Top 7 Best Essays Acting as Mr. Hai retelling Kim Lan’s short story Village (Language 9)

Oh my village of Oil! Still the sweet taste of young rice in the countryside. Still the green brick road. The sky is deep and wide, with a little sunshine falling on the roof of the ancient communal house. How much I loved and loved this land, where I was born and raised. Those despicable invaders died here. Dau village is no longer like the day I had to leave the village to evacuate. But now, when I come back, my heart is still the same, still intact and unchanged. There is something very strange in me. A feeling of nostalgia, mixed with a little pity, mixed with pride. I felt like bursting with happiness. Happy because really the suffering of that distant day is just a memory, the memory is not beautiful but makes people remember forever and never forget.

It was a sunny day. Also a few years ago. And I don’t remember very well either.

That afternoon, it was very sunny. The sun shines on the bright courtyard. The sun seems to want to burn people. There were a few voices of chickens at noon. The sound of the cicadas is endless, heartbreaking. After work, I had a whole period of time to think about. And so I remembered my village of Oil, terribly.

I look forward to my daughter growing up one by one. I hope she comes back quickly to look after the house, so that I can still do what I always do. After a while, it came back. I gave him a few words and then hurried out. The road is empty of passersby. The weather was windy but still not enough to blow away the hot summer sun. If it’s sunny like this, leave their mother. I thought and then said aloud. Someone passed by, surprised to ask:

– Which are they?

– West, but what about them? Sitting in position is equal to sitting in jail.

Then I walked straight. As usual, I stopped by the information station to listen to the situation of the war. So much good news. My gut felt like it was dancing. Happy! But it seems that human happiness is really small. Who would expect that joy to be just a quiet day before the storm arose. Stepping out of the information room, I turned to tell my wife a few things and then followed the old district way. I stopped by the pub. Here, groups of displaced people are sitting up and down. Hearing a woman say that the Westerners entered Cho Dau village, it was terrorized, I was worried, turned around and stammered asking:

– It… It entered the village of Oil, bro? How many guys can we kill?

– Can’t kill anyone. The whole village of them Vietnamese and Westerners, what else do they kill!

The woman’s voice was shrill, full of anger. It was like a bucket of cold water splashed in my face. I was shocked. His throat was tight, his face was numb, he thought he couldn’t breathe. The corners of the eyes kept twitching, the nerves seemed to be numb. After a long time, I strained, swallowed something stuck in my neck, and asked again, my voice completely lost:

– Is it true, bro? Or just…

– Well, we were just down there and up here, but…

I didn’t finish speaking when people spoke. Definitive. Probably like a nail. I’m dumbfounded. Both ears ringing. Can’t hear anything anymore. The other’s voice seemed to be mixed with the wind. I paid for the water, staggered to my feet, closed my mouth, and smiled faintly:

– Ha, it’s sunny, let’s go back…

I talk to myself but not to anyone. I reassure myself. Walked out and walked away, not daring to look back. I walked away with my head down, like I had done something very sinful. When I got home, I lay down on the bed. The limbs seem to be weak, no strength left. I panted. A few children crept to the top of the house to play darkly with each other.

Looking at my children, I don’t understand why my tears keep flowing. Eyes dim, dim. Kids… Are they also children of the Vietnamese village? Are they also despised and rejected by people? Damn, at that age… I clenched my fists, nails digging into my skin, stinging. I hissed like a wounded animal, excruciatingly painful:

– They fly to eat a piece of rice or something in their mouth and go to work like this fake Vietnamese selling water to humiliate like this.

I stopped suddenly, bewildered. I remember each one. They are all spiritual people. They decided not to go to stay in the village, intending to live with them for a while. There’s no way they would be humiliated and do such a horrible thing!… But no! Why there are fire without smoke? Who do people go to put slander for that? Wow! Shameful yet? The whole Vietnamese village! Then know how to live? Who does one contain? Who do they trade for?… I kept thinking about it. Everything was a mess, like silk, a mess. Can’t get it out anyway. Well, cut it off to lighten the debt. My stomach told me, I tried to shove that story deep into my brain. But my wife seems to know that too. In the afternoon, she was sluggish, her face as heavy as lead. It wasn’t until late at night that she dared to bring it up. As soon as I said that, the fire inside me flared up. So silence, humiliation.

