From the story of cá lưỡi trâu—a type of tongue sole, a flatfish that lives close to the riverbed—we are led to think of certain books that carry the same quiet presence. Some are neither loud nor conspicuous, yet once read, they linger, seeping gently into memory without our knowing. ‘Xích Lô’s Notebook’ feels much the same—unhurried, unassuming, yet perhaps capable of carrying us far, in a way that is deeply sincere.
THE STORY OF CÁ LƯỠI TRÂU |
Long ago, in the gentle rivers of the Mekong Delta, there lived a fish with a name both strange and familiar: cá lưỡi trâu.
Its body is thin, flattened, pressed close to the riverbed.
It does not swim fast, does not rise high, does not compete for the current.
Cá lưỡi trâu lives low.
So low that people sometimes forget it is even there. And yet, it is precisely this closeness to the bottom that allows it to understand the riverbed so intimately. It knows where the mud lies soft, where the sand runs fine, where the current turns swift, and where the water rests in stillness. It does not resist the flow, but yields to it, quietly enduring.
People of the Mekong Delta cherish cá lưỡi trâu not because it is rare, but because its flesh is sweet, because its taste lingers, and because it belongs to the humble meals shared after long days in the fields.
Someone once asked, “Why doesn’t cá lưỡi trâu swim higher—so it can be seen, so it won’t be forgotten?” But perhaps it has never wished to stand out. It chooses to remain with the riverbed—where there is less light, yet greater endurance.
Much like many farmers in our homeland.
Unassuming.
Unadorned.
Bending close to the earth, to the water, to the work of each day.
Cá lưỡi trâu offers a simple lesson: moving fast does not mean going far. Rising high does not ensure value. Some values lie very low—if we do not bend down, we may never see them.
Today, when we speak of development, we often speak of peaks, of breakthroughs, of acceleration. Yet sometimes, it is worth pausing to remember: to go far, one must understand the riverbed. To endure, one must learn how to live low.
Like cá lưỡi trâu—quiet, gentle—yet lingering long in the memory of those who have tasted it, cherished it, and lived alongside the flowing waters.
The story of the silkworm spinning its thread evokes a simple yet profound truth: what endures is often shaped by quiet devotion. In a world that rarely grows still, there are those who work in silence, asking for no recognition, yet gently weaving beauty into the fabric of society. It is this persistence, this humility, that helps form the steady ground on which a community—and a nation—stands.
In modern life, sometimes a single familiar flavor is enough to carry us back into the quiet depths of memory. In “Xích Lô’s Notebook”, Lê Minh Hoan writes with a gentle, unadorned voice—leading readers through familiar scenes of the countryside before settling on a simple truth: development does not mean losing one’s roots. This small story invites us to pause, and to reflect more deeply on rural life, culture, and the enduring journey of preserving Vietnamese identity.
In his reflective “Xích Lô’s Notebook” series, Lê Minh Hoan revisits the story of Vilfredo Pareto—told through the simple image of a bean garden—to illuminate a profound insight. More than a statistical rule, the 80/20 principle emerges as a way of seeing: a reminder to look beyond the noise of abundance, to recognize what truly matters, and to act with clarity and intention.
In "Xích Lô’s Notebook" by Lê Minh Hoan, even the smallest moment—a rice seedling leaning in the wind—can open into something deeper. From there, nature quietly offers its lessons on how to live, if we are willing to pause and listen.
A quietly evocative fable by Lê Minh Hoan, featured in the “Xích Lô’s Notebook” series, draws from the familiar image of Viet Nam’s rice fields to illuminate a deeper philosophy of leadership and human conduct. Through the bending rice—heavy with grain—the author reflects on humility, attentive listening, and growth through lived experience, offering a gentle yet enduring lesson for those in public service and beyond.
