Something

Quê hương là chùm khế ngọt, cho con trèo hái mỗi ngày

It is the love, the memories that are embedded in its skin ...

I used to think the answer to my friend's question is easy.

It's only when your shells are all peeled out, that when I feel scared and lost that I'm able to see how I miss my mom, my dad, my brother, my home. Maybe everyone looks for that one reason that keep them going, keep their lives meaningful. Possibly I used to look for things that are so distant, dreams that are not mine and forget the most simple but most intimate to me. Only those things that have been embedded so deep down inside that will never fade away with time.

There is only one thing that makes me wander the Earth

There is also that one thing that makes me want to go home as soon as possible

I go so far just to realize that I always want to be home. And I just found another home for myself. To go is to learn, but more importantly, to learn the deep-down root in myself.

Love for a home is just a way to call all the beloved bonds that I have had with my family, my friend, my childhood. Sometimes just one such love is overwhelming enough.

"All the mothers in the world are like the salt over there. Though it's the start and the finish of all the food, they melt their souls and silently play their parts"

" The number of flavors in the world equals that of our mothers"

- The Kimchi Contest

I can go anywhere looking for that taste, but found it nowhere but home.

I used to ask my parents why they do not hire a maid. When I was a small kid, I always thought that having a maid is the most convenient thing. I will not need to sweep and wash the floor and more importantly, someone will arrange the messy piles of books on my table. A maid would prepare proper meal if my mom could not be home early. My mom is a high school teacher. There were years when my parents both had class in the morning while my school was in the afternoon. She would not allow me to go out to eat. One time I tried to cook myself and had all the tips of my fingers burnt; my mom no longer allowed me to cook again until I was in secondary school. My mom would rush back from the school at 11:30 am, arrived at home at 11:45am to prepare lunch for me to leave for school at 12:15pm. She would go directly into the kitchen with changing her long dress (áo dài) into something else to prepare either dry noodle or soup noodle. Dry noodle was plain noodle with onions fried garlic in vegetable oil and fish sauce. Soup noodle was noodle in the soup of pork boiled with slices of tomatoes. I loved the dry noodle and hated the soup noodle, but my mom wants to cook soup noodle because she said it was more nutritious. I would spend my lunch with my mom because my father's school was far from home and by the time he came home, I would have left for school. My mom always insisted that I must finish a big bowl of soup noodle before I can leave no matter how much I protested. Now my mom always asks me to go eat outside with her whenever I go home during school holiday. But I usually asks her to cook for me "anything but soup noodle". Because my food at home is always the best - my mom always gives me the best. She would always take the blackish-burnt garlic in my bowl into hers. She would take the tough bit of pork from my soup noodle from my bowl into hers. With the leftover rice from the previous meal, she would fry it up because sometimes the rice had the smell of fermentation and never let no one eats it but herself. My father once told her jokingly "men and women are equal now, but why don't you let me eat that?". It was not only because of that difficult period of our family, but until now, my mom always save the best food for me. "The number of flavors in the world equals that of our mothers". There is nowhere else that I can find my mom's flavor because it is always the best flavor.

"Đất nước là câu chuyện ngày xửa ngày xưa mẹ kể"

A place in itself thousands of stories and tales. A person absorbs such stories to become who you are.

Played soccer in the yard of the office. torn the skin. fell into kẽm gai. the trees in the garden. my future home

For a long time, I have forgotten how I used to dream. I used to dream that I can become a great man, to do great things. I dreamt of building a new house with a few mini-soccer courts for the children to play with a huge garden with all kinds of fruits trees for them to climb. I used to dream of