The night was strangely quiet. The night is as black as ink, just waiting for me to close my eyes will embrace my soul. I still can’t sleep. After turning this side, turning to the other side, sighing. There was a sudden silence, and I heard a shuffling noise upstairs. Mother’s voice… What are you saying? What do you say that stir fry like that? My chest was pounding. Holding my breath, my stomach seemed to boil, I listened to the outside…

From that day, I only huddled in a corner of the house, even Uncle Thu’s family did not dare to come over. Shame so much! What face do I have to look at other people?… My gut is always on fire. Every time a crowd gathered, I also noticed, a few laughs from afar were also full of fear, a few glimpses of Western, Vietnamese… Lurking in the house, nin thin. Stop talking about it! The elders said “Hate what is given to you by God”. Just as I had feared, the mistress had come, intending to chase us away. Right! Who would be foolish enough to go and store water vendors? Everyone is turning their backs on me. It’s so scrary! What a wonderful way to live! Know where to take each other now? Who knows, maybe they’ve got my family? Just think, think and think. Dark, horrible thoughts followed and crept into my mind. Step by step, step by step, they dominate my thoughts… Or return to the village?…

My tears kept pouring out. Salty. Back to the village? No… No… Going back to the village meant leaving the resistance, leaving Uncle Ho. Returning to the village means returning to being a slave for the West. It can not be! Village loves. True love! But the village following the West is gone. The village that betrayed us must take revenge.

I held the youngest son, patted his head, and asked softly:

– Huck that! Let me ask you, who are you?

– I’m the teacher’s son.

– Where is my house?

– My house is in Cho Dau village.

– Do you like to go to your village?

The boy lowered his face, stroking the hem of his shirt as if thinking about something. It hid its head in my prison, softly answering:

– Yes.

Soft voice. Like my own heart. Why do I still love that village so much? Again I asked:

– Who do you support?

– I support Ho Chi Minh for many years!

The boy’s eyes widened. Those sparkling eyes shone with an endless joy. The boy answered emphatically. Tears welled up in my eyes again.

– Yes, that’s right, support Uncle Ho.

I whispered to the boy. I carved it deep into the boy’s heart but also told myself, vindicating myself. My father and son’s heart is like that, never dare to be wrong. Death is never dare to single wrong.

It was like that until that day. I received a correction. As if relieved from the burden in my heart, I bought gifts for the children. Then hurried to show off to the neighbors. Must to! Must to! You should let everyone know the news. My arms and legs kept dancing. Wherever I go, I shout out loud:

– West it burned my village. My house is now only a pile of black ashes. The president of my village has just come to correct the news that we in Cho Dau village have cheated and followed the enemy. Get out! It’s all over, nothing. Totally wrong purpose!

That burning house is proof that my village did not follow the enemy. I shouted as if to let go of the past troubles. Was real! Everyone is happy, happy for me too…

The voices of the children were shrewd. The youngest pulled my hand and called out, pulling me out of the flashback. I looked around. Eyes brimming with tears. I lifted the boy up and gave him a kiss. It giggled, the laughter seemed to melt into the wind, as if bringing my happiness to cover the whole village of Dau. I packed up those memories, shoved them into a deep place, and walked steadily, straight ahead, straight to my village. As for the other memory, it only makes my love for the village more passionate… I believe, the future is still ahead. And I will plant seeds here so that happiness blooms here.

It’s been a few decades, maybe it’s enough for me to understand most of the people in the village. They and I, we are both Vietnamese, we all carry the red bloodline in our hearts forever. Most of the people in my village are farmers who work hard in the field early in the morning. We live for ourselves but never for a moment have we forgotten our love for the Fatherland, the place where I was born and raised. But I don’t understand why people spread bad rumors about my village.

It was sunny and clear that day, as usual I went to the information room to read the newspaper. I love coming here to listen to other people read newspapers. Although I am a poor farmer, living a hard life, doing many things, I still have the pleasure of reading the news regularly to get information everywhere. As soon as I stepped out of the information room, turned into the shop to tell my wife a few things, and then went to the old district entrance, I saw a group of displaced people talking very excitedly.

I’m also curious about what’s going on, so I’ll chat again. It is known that there is a village that Vietnam follows the West. I never expected it to be Cho Dau village – the village I live in. They told my village to cheat, my villagers followed the enemy. Like I couldn’t believe my ears. I thought about enough things. Shouldn’t my village really follow the West? How could that happen? The villagers are all patriots. Unable to endure the humiliation to the end, I had to beat the drum and leave: “Ha, the sun is terrible, let’s go back…”

Ever since the day that rumor spread everywhere, I didn’t dare to sneak out into the street anymore. My mind seems to be gradually exhausted, I don’t care about anything anymore. Even my wife is discouraged from doing housework. Born and raised during the war, from childhood I had to live with bombs. Seeing that, I always told myself that in the future, I must try to do something useful for the country.

