The winter of the year 1947, amid the biting cold of the Central Vietnam as my family returned from the evacuation during the scorched-earth resistance, we endured three great losses due to illness and famine. That winter, my village was relentlessly raided and swept by both French and Japanese forces. In the winter of 1952, I was born, and my family was already burdened by a great flood and months of prolonged hunger. For this reason, winter has always left my family with indelible memories of grief and hardship. And now, another winter—of the year 2024—is quietly passing by.

A Year of the Dragon with favourable weather is a rare sight. This winter has gradually turned warmer. Photo: VAN QUY DUC

1. In 1947, in the villages of Thanh Quyt and Ngu Giap, the French forces scoured the area, forcibly recruiting young men into the army. My father recounted that, besides the two major outposts of Bo Bo and Ngu Giap, numerous smaller forts were newly established, such as Huong Sen, Phong Luc, Go Phat, and Truong Giang. At that time, people lived in dire poverty, and young boys and girls had to carry baskets to the fields each day to collect buffalo dung, then trade it for rice to feed the elderly.

The women stayed hidden at home, spined thread and weaved fabric on makeshift looms hastily repaired after returning from evacuation. They secretly carried their handmade goods to sell in exchange for food and medicine for the sick. After the three tragic losses of my great-grandfathers and grandmother, my father had to shoulder a pair of baskets to pretend to be a merchant. He fled to Hoi An, working as a servant to evade conscription while earning money to support the family.

At that time, people lived in dire poverty. Teenagers carried bamboo baskets into the fields daily to gather cow dung, then trade it for rice to feed the elderly. The women stayed hidden at home, spined thread and weaved fabric on makeshift looms hastily repaired after returning from evacuation. They secretly carried their handmade goods to sell in exchange for food and medicine for the sick. In the winter of 1952, when I was just a few months old, floods and crop failures struck. My mother, though still recovering from childbirth, had to wade through the fields, to glean rice—down to the smallest grains—to feed her child. "In the Year of the Dragon, hungry for knowledge, hungry for rice, / I cried for milk, my mother’s breasts left dry..." These are lines of poetry I later wrote, reflecting on my early childhood.

Twelve years later, in the Year of the Dragon, 1964, a devastating flood claimed the lives of thousands people across the provinces of Quang Nam, Thua Thien, and Quang Ngai. That year, my mother gave birth to my younger brother in the midst of the flood. Weakened by exposure to floodwater, she lost her milk and suffered from malnutrition, and her skin pale and sallow. My mother and newborn brother had to take shelter in the loft of an old buffalo stable in the village. At 12 years old, I had to catch a bus to Da Nang after the flood to seek donations of old clothes, rice, and milk to help my family. The sight of the entire village starving while bloated carcasses of cattle floated around and sprouting grains of rice ruined by the floodwater was heartbreaking. Watching buffalo climb onto rooftops to eat bamboo leaves was heartbreaking and seeing adults snatch relief food meant for children shed even more tears...

2. In the winter of 1973, storms and floods ravaged many parts of the North. At the time, as a university student, I wrote a poem for a newspaper, though I only remember two lines: "Storms fall somewhere in the distant North / I live alone under the Southern skies…" My literary friends praised it, but I simply said it was perhaps a reflection of my childhood experiences—a deeply personal feeling. In truth, storms and floods, like wars, bring destruction and suffering wherever they occur. They leave families broken, homes ruined, and hunger in their wake. And how could it be any different, especially when we are all Vietnamese?

In 1997, and especially in the historic years of 1999 and 2000, devastating storms and floods once again struck the central provinces of Vietnam. At the time, I was working for a major newspaper—one that not only reported the news but also engaged extensively in charitable activities. This allowed us to be present in many central provinces, from Phu Yen, Binh Dinh, Quang Ngai, and Quang Nam to Hue, Quang Tri, Quang Binh, as well as Ha Tinh and Nghe An. The relief missions to aid flood victims during those sorrowful winters remain etched in my memory, filled with countless tearful moments.

There were years when reporters spent more days carrying relief supplies than writing reports. Places like Ngan Sau and Ngan Pho in Ha Tinh, the remote Nam Nam communes (five communes in Nam Dan) of Nghe An, Hai Rieng district (Tuy Hoa), Dar Krong (Quang Tri), Le Thuy (Quang Binh), or the Dong and Tay regions of Quang Nam became all too familiar. Even now, thinking back on those experiences, they remain deeply haunted.

The images of the Pa Ko ethnic minority mothers living in the open air in Huc Nghi along the Laos border or from Hai Rieng in western Tuy Hoa were in my mind as if it happened yesterday. The coffins swept away by the floods from the cemeteries in Duc Tho and Ngan Sau (Ha Tinh) after the past flood still send shivers down our spines. The bodies of people, still wearing their raincoats, were recovered by the police after the floods in Hoa Vang and Dai Loc, and the cries of their relatives made everyone around them weep as well.

An elderly man in Trieu Phong District was swept away by the flood, and lie dead in the garden, while the coffin his family had prepared for him was still lying unused under the collapsed tin roof after the flood. The young people could not hold back their tears. Tragedy piled upon tragedy after each violent flood during the winters I’ve experienced. And this doesn’t even account for the many homes swept away, roads, irrigation channels, and bridges destroyed after every devastating winter flood in Central Vietnam.

3. This winter, I cycled around Da Nang each morning. Along the riverbanks, reeds have bloomed abundantly this year. “There probably won’t be any more floods,” an elderly farmer confidently remarked. In many places, people have begun plowing their fields, and rice seeds are already being sown. Winter crops have grown lush and green. Everyone is filled with joy. A peaceful and harmonious year in the Year of the Dragon is a rare blessing. This winter has gradually grown warmer. Hearts are now eagerly awaiting Christmas and the New Year. Soon, people will reflect on a year passed in peace and prosperity. May winter always arrive within each of us, bringing new ways of doing and thinking!

Reporting by TRUONG DIEN THANG – Translating by HONG VAN