Illustration After a period of continuous sunshine that seemed to drain all the water sources in all lakes and ponds in the City, one afternoon, the weather was suddenly sweltering and strangely quiet. And shortly after, the dark clouds came from nowhere. Lightning flashed through the sky, accompanied by a deafening thunderclap of thunder. When I was a child, whenever it was thundering, I was often afraid to tremble and frantically look for my mother to hide. Only a hug and a gentle word: “I’m here, don’t be afraid” brought peace of mind to the child that day. The wind started to rise. The trees on the side of the road twisted and twisted in the stormy rain. Once, I walked on Tran Phu Street in a thunderstorm and was in the “rain of leaves”. The poor crocodile leaves were blown off the branches by the wind and thrown onto the pavement. Here and there, trees with broken branches and stumps fell on the road. The signs in front of the store also vibrated. Everyone rushed to find shelter from the rain. Then the rain came. The first raindrops were big and fluffy, falling on the hot pavement and being absorbed quickly. The rain poured down, the raindrops swirled and the fury of the wind poured down on all things. Hanoi street blurred in the rain. Just a moment, the white foaming rainwater flowing on the road swept away all the heat and sadness. The cool air calms down. Each age, we see the rain in a different way. I still remember the few times I hid from my mother to take a shower when I was a child. We kept running from the beginning of the street to the end of the street, even though the raindrops hit our bodies and our eyes sting. The raindrops falling into the mouth are so cool. We also invited each other to pick up fallen crocodiles, phoenix flowers, broken branches… Until now, I still remember the innocent laughter of naughty children. Then the children grew older day by day. The girls already know the meaning of avoiding the rain. There are summer afternoons, the whole group of friends sit folding paper boats, floating on the street in the rain. The colorful paper boats gradually drifted away on the rainy street carrying student poems with tender nostalgia. Thunderstorms come and go very quickly. The wind calmed down and the sky calmed down. After the rain, everything seems to be clearer. Sometimes, after a thunderstorm, if we go to West Lake or go to the outskirts of Hanoi, we will witness a brilliant rainbow after the rain. The color of the rainbow glittering after the rain seems to light up the hope and optimism in us. There are times in human life when we have to face storms. Perhaps the most frightening is the silence before the storm hits. That is when our hearts are filled with fear and confusion before the event. But, when we are strong enough to go through the storm, one day we look back, we will silently thank the past days that made us stronger and more courageous.

The collection of essays Rain in the salty land by Nguyen Chi Ngoan. Photo: Cultural sports. Little stories Spreading over 20 poems, there are strands of memories gathered about a poor countryside, sun-kissed but sparkling fields full of hope of the people of the countryside, full of love and kindness. The first sketch in the author’s painting is the East wind, which carries many happy memories of childhood. The space in the land of U Minh, the author’s hometown, opens up full of haunting, haunting tears filled the air. It is easy to recognize familiar images from a peaceful memory region that contains a longing bewilderment filled in childhood nostalgia. There was the sound of ducks calling in the afternoon, there were silences sobbing the familiar scent of the countryside deeply imprinted in the subconscious of children far from home. Like the smell of grandma’s eucalyptus oil, the mother’s braised fish sauce or the father’s bottle of massage, covering a clear life, full of Western breath, unique. With a gentle and simple voice, the author skillfully weaves each small story in the collection of prose as if telling his own story. The images in Nguyen Chi Ngoan’s prose appear so simple and true. “Sometimes my mother asked for a few slices of banh tet from a neighbor to dry, but we and I had more slices of crispy fried banh tet.” That lack still does not rob people of their generosity and affection: “Mother smiles, she dries them for the children in the neighborhood. They like it as much as they do now.” But in the harsh and intense color array of nature, “salty land” is not a punishment of heaven and earth, but it is just a challenge and puzzle that nature has bestowed, from which there are crystallization of species. firmly rooted trees rise above the land where one can find sweetness in every grain of salty soil. Young author Nguyen Chi Ngoan. Photo: FBNV. The heart of the people of U Minh land Perhaps, through this collection of poems, the author and young teacher Nguyen Chi Ngoan skillfully let us fly up and see the beauties of this life: “Even though the salty smell permeates every tooth root, we can see the beauty of this life. I still live in harmony with the land and people, just like the salty land still silently nurtures desires. Living in hardship but dreams still bloom. Through the little book, the author instills in us a feeling of loving others, loving life, and loving ourselves more. And when you open your heart to each page of the book, readers will see before their eyes the sunny rivers, as if they want to burn the hairs of children. There are no storks flying straight, no kite flutes in the salty dry fields or the shaded gardens of childhood. But the author is not pessimistic about “salty soil”. The passages carry the color of a sparkling sadness full of hope. I see that the author is deeply embracing the soul of his homeland. He diligently planted the green sprouts that rose like a sturdy cactus in the sand and windy desert. Choosing a separate intersection that is relatively sparse compared with contemporary 9X-age authors, Nguyen Chi Ngoan has blown a lively and passionate Western breeze with his closeness, traditional lifestyle and characteristics of Vietnamese people. river region, creating a very unique flavor for delta literature. The way the author chooses to return to the topic of awnings listening to the rain and sunshine, dinghy or white reed hills flickering in memory. With a very personal life material, the Western space appears gently, gently awakening the hearts of readers to find their own souls and forgotten memories in the chaos of life. The charming view can be touched to feel the way of life, the liberal and generous features of the river filled with emotions.

Touching the sound of the small rain outside the eaves, sobbing, remembering the distant childhood days. Round raindrops reflect the father’s low legs, carrying all the pots and pans to catch the leaking thatched roofs; The sound of the mother’s lullaby shivering from the cold, the thin arms embracing the child’s dream… Loving the mother’s bare feet bleeding when running, loving each wrinkle on the father’s forehead imprinted with the flash of lightning in the East… Everyone’s youth is like summer. But showers often come suddenly without warning. Therefore, the youth never gets wet a few times. The trembling hand held by the phoenix root on the day of parting, until now the warmth is still lingering. Bewilderedly watching the white ao dai disappear into the wedge-like stream of people, the back of my bicycle was only full of rain. The green promise hidden in the bag, do you remember or have you forgotten? Randomly meeting again, aimlessly calling the rain that year, people laughing, reminding them of children’s stories. At the end of the day, the showers filled the city with sighs. At the corner of the street, a hawker stood nestled on the porch of a house. Her eyes were immense as she looked at the white rain, the shriveled load lying in the old basket. Someone pumped a car quietly sitting on their knees at the foot of the overpass while the wind whistled overhead. The thin raincoat could not hide the bruised lips that were trembling from the cold. There was a woman with a hat on her back, riding a bicycle to turn a gray storm, guarding the three stations with all sorts of plastic bottles, cardboard, scrap aluminum. Any rain will stop. A fierce storm will return peace. Woke up this morning, the rain that had been pouring down all night washed away a clear morning. It’s been a long time since a child far from home has been able to breathe in the steamy smell of earth. The screams of the hawkers and the clattering footsteps seemed to be busier than usual. Sipping hot coffee, mumbling a few unlucky verses: “Rain connects heaven and earth. Rain connects me to me…”.