In my mind, as well as in my family and villages, I promise with my heart that I will always support Uncle Ho Chi Minh for many years. But now we have not done anything that has harmed the country. I also love my village very much, that Cho Dau village has been with me for a long time. But deep in the rustic and simple heart of this poor farmer has always devoted an important part to the Fatherland. “The village really loves it, but the village that follows the West has to take revenge.”

At that time, everywhere people chased the villagers of Cho Dau. My landlady also had to refuse my family to live in her house. For a few short days, not knowing what to do, where to go, my mind was blank with unbearable humiliation.

But that sadness suddenly changed to an innocent smile that gradually bloomed on my face. I was happy to hear the good news that the fake news of Cho Dau Viet village had been rectified. It’s true, it’s all wrong on purpose. I went everywhere telling people the good news. Even the landlady was happy and let me stay at her house. Then my life became happier again.

All rivers flow into the sea, love of home, love of villages, love of homeland becomes love of the Fatherland. For a farmer with a sunny day and two dew, the village has a very important position. That’s where I was born, raised and worked. More importantly, the village has become the source of the homeland, an indispensable part of the farmer’s soul. As for myself, I will never forget that familiar Cho Dau village and will always believe and never leave my village.

So it’s been more than a month since Hai Thu, I left my beloved Cho Dau village to evacuate. It is true that when we are far away from home, people understand the words of our ancestors even more deeply.

In the refugee camp, I never ceased to miss my village. My only joy is going to the information room to listen, read newspapers to know more news of the resistance. At that time, my gut felt like it was dancing, so happy!

Today, for some reason, my oldest son came home late from work, making me restless at home. So as soon as I saw her shadow in the distance, I immediately rushed out to tell her to look after the house and hurriedly went down to the information room to listen to the newspaper as usual.

I am still the same but now I have very beautiful and filial children. The image of bamboo ramparts made with cows and buffalos reminds me of the old days when me and other children of the same age grew up in the early morning sunlight. to work hard and to have delicious meals with family. The image of the kitchen smoke also reminds me of the old days when me and my family were roasted with red sweet potatoes and the echoing laughter dispels a long tiring day. It’s really important to each of us that without it, our hometown would not have grown up like it is now. I love my country very much, my village and my loved ones. It is really good memories that I keep for a long time. Every time I return to the village, so many memories come flooding back like beautiful pieces in the life of a farmer like me, my neighbors, they also have new families and their own lives, but they always remembering my hometown as I thought my hometown two hours so familiar can never be fat in my mind.

Now I only have the youngest child to confide in. Every time I hold her in my arms, reminding her of Cho Dau village, her hometown, I feel heartbroken. Even though I decided to give up that village, I still can’t get rid of my strong love for my village. That decision was like a sharp knife cutting through my heart. Laments! Painful! But, I support the resistance. Looking at the little boy raising his hand, boldly and clearly saying aloud: “Long live Uncle Ho Chi Minh!”, my tears flowed again, whispering, reaffirming my son’s words. I speak as if to open my heart, as to vindicate myself again. Although people say that I am a fake Vietnamese Cho Dau resident, I still support Uncle Ho, although in the immediate future, I don’t know what will happen in my life.

“Homeland” – how sacred these two words are! Although I and many others are just farmers with muddy hands and feet, turning off their faces on the first day, selling their faces to the land and selling their backs to heaven, we still have our own homeland and love it very much. After the August Revolution, our love for our homeland was expanded, connected, and associated with patriotism and resistance. I was no exception. However, once, my love of the village, my patriotism was put in a challenge that made me lose sleep and eat for several days in a row.

Before telling my story, shouldn’t I introduce myself first? Although people often call me Mr. Hai, my real name is Nguyen Hai Thu. Speaking of my village, everyone knows it, right, my village has such a spirit of resistance! My village is Cho Dau village in Tu Son district, Bac Ninh province! Remembering that year when the French lost their lesson, they invaded our country, I also wanted to stay with my brothers to kill their father and mother, but at that time, when the wind turned, my leg hurt. It hurt too much, moreover, my family still had a bunch of young children, so my family was forced to evacuate in Thang land according to Uncle Ho’s policy: to evacuate is to be patriotic.

