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.

Under the sun… In May, the sun shines brightly on all roads. Early in the morning, the sun was already rising. Like this morning, the golden sun shines brightly, shining brighter than the blue patches of the sky and white clouds floating in the air. The streets I still go through every day to go to work, the cicadas have played the low-pitched music, the phoenix has sporadic flowering branches and the purple color of the mausoleum. The street suddenly seemed strangely different every day for the summer to the season. Sunny. Very sunny, especially at noon, everyone seems to be rushing on the road to “hide” from the sun. And I, in the depths of my heart, suddenly realized something real, and very real. It was early summer, on my way home from work in the midday sun, and strangely, I missed the sun. Seeing the sun suddenly miss the sun, the nostalgia seems to burst with the silence of worries with myself, with daily joys and sorrows… My birthday is on a day in May. I remember being busy when my mother told me that I must have been born in the sun, so I was black. And I innocently told myself to be like plants and flowers in the garden, growing up in the sun every day. It’s funny to remember the “young and buffalo” time in my hometown, because the sun gave me black skin through many sunny seasons, to forever remember the verses “Homeland is a bunch of sweet star fruit …”, or “Who told the blanket to be a blanket?” buffalo is suffering / I dreamily listen to birds singing high above…”. Yes, it’s like the earth, like the grass, but it’s good, struggling with the sun to cherish in my heart a pure and pure life, reaching up to the vast space, enjoying the sunshine and singing the song of fertility four Seasons… But think back, look at yourself. I used to be in the sun in the field on the beach, I used to rush on the village road with the blazing sun to go to school. Then just like that, I grew up and I went, saying goodbye to my hometown with the village’s bamboo ramparts disappearing to go to the city to study and find work and make a living. I “escaped” gardens, rice fields, rivers, boats and even kites full of wind in the clear blue sky, running away from the sun. And now, every day, I “hide” in working and living rooms with air conditioning or other amenities in the hot season in each passing day. But when I return to my hometown, in the early morning, I see the pure rays of sunshine and the dew drops of last night still wet in my mother’s vegetable garden, or the sunset sun shining in the dark purple horizon in the field. village. Sunshine for the green of the leaves, sunshine on the cheerful faces of children, on the smiles of the people in my hometown in the harvest season… She is innocent, she can see sunshine and sunshine everywhere. Suddenly, I found that, even though it was sunny, I was cool in the midst of the lovely countryside. Therefore, there are times when I miss the sun, an unrelenting nostalgia… In the early summer months of this year, I miss home, miss my hometown with immense sunshine in the distant fields. Homeland is harvesting rice. The people in my hometown are working hard in the fields from early morning until hot noon, or do not finish work until late at night. Sunshine is still sincere and transparent “participating” in their lives, a natural thing. The people of my hometown are still as sincere as the salty soil of the alluvial soil, like the plants and trees that work diligently in the sun to look forward to the bountiful seasons, so that life is full and peaceful for each passing day. Then, every time a meal, whether at home or in the field on the beach, the fatigue disappears, and the joy mingles with the sweet aroma in the pure white rice grains. I see more sunshine again… In the early summer days of May, the sun is still steadily starting each morning this morning. I wrote for me on my birthday, just like the melody of Trinh’s love song “Sunshine” is still earnestly “The color of the sun or the color of your eyes”, “The grass suddenly turns sunny”… Sunny fading into the vast memory. And I’m having a nostalgia. The sun gives me the desire to write something, after I finish writing it, I feel like it’s never been enough. Summer sun!…