Cherishing memories

Việt Văn |

There are days when passing by the familiar street, we suddenly stop because an old mossy wall is no longer there. The place that used to lie still under the sun with peeling lime and green streaks of time, today is a modern, bright coffee shop. The city is still the same, the car pace is still hurried, just a small corner of memory just had time to drift away.

Old houses also gradually disappear according to that rule. A solemn tiled roof replaced by a flat corrugated iron roof, a dim wooden door gave way to a bright glass panel. That is the natural breath of the city, the city must rise up and people need more comfortable spaces to live.

Only sometimes, standing in the middle of a street that has been associated for decades, we suddenly feel a pang of missing a beat. Not exactly regretting a building, but regretting the atmosphere that once belonged to it. A low porch to shelter from the rain when we were young, an old tree shade to shade the poor village, or the echo of bells through the quiet morning... Those very small things are not enough to be called "legacy", but silently weaving the soul of a place.

In the past, life seemed slower and more tolerant. People could sit for a long time in front of the porch just to watch the afternoon sun lean down on the silent roofs, hear the sound of bicycles clicking mixed with the sound of street vendors, nod to greet familiar faces passing by every day. Memories at that time easily settle down because the scene is not disturbed too quickly.

Now, the street pace is much faster. Restaurants can change owners and change their appearance after only a few months. New color patches continuously overwhelm old color patches. People still live, still meet, but scenery passes by quickly, making the connection between people and space gradually become thin.

An old wall or door is inherently speechless. But they have stood there long enough to absorb the joys and sorrows of many generations, witnessing the ups and downs of a piece of land. Just seeing them, we seem to bump into ourselves of another time, recalling a face, a memory that seemed to have been forgotten in the flow of life.

Keeping or renewing, perhaps not a one-sided choice. The city needs to develop to live, but if in each transformation, people know how to cherish and keep a house, a yard or an old moss streak, then the stages of time will have the opportunity to stack up, creating a unique identity.

The depth of a city is not measured by the height of buildings or the splendor of neon lights, but measured by moments of silence that make people want to slow down. Not to cling to the past in a nostalgic way. But to know that where you are standing is a land of memories, of stories, not an unknown, cold space.

Việt Văn
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