In the evacuation place, I was not leisurely at all. My family has to think about tomorrow when eating today, eat this year, think about next year, and then also have to contribute food to serve the resistance, no matter what, it’s not enough, so my whole family has to work hard all day. Every day, my arms and legs are tired, I think I don’t have the strength to walk, but hold, hold, and move. Yet every time I lay down on the bed, I would put my hand on my forehead and think about the village and then imagine myself about the village’s resistance works: digging roads, building embankments, cutting trenches, carrying stones, etc. I just feel like I am full of energy, as if all the fatigue has disappeared. I’ll probably go to Uncle Thu’s house again tonight to show off my village! Oh, how proud my village is!

In this Thang land my favorite job is to go down to the information room to eavesdrop on the news that people read in the newspapers. It’s not that I don’t know how to read, but actually I’ve been through an academic class, I know how to read and write, but this print is hard to recognize, I can only read it. Can you say no, it’s really painful! Fortunately, that day I met a tall guy, wearing a green military uniform, looking very handsome. He must have been a newly-learned militia man, reading each word slowly, loudly, and clearly. There was a lot of good news, there was a child in the propaganda department volunteering to swim in the middle of Hoan Kiem Lake to plant the national flag on Turtle Tower, then the platoon leader, after killing seven enemies, committed suicide with a grenade. In the end, or the Trung Trac female guerrilla team pretending to be a shopper, they caught a Thao man alive in the middle of the market. There were many more raids, killing a little here, killing a little there, and even getting a gun. The more I listened, the more excited I became, the happier I became, then suddenly thought of the village: “If these little French people pass through our village, they will definitely be beaten up and our village will be reported. ” The more I think about it, the more I think it’s right and then chuckle to myself.

Out of the information room, I turned into the shop to advise my wife a few sentences and then went straight to the old district entrance. After walking for a while, I encountered a group of newly displaced people downstairs, I quickly found a nearby restaurant to listen to the news. I asked them:

– Ladies and gentlemen, where are you?

One woman quickly replied:

– Sir, we are in Gia Lam. It took four years to come here, it was so hard!

I asked a few more questions about the situation below, who knows, I heard the news that the enemy withdrew from Bac Ninh and returned to Dau market. I thought my village had to kill a few guys, but I never expected a nursing woman to tell me bad news: my whole Cho Dau village followed the West. I felt like I was struck by lightning, my whole body stiffened and stiffened, as if I had stopped breathing. It took a long time for me to react and ask again, trembling, but the answer I received shattered my last hope, they confirmed that the Westerners entered the village, my whole village took out the magic flag. picked up, and then the Chief Bieu carried all his belongings with the enemy. I felt my eyes heat up, tears welled up in my face, and my throat seemed to be blocked by something. Bitter! Now I have only one thought of wanting to go home and hide from it all. I quickly stood up to pay for the tea, then pretended not to notice, stretched out my shoulders and said loudly and then ran away:

– Ha, it’s sunny, let’s go…

Even though I had gone out of the shop, I still heard a woman’s shrill voice say:

– Their parents and teachers! Hunger, stealing, stealing, people still love. Like the Vietnamese who sell water, give each child a puff!

When I got home, my whole body seemed to be drained of strength, lying on the bed, looking at my children playing outside the gate. Perhaps they saw me as unusual, so they obediently avoided me. I was in pain, ashamed, in tears: “Oh my poor children, they are only a little old, but they have understood such things well, have not done anything wrong to be blamed. for the childish label of a Vietnamese village. Damn, what do these people eat to ruin, dare to sell their country, betray the Fatherland, betray Uncle Ho for a long time like this, oh my god.” Angered, I yelled out words that always made me angry.

But after scolding, I suspected something was wrong with my words. Everyone in the village has more resistance than me, determined to live and die with the enemy! Just thinking like that, I immediately brushed it off, there is no smoke without fire, people don’t have animosity with me, what is the point of putting things against me, let alone the name of Chinh Bieu who is indeed my villager, there is no wrong. Alas, shame yet, the whole Vietnamese village!

