The lotus field in the middle of the plain was only glimpsed fleetingly, a moment of regret, as the car sped far past. But perhaps, the field, the color of the blooming lotuses, the green lotus leaves—all of them still linger in the memories of those who caught a glimpse of it through the window that day.
It seems that everyone feels a sense of emotion and closeness when it comes to lotus flowers.
Everyone has at some point stood before a blooming lotus, inhaling its wonderfully lingering fragrance—a scent of remembrance, a scent of serenity. Therefore, seeing a lotus evokes memories of scent, memories of fragrance, and memories of pure, hard-to-find happiness.
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"It seems that everyone feels a sense of emotion and closeness when it comes to lotuses." |
The lotus flowers are surely like hands clasped open and closed. Hands clasped together like lotus buds concealing their fragrance, a gesture of reverence similar to when we clasp our hands before our ancestors or before the Buddha we venerate.
My hands are clasped, concealing incense, while my heart is fragrant with gratitude for being in this world, for living to this moment, and for offering my remaining kindness to my ancestors. No matter how many pieces my life may be shattered into, it doesn't matter, because I still have my roots and origins.
My hands spread out like a blooming lotus, trying to gently send the fragrance that the lotus has preserved deep within its petals to those around me.
The scent is enough to comfort sad hearts, inspire joyful hearts to share their happiness, and heal broken hearts.
The lotus is so wondrous, how can one not feel affection when seeing it? How can one not feel a little joy when approaching it?
The lotus flowers of our childhood were nestled in the pond of Tèo's house in the same neighborhood.
Teo's house was a few gardens and dozens of rice paddies away from mine. Teo's pond, full of lotus flowers, was the one we passed every day on our way to school. What attracted us wasn't just the flowers, but the green lotus pods laden with seeds.
From the tender, green seeds that haven't yet emerged from the lotus pod, which are sweet and delicious when peeled and eaten, to the mature, plump seeds that protrude and look inviting.
We kids made Tèo's parents throw bamboo stakes around the pond to make a fence because they were afraid we'd wade in and steal the lotus flowers, not because they were afraid of losing the flowers, but because they were afraid something might happen to us. "The pond may look small, but the water is very deep," Tèo would often warn us.
Of course, occasionally some mischievous boys would sneak in and pick a few lotus stems, lotus pods, and lotus leaves for the girls in their class.
Of course, none of them shared the same lotus leaf because they were too busy fighting over the mysterious lotus pods, but such lotus seasons filled the hearts of the young students who were about to go on summer vacation.
Every time I passed by Teo's house, I would exclaim in wonder at how many lotus flowers were blooming that day, and inhale the gentle fragrance of the orchids wafting through the poor neighborhood.
Back then, we didn't pay attention to the fact that our friends were peeling lotus seeds, taking out the plump white kernels for their mothers to sell at the market, to the point where their fingernails were so dull they dug into their skin.
We could only exclaim in admiration that Teo's house was the most romantic. Some even said he might become a writer someday, or if not, constantly smelling the lotus flowers might turn him into a monk.
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My hands spread out like a blooming lotus, trying to gently send the fragrance that the lotus has preserved deep within its petals to those around me. The scent is enough to comfort sad hearts, inspire joyful hearts to share their happiness, and heal broken hearts. The lotus is so wondrous, how can one not feel affection when seeing it? How can one not feel a little joy when approaching it? |
We continued to joke around like that, until one day, Teo stopped coming to class. Back then, skipping school was normal; if someone didn't want to go to school anymore, they just dropped out. Teo didn't go to school because he had been in school for eight or nine years and only made it to the 5th grade.
He studied there before our generation even started school, and he was still there when we left elementary school. He was a slow learner, but Teo was the kindest and gentlest person in the neighborhood.
He always pitches in to help anyone he sees doing something. He didn't go to school, but he's good at everything, like steering a big boat loaded with guavas to be weighed, or using an outboard motor to transport people from the neighborhood to the hospital on the other side of the river if anyone is sick.
He didn't go to school, but he didn't seem too sad, because he still innocently chirped "eh eh" when he saw us, and innocently offered us lotus branches, saying, "Here, take these, put them on the Buddha altar." I think Teo's pure soul must be thanks to living next to a lotus pond.
Mentioning lotus flowers brings back a flood of memories. And a flood of new, related stories emerge. Once, a friend sent me tea wrapped in lotus flowers, vacuum-sealed, which could be preserved for a year if frozen.
I tried unwrapping the tea bag, and everything was still fresh: both the flowers and the leaves. I heard that wrapping tea with lotus flowers takes a lot of effort, and then there's the matter of keeping the lotus leaves fresh so that when the user opens the vacuum-sealed bag, they're surprised – it's not easy at all. Yet, when I tried it, it didn't suit me very well – for me personally.
The lotus fragrance is intensely rich and thick in the mouth, rising up with a strong, sweet aroma, as if you were in a closed room with a thousand lotus flowers blooming at once.
It feels like I could hold a thousand lotus flowers in my mouth and still not feel as happy or joyful as when I stand by the pond at Tèo's house.
That place has the scent of the fields, the river, the mud, and a subtle, lingering fragrance of lotus flowers. It's hard to fool those who have been accustomed to distinguishing the authentic scents of home, of the countryside, of each rice plant and lotus petal since childhood.
As an adult, I revisited my childhood, visiting a friend's house to ask for a few lotus stems to place on the Buddha altar. I saw my friend, now elderly, still smiling gently and readily wading into the water to pick an armful of lotuses without hesitation. My friend, with a heart as fragrant as a gentle lotus, is at its most beautiful when it belongs to its rightful place.
MINH PHUC