Rainy June in Vietnam

Reading an article of rain, I suddenly recall the rainy seasons on the very old days when I was still living in Vietnam. 

In Vietnam, June was the month of heavy rains.  In Vietnam June, it was making rains, making winds very hard.  Sometimes it was making rains so hard as if all tears of mankind were, at the same time, running down trying to flood this earth, flowing away all mankind's constant predicaments and concerns. Sometimes it was making winds so violently as if all hurricanes over the world were centering here, trying to blow away every remaining existence, making room for a complete rebuilt.

In Vietnam, June was also the month when the little students said goodbye to each other for a relaxing summer. Sometimes June rain seemed to identify itself with their parting sadness: gently dropping down on their pinky cheeks shattered drops of rainy water, half like comforting, half like teasing.  Sometimes June rains got sulky for some reasons, smearing all village roads with swampy mud.  Swampy mud stuck to the goers' every footstep, spreading all over dirty stuff, spreading all over some type of fond remembrance. 

In Da Lat of Vietnam, some time in the late 60s of last century, there was a well-known, twenty-something-year-old  philosopher and poet walking in  heavy rain with a bare head.  An old man approached him and gave him a hat.  He took it, put it on his head , walked away and then suddenly bursted into a loud cry feeling so touched.  He cried because he found that there was still some kind of human love remaining on this world.

In some no-one-know place of Vietnam, some time in the late 80s of last century, there was a no-one-know, twenty-something-year-old high school teacher walking in a heavy rain with a bare head. A lot of people passed by him some of whom knew him and recognized him.  Nobody approached him and gave him a hat. He kept on walking in the rain saying to himself that somebody was going to give him a hat.  He kept on walking and suddenly bursted into a loud cry.  He cried because he found the rain was already over, which meant nobody would have a chance to show some kind of human love to him.

Rain in Vietnam is just like that.  How you see it and perceive it totally depends on how you feel about and perceive this worldly life.  Sometimes it may remind you of just a fleeting melancholy and romantic moment of the past. Sometimes it may provoke in you a whole gloomy experience you have gone through.  However, you would make my day if you told me that it reminded you of some cheerful achievements you had got or something of that nature.

08/28/2010

Jeffrey Thai