That night my wife came back, maybe she also heard the news, because I saw that she was different, her whole body was sluggish, her face was lowered, she went straight into the house to put the basket and then went to the steps to hug her cheek and think. Seeing their mother like this, the children did not dare to ask for gifts. An eerie silence fell over the small room. Late at night, my wife stood up on her knees and quietly went to the kitchen to count the goods as usual. It took a while before she called out to me in a low voice, but I purposely ignored her, even curtly interrupting her when she seemed to be about to repeat the morning’s incident. She was silent, then continued quietly after a while that it was rumored that this place would no longer house the Cho Dau villagers. I remained silent, not daring to say a word, because I know that I am not in a good mood right now, if I say anything more it will hurt her. Looking at her thin face, only in her forties but seemingly ten years older, the wrinkles and crow’s feet seem to record the hard and hard days she had to go through when living with me, I also feel so ashamed! But what can I do, the woman’s morning words still cling, haunt, torment me forever. I was tossing and turning and couldn’t sleep. A sleepless night!

For the next three or four days, I always felt insecure and afraid, did not dare to step out of the house even half a step, even to Uncle Thu’s house, as long as a crowd gathered, or heard laughter from afar, I also bewildered, thinking that people are talking about “that thing”, then I only faintly heard a few Western, Vietnamese, and camophonic languages, so I retreated to a corner of the house, holding my breath. Especially the landlady, from the day it happened, she sometimes ran to talk about gossip, poke, mock, threaten my family for a while. It seems that she takes what makes my husband and I suffer secretly that she likes. She even threatened once that it was rumored that there were no more Cho Dau villagers here. Although this is just a story told by my wife, it also makes me miserable and miserable. Leaving here, my family knows where to go now, who is allowed to stay, who are they to trade with? “Or go back to the village…” I just started thinking so, I immediately protested, going back to the village is not resigned to the Vietnamese label, betraying the Fatherland, leaving behind the resistance, Uncle Ho… Finally, It took me a long time to make a decision: The village really loved, but the village followed the West and then had to take revenge.

The decision is like that, but the love of this village has been infiltrated in my blood and flesh, is a part of my body, it is not a revenge that I can hate right away, so I have to find Huc to talk to to entertain. When I asked him where our house was, he replied that it was Cho Dau village, when I asked him if he wanted to go back to the village he just quietly replied: yes. However, when I asked him who he supported, he replied boldly and clearly: Long live Ho Chi Minh. Hearing his answer made my heart ache, because his confide was also my confidant, telling him that I was also releasing my own heart, as if letting myself vindicate myself again. I know that the thought of wanting to have brothers and sisters, Uncle Ho heard and knew, but considering my father and son is just a wishful thinking, but I still couldn’t help but talk to my son. At least, every time I finish talking to my son, my heart is relieved.

But something happened that made the stone in my heart completely disappear: the chairman announced that my village had been rectified. That day, he appeared in front of me, surprising me, for a moment did not react, until I remembered that I had to invite guests into the house. It turned out that he wanted to invite me to share the news. I immediately picked out the cleanest, most decent clothes that even on New Year’s Eve I couldn’t bear to wear them, straightened my hair and went with him. I didn’t get home until late in the evening. Having just finished distributing gifts to my children, I immediately went to Uncle Thu’s house and the host’s house boasted that the president had just rectified the news that my village was following the enemy as “wrong for the purpose”, even bragging about the news that my house was destroyed. West burned crazy. Although for us farmers the house is the most important, but I can’t contain my happiness. It’s just a house, after the war ends, it’s fine to go back and rebuild it, but if the honor of the village is lost, it will be a stain that even after many years can’t erase.

I thought this little story was known only by my family and a few people around me, but I couldn’t believe it was written by writer Kim Lan – a writer from the same hometown as me – into a short story published in Van Nghe newspaper and also is greatly appreciated. The writer borrowed my story to generalize the feelings of farmers from all over the country. As a farmer, who doesn’t love the place where they bury their umbilical cord vegetables, in a country with enemies, farmers everywhere stood up to join the resistance war. It was absolute confidence in the Revolution.

Our lives today are getting better and better, all thanks to the Revolution. Therefore, the more we have to try our best to dedicate ourselves to the country, to the homeland so that the country will be free of enemies, the lives of farmers will be completely renewed.

This morning is still like every other day, I sip a cup of freshly brewed tea, read a few pages of the new day’s newspaper, reflect on the vibrant youth with my village, the most beautiful memories hidden deep in my mind. …

That afternoon I was alone at home. My wife and children went to wholesale, so I had to go to the stream with all my might and broke a piece of land, planning to spend a few hundred cassava roots, next year, there will be something to eat when hungry. In the morning, my limbs were already exhausted, lying on the soft mattress, I was thinking again. But I miss the days when I lived in the village, with my brothers digging roads, carrying stones… I miss this Cho Dau village very much, I miss it dearly.

