Love your eyes

My mother is somewhat not as lucky as many people. From the time she was born, her mother’s eyes were blurred but not bright. The villagers in Tho Ha ancient village still used to call my mother “A Nang blinking”, because her eyes could not see clearly, so she had to raise her eyes to look at…

Hearing people call that, I don’t know if my mother is sad or not, I just see how many days have passed, she is still quietly living diligently, taking care of her family and sticking with neighbors, brothers and relatives. There are rainy days or moonlit nights under the eaves, my brothers and sisters still bury their heads in their mother’s lap and joke: “Mother is older than dad, it’s so ugly, why did dad marry me”? At that time, my mother would probably yell at the right sentence: “Horrible, your father is not very valuable”! And so, my brothers and sisters, each of them was grinning and smiling… When I was a child in Tho Ha ancient village, I used to follow my mother’s burden of cassava to go peddling around the village. Children, who does not like to follow their mother like a tail. But my mother wanted it too. I followed to look after the cassava burden for my mother, but when many people gathered to buy it, it was difficult for her to observe all. The years passed quietly, her eyes blurred and her bare feet were still walking low and high and scratching on the muddy, muddy, and rocky roads. In those years, how could I fully understand the sadness and hardship hidden deep in my mother’s eyes!

I still remember when I had free time in Tho Ha ancient village, my mother used to sit on the edge of the bamboo bed sewing some old clothes of my brothers and sisters to make them healthy. Mother struggled forever to thread the thread through the needle. And even though each needle was slow, the stitches she sewed on each leg of her armpits were never straight. Remembering the times when my mother cut my hair, my brother and I were excited when I heard my mother say what kind of haircut she wanted to cut so that she could cut it for me. We were all the same, some wanted a pony haircut, some liked a chicken haircut… At the end of the day, I realized that each of their heads was neatly trimmed by their mother and was still full of scissors. Knowing that my brothers and sisters seemed displeased, my mother laughed again: “Cut like this to keep it clean and cool”… I love my mother when the village is in season, can’t know how to rest, and her eyes are tired. in each row of plow, row of rice… Even though the plowing path is skewed, the row of transplanted seedlings is crooked, my mother’s feet are still patiently walking in the hot midday sun, her hands are still working hard on the cold field, cutting the skin. meat.

I love my mother who wakes up early every morning to make friends with the fire in Tho Ha ancient village. Mother sat contemplatively, her thin shadow carved on the kitchen wall in the flickering firelight, her eyes deeply thinking… Those blurred eyes helped her hide her painful look at me the day I left home to study in the South, only the tears of love just melt away…Like that, I grew up in love from calloused hands, cracked and sour feet and especially gentle eyes, filled with love, Mother’s Thoughts!

I remember the days when my mother went to the South to hold the grandchild for my wife and me. When I fell asleep, didn’t have anything to do, didn’t know who to talk to, my mother’s eyes stared blankly at the space in front of the house. I know that at that time my mother was also experiencing a nostalgia for her hometown like the mentality of many people who had to leave their familiar umbilical cordage burial place. In the middle of the noisy city, how can you hold onto the hearts of those who are used to walking barefoot around the village in the lower neighborhood like a mother. Just because I love you, I miss you, so I have to be like that.

My mother is now in her late afternoon, her eyes are even more blurred than before. When I get to sit with my mother, I like to hold her hand for a long time, looking at her happy face with those kind eyes. When I look into my mother’s mirror, I see that my eyes are brighter and my heart is brighter!

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