Time Walk

The first thing my grandfather did was to take out of a wooden box that had faded from the past a teapot and six porcelain cups with delicately curved patterns. My grandfather did not know when this teapot and six porcelain cups were made, because according to him, when he was my age, they were already present on the altar during the full moon days of the New Year. The depth of time had settled in the small space of the teapot, the bottom of the cups and lingered through the cracks caused by the hot, cold, dry, and humid weather blowing in.

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My grandfather carefully washed each one with warm water and then dried it with a towel. His rough hands bore the marks of years of hard work digging and clearing the fields, but now they were very gentle and soft. He told me that this was one of the few remaining treasures of his family, so he had to take responsibility for preserving it. Many generations of ancestors and grandparents had built it, going through wars, natural disasters, and life after life to survive. He told stories as he worked, his white hair and beard quivering in the cold wind. He was at ease both in his stories and in his every movement.

When the clock struck nine o'clock in the morning, he slowly stood up, walked to the cupboard, took out a two-liter jar of water, and slowly tilted the jar to let the water flow into the kettle. Next, he slowly poured the water into each cup. Choosing nine o'clock in the morning was just a family convention from the past until now. Some people also believe that this is the time when people are most open and peaceful, so they should do things with spiritual value. My grandfather said that this is the water to worship ancestors during Tet. The water to worship is rainwater that he has stored for a long time. To have that much rainwater for Tet worship is a great feat. He chose days with clear blue skies, light winds, and open spaces, but still raining, which is good. Waiting for the rain for a while, washing away the dirt on the porch, in the space, so that the raindrops are like pearls, falling evenly. Before collecting the water, he bathed, changed clothes, and lit an incense stick in front of the porch to pray to heaven and earth. My grandfather did this job meticulously and skillfully, from one Tet holiday to the next. I followed him around my entire childhood and as I grew up, I vaguely realized that my grandfather's spiritual values ​​and devotion had increased and deepened, and had been there since the beginning.

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The days of Tet were very meaningful to my grandfather. On the morning of the 30th of Tet, the first day of spring, and the second day of the month when the church candles were being extinguished, my grandfather changed the water. The same figure, the same gentle, practiced movements, seemingly simple, but with all the heart that my grandfather had spent so many years doing, my grandfather kept them.

Now my grandfather has passed away. My father continues to maintain this work. However, the current life is full of worries, the flow of time changes faster, so my father cannot be as meticulous as my grandfather was before. I tiptoed out of the bamboo fence of the village to the city to study and make a living, but the memories of my grandfather are still intact. The first lessons about humanistic society, about Vietnamese culture, I suddenly understood that my grandfather's actions, even though it was just a family convention, even though it was just a habit, were a truly noble wordless lesson to our ancestors that we, as descendants, need to hold on to.

Although we cannot hold on to time as it passes, what we leave behind and what we take with us is up to us, ourselves.