Patiently waiting for the big one to come back, I quickly sent him a few words to take care of the house and ran away, as usual, I eavesdropped on information from others. Along the way, there were also a few people holding me back to ask, saying a few provocative jokes, I quickly ran away. Overheard? Honestly, it’s not very good, it really makes me miserable. I also took a popular academic course, but I still couldn’t read the content myself, so I had to sit there pretending to read and overhear others reading. The thing I hate the most is that people here know a lot of words and can’t read them out loud for others to hear. How lucky am I today, to get the militia man to read it out loud, I heard so much useful information.

I eagerly left the information room, told my wife a few things, stopped by the shop to make a few waterpipe cigarettes and leisurely drink tea to enjoy the wind. Then suddenly seeing some people who don’t look like people here, opened my mouth, I wondered, asked.

Knowing that they were in Gia Lam, I also knew that the enemy had just opened fire from Bac Ninh to Cho Dau, as usual, my mood was unicorn, I copied my mouth to show off: “So how many guys did we kill in Cho Dau? Aunt ? “. Unexpectedly, the answer was like a spear pointed straight into the darkest part of my mind: “You can’t kill anyone. The whole village of them Vietnamese and Westerners, what else do they kill! “. I just heard wrong, right? No way. Insist on that notion, I retorted. The answer was like a bucket of cold water thrown in my face asking me to wake up, shivering, I had to pretend to get up and complain about the hot weather and rush home.

When I got home, I still couldn’t help but hear the harsh words of the village, I felt sorry for my children. They are the children of the Vietnamese village…

That afternoon, when Mrs. Hai returned, she also seemed different from usual, making the house suddenly become quiet and cold. The children were also silent, not daring to joke like usual. Come to think of it, it’s not quite right because everyone in the village is also a patriot who swore against the enemy. Moreover, who is going to make up what to do. Then for a while I thought about the future of this Cho Dau village, would anyone trade with the fake Vietnamese village?

For the next few days, I locked myself in the house, ashamed and humiliated myself. I confided with my children to express their feelings. In the end, I also decided not to return to the village anymore. “The village really loves, but the village that follows the West must hate.” I decided to follow the resistance with one heart, according to Ho, one heart with the country. If you can’t do anything good for the country, don’t do anything bad.

I held my heart thinking all night, the more I thought about it, the more humiliated and indignant I felt. Although determined to support Uncle Ho, support the resistance, but now everyone hates the villagers of Dau Market, so they know where to go. In the utter deadlock, early in the morning, the chairman of the commune called me to report the news. It turned out that all of them were lies, all were lies, and were acts of destroying the enemy’s trust. Cho Dau Village was not only not a Vietnamese but also actively participated in the resistance war against the enemy to save the country, I felt like I was once again resurrected. I was overjoyed and eager to correct myself, to continue with glory to speak of the village that I loved most. To this day, I still maintain that habit, the way I tell you my story today.

Cho Dau Village is a dear village where I was born and raised, but the Westerners have forced us to evacuate elsewhere, but now that I have returned home, Dau Village in my heart is still intact as if it has not been chipped at least. is the love I have for it. I am happy that I have returned to my hometown where my childhood was “buried with cut vegetables”.

Returning to my hometown, I heard a lot of information about how many enemies to kill? How many people died? was listening attentively with pride and excitement when suddenly heard from a woman that “Cho Dau village followed the West to counter-revolution”, the woman’s voice was harsh and angry. When I received the bad news, the first feeling was shock, my face changed color, my throat was tight, my face was numb, I felt so ashamed and disappointed. I am a village lover, proud and tell everyone all the good things about my village as it has turned out like this, really sad, ashamed and disappointed about the village. I avoided going elsewhere and returned home.

When I returned, I still didn’t believe it was true, my inner thoughts struggled between the love of the village and the truth being revealed. The village that I attached to, loved, loved for good things has now become a village that follows the enemy, I am really disappointed. In a confused mood I confided to the youngest, the things that told me made me feel much more relieved.

I went out with my neighbor until late at night, the chairman of the market village of Dau just came to rectify, he said that the news that the village followed the West to do Vietnamese fraud was untrue and wrong. I was so happy that I exhorted the children:

“Where are you, let me share it with you”

I rushed over and was told that the West had burned the house, burned everything, all information about the village of Dau Market before was completely false. Although my property was lost, for some reason, my heart suddenly became happy and happy because I believed that my village was still following the resistance war, following the revolution.

