Bài mẫu
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I'd like to talk about my father, who retired from driving the number 2 bus in Hải Phòng three years ago and has since turned into the most dedicated photographer I know. I say photographer, but he owns no proper camera; everything is shot on a mid-range phone with a cracked corner. What he photographs is quite specific. He isn't interested in people posing, and he flatly refuses to take selfies. Instead he goes for ordinary street scenes: the flame trees along Tam Bạc Lake in May, a woman sorting crabs at the market, the old men playing Chinese chess outside the railway station. He gets up at five most mornings, cycles around for an hour, and comes home with fifty or sixty pictures, of which he keeps maybe three. The rest of us find out which three because he posts them in the family group chat before breakfast with captions like 'Light was good today.' As for why he loves it, I think there are two reasons. One is that after thirty years of looking at the city through a windscreen and never being allowed to stop, he can finally stop wherever he likes. He once told me, 'I drove past that corner ten thousand times and never really saw it.' The other is that it gives his day a shape, which matters when you've just retired and suddenly nobody needs you at six a.m. I admire it, honestly. Last Tết my sister and I printed forty of his best shots into a book, and he pretended to be annoyed about the cost, then showed it to every single guest who came to the house.