Nhan Dan - “Lady, which floor, please?” I asked the young woman who was sharing my lift. She just smiled, not uttering a word.

There were two days left before Tet. It was raining without let-up. A winter rain and Hanoi, as cold as it usually was, was much colder with it. Anh Thuy and her husband had just come home from Russia. Over a decade living away from home, she, a doctor of linguistics, had time and again waited and longed for coming home to enjoy Tet and to be back to the fold with her mother for the first time.

He was on the wrong side of sixty, so it wasn't unusual for veteran Hong to forget things from time to time. For example, early this morning, he was on his way upstairs to fetch his empty thermos to fill with some water he had boiling in the kitchen on the ground floor. Half way up, he remembered that it was time for his favourite soap opera, so he went downstairs at once to enjoy the programme.

More than 1,000 items including books, maps, photographs and documentary films about Vietnam's sea and islands are on exhibition at the National Library of Vietnam

By the time I got to the hotel, Ngoc had already been checked in for nearly two hours.

After Auntie Thuy went off on a long tyrade that she didn't think I could understand she finally concluded: "Men are terrible. We shouldn't believe anything they say."

In my late teens, I left my home village to attend university. It was an autumn day full of brilliant sunshine with a slight breeze that gently caressed my face. As I stood on the dyke, I turned back to see my village half hidden behind the opposite dyke across the river. On the rippled surface of the water, the ferry made its way against the turbulent current. All of a sudden, I noticed something I had never seen before: with the passage of time and the flow of water, the boat was older and crankier, yet it left no traces of its presence behind in the water. Now at the age of over forty, in retrospect, I realise that my ridiculous idea was vague and naive but a bit romantic.

The man stared at the half-smoked cigarette burning on the tray. Smoke rose straight up at first, then curled up and around in circles before vanishing into the air. "That's also my fate," he said to himself. At the age of 35, his life seemed likely to go downhill in the same way that his cigarette was on the verge of being fully consumed.

The wharf in my village extended for several kilometres and ended at a deserted landing platform. It was previously called Lau (reed) Wharf because reeds grew abundantly there. At this low section of the river, the current flowed very slowly so it was a great place for men and boys to swim. But after many women mysteriously died in this place, especially when several dead bodies washed ashore, it was given a horrible new name – the Haunted Wharf. Villagers, old and young alike, did there best to stay away from it, leaving it completely desolate after just a few years.

Although I was a practical girl, thank God I was also blessed with a lot of other virtues: youth, good health, talent and, to be frank, beauty.

Although she was young, Bong was a talented painter. Lan, a ‘Cai Luong’ (reformed theatre) artiste and the elder sister of Bong's father, was the first to discover the girl's gift.

In the third lunar month it was drizzling and slightly cool but it was still warm enough for buds to appear on the plants and trees. When I got upstairs I closed the windows and switched on the lights to keep any warmth inside. To my surprise, I saw an old figure standing at our gate and staring inside when I looked out the window. At first I didn't think much of it so I went downstairs and settled into a childish squabble between my two little daughters. In the courtroom, I always adjudicated the cases before me fairly and did my best to favour the honest people in accordance with the law but at home solutions to my daughter's quarrels were rarely impartial. "As the elder sister, you have to make concessions to your sister because she's much younger than you," I often found myself telling my oldest.

In the small hours of the night the weather changed markedly. She had to get out of bed to alleviate some of the tension that had built up in her chest from all the excitement and heavy breathing. Afraid that the noises might wake up her daughter, she tiptoed to the window and opened it. The nocturnal atmosphere in the Western Highlands was uncomfortable indeed. The sky was overcast. A heavy mist was slowly falling. "It might rain," she said to herself. "Well, I'll pray to God for a shower in any case!" she thought. In her entire life she had never wished for rain so earnestly: rain for herself, and for her orchard, and its countless withered buds that lay thirsty for water. Just one downpour and her coffee trees would burst into full blossom and fill the air with their strong scent.

My father brought home an old man on Lunar New Year's Eve. "I just met him downtown. He was my comrade-in-arms during the anti-American struggle. We were very close. Now I wish to support him here in our home," he said to me. I stared at the stranger. He was black in all respects: clothes, canvas shoes, hair and complexion. His eyes were dull and blank like those of a mannequin. As I looked into them, I could hardly guess what the newcomer was thinking. It looked like he had been loitering about in a marketplace, like a tramp, and going from house to house to ask for alms. His hair was clumped together like a bunch of wool stained with mud. Worse still, his body was so dirty that flies swarmed all over his limbs.

In the distant past, Tan Hung Village was not much more than a forest, with vast areas of land spread between houses. Tigers, foxes and a variety of birds found refuge within the borders of the village. After a family tragedy, one woman and her four brothers were forced to move south to settle. The first brother had chosen Bien Hoa as his home; the second one, Vinh Long; the third, Go Cong; and the fourth had selected Ben Tre to make his home with her. But unfortunately this brother had suffered a stroke and died, leaving her to live alone in this desolate land with two orphans they had picked up along the way.

Mr Hai Nhut's little house was located in an isolated area at the end of Cay Dua (Pineapple) Hamlet, next to the Y-Shaped Bridge and Cho Doi Junction. He lived alone, without wife or children. It was safe from flooding during the rainy season because it was built high on stilts.

They were a happy and well-matched couple. He was tall with a fairly square face while his wife Xuan Hoa was lanky and pretty. After their wedding, they lived in a small house set aside for them by his office. When the office moved, some employees were provided with plots of land or new apartments. He, however, decided to buy the little house from the company because his wife liked it

The sun was beginning to set in the western edge of the city. At this hour of the day, several people were waiting for lottery results at Mrs Beo's refreshment stall, including a woman who was sitting still on a nearby bench. The middle-aged woman was dressed like a girl in her late teens. Her white skinny jeans moulded to her legs as her low cut red T-shirt exposed the upper part of her padded bra. Her wavy locks of hair flew shoulder length over her shoulders, hiding half of her face, which was sharp and amorous, and a thin pair of lips which gave her a sharp-tongued look.

The day my oldest daughter was admitted to the Viet Nam - Cuba Junior High School was a happy one. This type of success was the dream of all parents in our neighbourhood. The school was famous for its magnificent architectural structure as well as by virtue of the morals and efforts of its teaching staff. My wife prepared a special celebratory feast of a dozen fried spring rolls for me and our two daughters when we learned our oldest would be a pupil in Mrs Bao Lan's fourth grade class.

He promised to take me around on the Eve of the Lunar New Year to pick buds for good luck. I did not notice when I loved him. I asked him when he loved me, he also shook his head. It meant that we had no love at first sight. So how did we love each other? It was probably true that our love was as light as spring rain. Those tiny rain drops, even at times so tiny as morning dew. It was the light rain, but trees started having green buds. The buds blossom and bear fruit.