The story is like that, going through many emotions from disappointment, boredom and unexpected joy to jumping up and down like a child, through this, my pride in the village of Dau market remains unchanged. change, my village has always remained loyal to the revolution.

What is a cleft mother homeland

The teacher teaches to love

What is a cleft mother homeland

Who goes away and remember more.

We all have a homeland, a place to bury vegetables and cut umbilical cords, a place to nurture young souls, where we all turn to no matter where we go. For me, it’s the market village of Dau full of nostalgia. People wonder who I am? I am Mr. Hai in the short story Village by Kim Lan.

Oh my village of Dau market! I still vividly remember the image of my village having the largest information room in the region, the high-pitched bamboo radio tower, the sound of loudspeakers calling in the afternoon echoed throughout the sky, no one could not hear. Then the tile houses are close together, as busy as the province. The road in the village is paved with green stone, it is raining and windy, walking around the village at the end of the village, the mud does not stick to the heels. On the tenth day of the fifth month, the straw is dried, the rice is of the highest quality, and there is not a single grain of land. It’s not that I’m so proud of my village, guys. I still have the habit of showing off the village like before. But just because of those despicable invaders, the village of Cho Dau was destroyed, and the people in the village had to evacuate.

Now show off the village, I show off another. I show off the days of the rapid uprising in the village, which I joined the movement from the dark ages. Military training sessions. Even the old men with white beards and white hair also carry sticks to practice one or two. Every time he chants a move, the coach has to accompaniment… sloppily behind: “Seriously!… Rest!… Carry the gun on your shoulder!…”. Especially the pits, mounds, and trenches of my village, the construction works are not left out. After three years of sinking, seven or ten years, he was able to return to his native land.

I really don’t want to evacuate up here at all. But my grandmother kept crying, she begged me to go, she said:

-So you’re going to leave my mother and child to starve? You have to take care of them so I can manage. Then she urgently told everyone, pleaded with the village captain, everyone agreed to let me go, I had to obey.

In the early days here, there was no work, I was always frustrated and restless. It’s also hard for my grandmother, brothers and sisters. I turned to scold her mother and daughter. But I think I’ve lived in this village since I was a kid. My great-great-grandfather has lived in this village for many generations now. Now that I’ve encountered a real time like this, I’m going to run away again. The work is the work of the public, not their own?

Every time I step foot out of that dark room cluttered with pots, pans, pots, and wet clotheslines, I feel relieved and refreshed. Why am I so afraid of that house! Especially in the quiet, sweltering afternoons, with the voice of the landlady talking outside, I can’t stand it. I have to go hide it. I have never seen a woman as greedy and cunning as her. People are as thin as dry wood. The mouth is thin and thin, talking quickly, but the god is a cheat. If you don’t enter the house, it’s fine, just touch the house.

From the very beginning, I was angry with her. Listening to what the neighbors say here, I know she’s not a decent person. That afternoon I was alone at home. The big girl carries the goods to the shop for her mother who has not yet returned. With two children, I made them go to the garden to look after the newly transplanted vegetable beds without any chickens. I worked hard to break a patch of dense land, outside the stream from morning until now, I plan to plant a few hundred more cassava roots to eat in the hungry months of next year. When I was tired, I went to the house and lay down on the bed with my hand on my forehead, thinking about it. I think about my village again, and think about the days when I worked with my brothers. Ah, why is that so much fun. I feel like a kid. Also broken singing, cotton gongs, also digging, also working all day long. In my heart, I felt excited again. I want to go back to the village, and I want to be with my brothers to dig a road to build embankments, cut trenches, carry stones… I don’t know if the guardhouse at the top of the village has been built yet? The secret tunnels must be pretty bad. Wow! I miss the village, miss the village so much. Outside, the sun shone down on the bright courtyard, and there were a few lunchtime chicken voices. The house is more and more dim, faintly earthy. At this time, the landlady is coming back from work in the fields. I’m going to have to lie in here again and listen to her scolding her children, calling for the water jug ​​to run out quickly, the messy kitchen scrunching up here. The doormat suddenly creaked, and the house lit up. Startled, I looked up. The older child braced his basket and didn’t come in. I raised my voice and asked:

What are you doing out there for so long?

Without giving my son time to answer, I got up and grabbed my hat:

– Look after me at home! Don’t go anywhere. I raised my hand to point upstairs and walked out.

