There are times when you read a good book, and then there are rare moments when you read the right book - one that finds you exactly when you need it.
Reading the story of Thiều and Tường felt like returning home. It carried the warmth of childhood, that mix of confusion, wonder, and unspoken love we only truly understand once we grow up. As much as I want to embrace adulthood, a small part of me still longs for the simplicity of being a child - carefree, curious, and untouched by responsibility.
Of course, life doesn’t rewind. Now, we share the weight our parents once carried - worrying, planning, caring. Yet, whenever I go home, their familiar fussing over my meals and health makes me feel safe again. In those moments, I briefly return to that carefree life, just for an hour, and that’s enough.
The book beautifully captures this rhythm of growing up, the bond between brothers, the strict father, the anxious mother, the small joys of friendship, and the rawness of village life. Each experience feels like its own story - tender, painful, and real.
I have lived in a village too. I remember running around with friends, making up stories, and slowly outgrowing them. I don’t wish to be a child again, but I do wish to live one carefree hour every day, a moment free of deadlines, duties, and expectations.
Through a child’s eyes, this book reminds us of innocence, love, and the bittersweet beauty of growing up. It’s honest, unfiltered, and quietly powerful.