When she was a girl, her mother’s hair was long, thick and black, and she said that when she washed her hair, she had to stoop to keep her hair from touching the surface of the well. In those days, there was no super-smooth nourishing shampoo like now, but my mother’s hair was still smooth, put the secret comb on the top of the head, the brush itself drifted down to the ends of the hair. Every time I wash my hair, my mother bakes locusts, picks basil leaves, grapefruit leaves, chrysanthemum tops, betel nut, lemongrass, and lemongrass to cook in a pot of fragrant golden water. The mother’s hair is marinated with the scent of rustic flowers and grass, the smell of grapefruit flowers in March in the grandfather’s garden in Tho Ha ancient village, the scent of chrysanthemum in front of the alley, the pungent smell of locusts behind the house, the smell of fragrant betel nut grass. outside the field. Every time my mother sits at the front of the steps, combing the areca flower’s hair, she tiptoes and drops the scent on her hair. The light of the sixteenth moon gently put thin strands of hair on her hair, her hair floating like a cloud shined brightly.
For more than 10 years, his father worked away from home, and his mother was alone with five children, eggs, eggs, and ducks. Mother was busy with the plowed furrows with the dream of burning the field, the rice crop with thin legs. My family’s field is a low-lying field in Tho Ha ancient village, when the water is flooded to the body, my mother bends down to hold the seedling and plugs it in, the water is all over her mouth. My mother’s thick hair was tied up in a neat bun behind her head, but it was also covered with splashes of mud. Farm work is busy and hard from plowing, sowing seeds, weeding to remove manure, the children are still young, so all of them are taken care of by the mother. When the farmer was waiting for the rice to become cotton, his mother instructed the brothers to do the village’s side jobs, knitting baskets and baskets. The children’s knitting hands are still clumsy, the basket is still distorted, the spokes are still sparse, when the children are fast asleep, the mother sits down, sobs until round, the hair and mother stay up all night under the yellow oil lamp. leap. Every market session when the land was still dim, the north wind blew and it was cold, my mother threw the bamboo products in the early morning mist to the district to sell them in time for the winter market. Coming home from the market in Tho Ha ancient village, it was already dark, before I could rest, just put down the burden, my mother took advantage of the bright moon to go to the field to slap water to prevent the rice plants from drying out. Early morning dew, afternoon sun, late night moon wash my hair for many years, the older the children, the more fibrous and thin the mother’s hair is…
Almost 90 years old, my mother, who used to be in the past, still boils the water of locusts and incense to wash her hair. Every time the girls come to visit, the mother boils a large pot of water for them to wash together. Seeing the children washing their hair with industrial shampoo, the mother quietly went to the garden to pick lemon leaves and pomelo leaves, went to the field to cut the betel nut and herbs to boil until thickened, then put them in bottles to save them when they came back. Then bring it to the city to wash it gradually.
Every time I visit my mother, her hair is thinner. I said, “Mom, your hair is so thin now so I can cut it short” but she shook her head. Mom said that dad likes her to have long hair, which is the traditional Vietnamese woman.