Outside, the sky is blue, and there are bright, dull clouds. The road was empty of passersby. They even fell into the shade of trees to avoid the sun. A few soft, muffled noises rippled. I swam across the empty street, my head bowing forward. Hands waving and bouncing. As usual, I stopped by the information station to listen to the situation of the war. A lot of good news is updated here. My gut felt like it was dancing. But it seems that human happiness is really small. Who would have thought that the joy was just a calm day before the storm arose. Stepping out of the information room, I turned to tell my wife a few things and then followed the old district way. I stopped by the pub. Here, groups of displaced people are sitting up and down. Hearing a woman say that the Westerners entered the village of Dau market, it was terrorized, I was worried, turned around and stammered:

– It… It entered the village of Oil, bro? How many guys can we kill?

– Can’t kill anyone. The whole village of them Vietnamese and Westerners, what else do they kill!

The woman’s voice was shrill, full of anger. It was like a bucket of cold water splashed in my face. I was shocked. His throat was tight, his face was numb, he thought he couldn’t breathe. The corners of the eyes kept twitching, the nerves seemed to be numb. After a long time, I strained, swallowed something stuck in my neck, and asked again, my voice completely lost:

– Is it true, bro? Or just…

– Then we were just down there and up here, but…

I didn’t finish speaking when people spoke. Definitive. Probably like a nail. I’m dumbfounded. Both ears ringing. Can’t hear anything anymore. The other’s voice seemed to be mixed with the wind. I paid for the water, staggered to my feet. Closing his mouth, he smiled faintly:

– Ha, it’s sunny, let’s go back…

I lowered my head and walked away. I thought briefly of the landlady. When I got home, I lay down on the bed, the children saw that I looked different today, sneaking out to the front of the house to play darkly with each other. When I look at my children, I feel sorry for myself, and I have tears in my eyes…

-Are they also the children of the Vietnamese village? Are they also scorned by people? Damn, at my first age… I clenched my fists and hissed:

-They fly to eat a piece of rice or something in their mouth and go to work like this fake Vietnamese selling water to humiliate like this!

No wonder the people in the village can cut it like that. I checked each person in my mind. No, they’re all spiritual people. They stayed in the village. Determined to live one life and die with the enemy, there is no way to dare to do such a humiliating thing!… But how could such news arise? But Chief Buu is definitely a villager. If there is no fire, how can there be smoke? Who is it that people make up things like that? Wow! Extremely humiliating, the whole Vietnamese village! Then how do you know how to do business? Who people contain. Who do they trade? Throughout this Vietnam, people are disgusted, people hate the Vietnamese breed that sells their country… How many villagers are left, scattered in each direction, I don’t know if they have understood this situation yet?

No one said a word that night, the space was strangely quiet. Then the same whispering voice as usual:

– Hey, teacher.

I lay down on the bed and said nothing.

-Is he asleep?

-What? I move slightly:

-I see people say… I snapped:

-Know!

I think it’s creepy. A whole life of darkness and old woes emerges in his mind. I can’t go back to that village anymore. Will I lose everything now? It can not be! The village is really in love, but if the village follows the West, then it has to be hostile. I held my youngest son in my arms, patted his back gently, and asked softly:

– Huck that! Let me ask you, who are you?

– It’s the teacher’s son, how many children do you have.

-Where is your home?

My house is in the village of Cho Dau.

-Do you like going to Dau market village? The boy leaned his head on my chest and replied softly:

-Yes. I hugged him tightly and asked after a long time:

– Oh, let me ask you. So who do you support? The boy raised his hand, boldly and clearly:

– Long live Uncle Ho Chi Minh! Tears welled up in my eyes, running down my cheeks. I whispered:

– Yes, that’s right, support Uncle Ho.

That afternoon, a brother from the same village came to visit, also from Dau market, friends. I dressed neatly and followed him. I rushed to forget to tell the children to look after the house. I didn’t come back until dark. The sad face every day suddenly became happy and radiant. Mouth chewed betel nut, eyes hung red, blinking… As soon as I reached the alley, I spoke up:

-Where are you, let’s share the gifts.

Then I rushed to Uncle Thu to show off:

-It burned my house down, boss. Smooth burning. The president of my village has just rectified… Rectify the fake news that we are Vietnamese in the Dau market village. Lies! It’s all over, nothing. It’s all wrong on purpose!

That’s the story, folks. Thinking back now, I still can’t forget the feeling when I heard the news of the rectification. Because I have faith in the Party, in Uncle Ho and in my village, the resistance has won as it is today. I hope through my story people will love their homeland more.