Where we come from is where we begin.

- Need anything? Someone asked this afternoon.
We are not married and have not proposed to each other yet.
The day the bomb buried my hair and face in the dirt
Lying in the grave with hair not washed yet
Petition for barren cemetery land
Let some soapberry trees grow
The scent is evenly distributed in the illusion of incense smoke.

The verses of Vuong Trong dedicated to the girls at Dong Loc crossroads, stirring in the passionate and sentimental Ha Tinh accent of teacher Lieu, resounded when the convoy carrying more than 100 cadres of the School of Humanities reached the homeland of the great national poet Nguyen Du. When standing in front of the graves of ten young girls, without anyone telling them, the women looked for the silhouettes of two soapberry trees spreading their shade above, embracing the graves with one arm. Hesitating in front of the bomb craters, then quietly strolling around the relic site, many people quickly realized that among the countless green trees that organizations and individuals brought back to plant around here, there were many other soapberry trees bearing fruit. I wonder if the poetic request has spread far and wide, so that hearts that remember their roots can join hands to green this land still marked by bomb craters with the tree species dedicated to girls' long hair?

But yes, here there is not only a remembrance for the ten young girls, inside the Memorial Hall, there is a list of hundreds of young volunteers who fell around the Truong Son range. Looking up at the stone tablets engraved with the names and hometowns of the very young people who fell for this day, each person stops, reading and whispering words of admiration. On holidays, the crowds of visitors flock here even more, the large incense burner is filled with steaming incense sticks. Each incense stick lit, at least brings with it a fleeting thought about the deceased, about the preciousness of peace regained through so many sacrifices. So, with thousands of incense sticks here, the consciousness of turning to the origin is no longer far away but has become a clear, great reality. And each wisp of smoke rising makes gratitude for the past become something close.

School tour group atVung Chua - Yen Island, the resting place of the General (Photo: Nguyen Phuong Lien)

This morning, at each stop, the reverence spread across the faces of each person in the group each time they shared incense sticks. Although the spring weather was gradually getting brighter, the joy and laughter quickly gave way to moments of contemplation and reflection. Was it because the people buried in the graves were too young, Ly Tu Trong and the ten Dong Loc girls were all younger than the cadres in the group? Or was it because those who had pursued scientific fields that nurtured the development of the soul, especially women, were easily moved and emotional; so the grief was easier and quicker to blend with deep gratitude, with a sincere heart towards the past? At the Dong Loc intersection, at Ly Tu Trong's grave, the incense burners all burst into flames, perhaps for those reasons?

Just yesterday afternoon, gathering in front of the tomb of General Vo Nguyen Giap, offering incense one after another, the moments of contemplation quickly replaced the laughter along the long road. Many people lingered to admire the view of the beach with blue water and white sand and the majestic green mountains, listening wistfully to Master Khang's soft words "the air here is very high..." Suddenly feeling more at ease when in the middle of the coastline of more than three thousand kilometers, there was the eldest brother of the army lying there, looking out to the East Sea like a silent message. Looking out to Yen Island, a few children following their mothers with the group were happily playing on the beautiful sandy beach. Oh, those clear eyes, surely the children still do not understand all the things the adults felt during this 2-day trip! But to teach the next generation gratitude, trips like this will become fresh rainwater gradually seeping into the soil. And tradition, which the social sciences and humanities have the duty to preserve, will certainly be more durable by that continuity!