The autumns I remember

How wonderful, autumn is here. What I love most about autumn is the milkwood flower, its scent heavy yet gentle across the empty streets. Autumn has fading golden sunlight and cold winds passing by; it has the deep green of leaves, the aftertaste of rain, and the happiness of a boy who was born in summer but fell in love with the smell of autumn.

What do I remember of the autumns gone by?

A dream of two rows of milkwood trees along the road, the salty, fragrant smell of the sea, the glittering city lights, and two people wandering on a battered old "Dream" motorbike on an autumn day a decade ago. That was the first time I knew I loved someone. Back then there was someone in a pale blue checked shirt, black-rimmed glasses and Converse shoes, who sometimes narrowed their eyes and looked at me tenderly, talked with me every evening, waited for me after class, told me stories from history and sang me songs about Hanoi. I remember the old film we watched, the book I was given, the photo of us shoulder to shoulder by the lake. I remember my first autumn: gentle, intoxicating, sweet.

There was also an autumn after I came back from Xuan Hoa, an autumn when friendship blossomed: early sunny mornings with my friends, afternoons cycling to teach, nights studying under the lights of our rented rooms, with mosquitoes humming, dishes clattering, leaves rustling, ping-pong balls popping, and the sound of rain arriving. I still dream of the smell of my shirt that autumn: chrysanthemums along the road, milkwood flowers, grilled hotpot and boiled snails, the smell of eager student days and of friends who gave me boundless affection over simple meals of boiled greens and fried tofu. Those memories are still whole in my dreams.

In the autumn of 2018 I left Vietnam for the first time and lived far from my family. Culture and language barriers, a mountain of work, anxiety and homesickness every day. But that autumn I had a friend from Hue, the loveliest girl I have ever known: her encouragement, our all-night talks, the street corners we walked, a pastry split in two, our ringing laughter. And so I had a radiant autumn in Singapore.

This autumn I am back in Taiwan after two years away. On the road from school to home there is the scent of jasmine and milkwood, and every time I cycle past I feel so happy. I'm grateful for the friends who are still by my side: one who isn't much of a talker but is always ready to listen to all my worries, another who is busy yet always makes time to share everything with me. I have learned new things, listened to new songs, felt happiness and peace. Yesterday I received a message telling me not to be afraid and to keep walking, and it moved me to tears. I have lived through many autumns: romantic ones full of fragrance, and bitter, cruel ones too. But this autumn is a happy and sweet one, an autumn of mountains and sea, of kind loves, of unexpected joys, and of calm, peaceful sleep every morning when I wake.

I'm grateful to the friends and teachers who have appeared in my life. They are the ones who have given me affection and helped me live positively and love life more. They are the sweetest autumn of my life, and I will always remember them.

To all the women, teachers, sisters and mothers in my life: happy Vietnamese Women's Day, and the happiest autumn in the world. Love, and more love.

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Tainan, 20 October 2024
First published in Vietnamese on Phong is writing. English translation for this site.