I was born and raised in the suburbs of Hanoi, Vietnam. It takes about 15 minutes by motorbike from my hometown to the center of Hanoi. When I was a child, the area was mainly rice paddies as it was a suburb. In my memory, my hometown would turn into a golden color with the ripe rice in the season. Surrounded by rice fields, we had a lot of fun. Every day after school, I played with my friends in the rice fields. We flew kites and played tag, always laughing. My parents owned a small rice field, so during the harvest season, they would wake up early in the morning to go to the field and cut the rice with a sickle. It was hard work, but as a child, I didn’t understand their struggles.
Seven years ago, all the rice fields were leveled to construct high-rise buildings and villas. Now there are no more rice fields. High buildings and villas have been built. The tranquility of the past is gone. Not only the elderly like my grandfather, but I also miss the old days.
Now, having been in Japan for a year and a half, I work every day and go to school. Sometimes I go out on weekends. My days are repetitive and not very exciting. Near where I live, there is a small rice field, and the fresh air and quietness remind me of my happy childhood days. Smelling the fragrance of the freshly harvested rice, I remember playing with friends in the rice fields and the hardships of my parents. Every day, I tell myself to “keep going.”