Third Prize: Humanities - A spectacular touch on the border of dreams

Everyone has their own dreams, and each day that passes, the dream jar gets fuller and more colorful. As a 20-year-old girl like me, I am happy because I have a huge fortune of wish jars.

When I was a child, I dreamed of becoming a pilot because I wanted to fly in the sky, to be a free person. My father often said that girls should be flight attendants, not sitting in the cockpit. I thought, I wanted to directly control my plane to its destination.

A little older, I wanted to become a teacher, to “knock children’s heads” every day, to teach them their first sentences, to teach them to spell, to write essays. Then when I grew up, I wanted to be a journalist, to travel a lot, to experience many things, to set foot in places I had never been, to try foods I had never eaten, to meet people I had never known. In the eyes of a little girl who was determined and fully aware of her own future for the first time, I was passionate about that little dream, drawing each stroke on it every day, carefully placing it in a wish box.

The days gradually passed away like white foam waves dissolving into the ocean, I grew up and took my first steps in my own "plane". University was probably the first stepping stone that I had in this long and interesting journey.

That day, a naive girl just stepped into the school, I felt so small. Freshly arrived in the city, quietly watching the school with the old trees tolerantly embracing each letter of the nameplate, I never stopped being happy and proud. Love cannot start from short moments, but love at first sight is the illogicality of such logical things. That is how I love my school.

One cannot love everything about the other person, but one will learn to accept their clumsiness and shortcomings. I have never loved the strong smell of tobacco every time I go to school, but I know that without it, I will lose the memories of this school. From the old stone benches, the rough trees, the ancient colored bricks, I have never loved it with the maximum amount of my feelings, but if one day my Humanities suddenly loses such simple and plain things, I will certainly not be able to help but feel disappointed. The passing years leave their mark on every stone slab, every rough tree hollow, every nostalgic stone bench, ... it has witnessed the growth of this school, witnessed the changes and ups and downs of many generations of lecturers and students.

I like the ancient space of Nhan Van, it reminds me of a bit of nostalgia from a long time ago, that it was also from this gate, 60 years ago, generations of fathers and brothers left school to fight for their own ideals and the nation. Every time I look back at that gate, I wonder when I will say goodbye to this place to fly with my dreams, to collect small dreams together and the great aspirations of the country?

In Nhân văn, one finds a bit of the flavor of ancient French architecture through the grain of the wall, the yellow paint color and the arrangement of each window. I found cultural patterns through these seemingly simple and valuable details. There were times when I was extremely surprised when I understood the cultural symbols hidden deep within them.

The Faculty of Humanities has very young people. They always smile and pursue their dreams relentlessly. I used to miss home so much, I missed it so much that I was on the verge of tears during those days in Hanoi, but it was the very young people here who helped me understand the simple principles of love and know what I needed to do to continue on my path. Those people did not hesitate to travel more than 500km to personally hand out warm clothes to children in the highlands, to soothe the bitter cold in the harsh winter days. Those people also did not hesitate about skin color, hometown, or even appearance to hold hands, help other strong-willed people, share warm hearts and light up the flames of humanity. They are very young, dynamic, confident and full of love. They are students of Humanities.

Nhan Van has very beautiful love stories. Sometimes I sit for hours on a bench in the school yard, watching new feelings being nurtured and blossoming from bright smiles or sweet gestures. They hug the guitar, they sing and give each other the most sincere but also the most mischievous feelings. Love in Nhan Van, it is "green" and gentle!

Humanities has had some great teachers. They are the ones who have devoted their whole lives to research, diligently like bees collecting each drop of fragrant, precious honey, bringing it back to their nests and making the best honey for the next generation. Our class follows the previous generations of students, receiving the crystallization of that knowledge every day and carrying within them a great mission – to live like our teachers.

At Nhân Văn, I found similar dreams, contributed them to colorful wish jars, and wrote them on the pages of my life. We were passionate, surprised, delighted, and loved it with all our hearts. Human life is a series of dreams, but how I dream them and make them come true is a question worth spending my youth to answer.

People often say that love, once fully explored, is no longer complete. I have never fully understood Humanities, because I know that this “person” still makes me love so much. Love is like dreaming and loving your dream for the first time. Humanities for me is a touch of the border, although not really early, but it is spectacular, at least for me.

There will come a day when students like us will burst into tears, saying goodbye to rows of trees, stone benches, and even the pair of white bantam chickens on the schoolyard. Because people have their own resting places, their own stepping stones. And after each of those stages, people must continue. I have to leave Nhan Van, but it is an end for a new beginning, a promise to meet again in the future, when both me and “that person” have changed, grown up, experienced and understood each other more and more.