, everywhere. What is the difference between last year's peach branch and this year's peach branch? My own banh chung is probably not like my neighbor's banh chung? I repeat myself in cliché, old-fashioned, old-fashioned topics compared to fellow writers and old-fashioned compared to myself. But at that time, I was engrossed in a quantity race, aiming to prove my abundant writing power.
Then one day, rereading those hastily written works, I was startled to realize that I was becoming a "writer", as the main character in my short story "That side is Tet" once asked himself: "How many people can write Tet stories worthy of the word good? Tet stories are like girls abusing cosmetic surgery, on the street, every girl's face is similar to every other.
It's easy to understand, it has become a formula, Tet stories must always be warm, joyful, and bright. Surely, in the special issue, no editorial office will publish a Tet story about a funeral or there is nothing difficult to understand if the explicit, rough scenes are cut out.
Grasping that clearly, every Tet story of mine revolves around banh chung, peach blossoms, swallows with beautiful verse, coloring and trying to lead the storyline to a happy ending. So bland that, if I mix that bunch of stories of mine with other Tet stories like a salad with the condition of deleting all the authors' names, I'm afraid that half a year later, reading it again, I may not even be able to distinguish which story I wrote.
Speaking evasively, it's time to frankly acknowledge a truth: Don't just write excuses anymore, Loc! It's just that I didn't write well enough, but Tet newspapers are not at fault! Writing novel about something that many people don't know is normal, but writing uniquely about something that everyone sees is talent! (Of course, I haven't reached that level yet).
This Tet newspaper season, I feel my heart throbbing with a feeling of nostalgia, when some familiar newspapers and magazines have forever been placed in the memory drawer. To better express that mood, allow me to boldly re-enact the last stanza of the poem "Ong Do" by poet Vu Dinh Lien: "This year peaches are blooming again / No old newspaper seen / Old words for thousands of years / Where is the soul now?".
Tonight, online on Facebook, I accidentally read the comment of a straightforward writer: "Every year is the same, Tet newspaper is colorless, smellless, tasteless". Both heartbroken and startled. Ten fingertips already placed on the keyboard, I wondered to myself: How to write so that my work doesn't become a piece of paper - package - sticky rice?
