Phuong



The Last Wish “ You are 18 already, my dear grandchild. My life is going to end soon. My last wish is to see you know about our tradition which is making pottery.”

After that sentence, my grandpa fell into a long sleep again. Pottery is the wonderful tradition that is passing through every generation in my family. I don’t have any ambitions in making pots, my dream is to be a doctor and the two areas are totally not connected. However, I decided to go to our pottery’s factory in Nghe An to fulfill my grandpa’s last wish.

After 4 tiresome hours, I’ve finally reached the factory. People in the factory seemed to be happy about my appearance. It was a big factory which contains so much equipment for making pots that I’ve never seen before, some of it seemed really old like an ancient way. I went to see the products place. I can’t believe what I’ve seen; the place was so beautiful with all the different types of pots. From the porcelain to the earthen type, various different colors but all make a unique beauty for each pot. Over the next few days, I’ve learnt the basic of how to make a pot. It was really boring. My mind couldn’t focus for one minute and I just want to get out of here. When I touched the pot wheel and try to make a basic shape pot. The wheel is like an enemy to me, I couldn’t control it and all the dirt just got all over my face and hands. Whenever I touched the wheel, the only thing that I can think of is disgusting and ugly. I kept my temper down and did it over many times again for my grandpa.

After one month, I’ve finally understood all the techniques of how to make a fine standard pot. I tried to make the most beautiful pot that I could, but I still have the hateful feeling over the pot wheel. I think that I can never like my family’s tradition for my whole life. I brought that pot to my grandpa and hope that he was going to be happy about it. All of the mix feelings kept rising in my head, curious and happy. I showed it to my grandpa, he’s smile and said:

“I’m really happy because you do this for me, but this isn’t what I’m expecting from you. This pot is nothing wrong and it’s really beautiful, too. However, when I looked in it, I can only see the techniques and nothing else. Tradition is not something that you can just go and study it. It’s something very special that was passing through our generations, it means something’s for us to protect it through centuries. When you learn making the pottery. Don’t think that you do this for me, but you do this for your ancestors and family. Remember one thing, don’t make the pot by how much technique that you put in it, do and feel it with your heart and hands, try to discover the magic in it.”

I went back to the factory and hit my view was a boy who age was 8 or 9, tried to make a pot. He was really clumsy showing by the hand’s gestures, all of the earth’s were a real mess. I wondered why he tried to make a pot at the midnight. I asked him: “Why are you making the pot at midnight?” He answered: “I’ve learnt the steps really careful and I always fell, but I loved making the pot so much, it likes a challenge to me. Even now, I can’t create the shapes. I’ve promised to myself that one day, I’ll be able to do it.”

After hearing those, I felt shame for myself. I got the skills but I don’t have the passion. Before this, I didn’t know what I’ve done wrong. I remembered the feeling when I first saw the product’s rooms, the over joy emotions. I realized that my grandpa was right. The pottery tradition was floating in my blood; I just need to discover it.

I sat down with all the materials for one earthen pot. My hands touched the pot wheel; it’s still cold as the last time. However, when I putted on the earth, the wheel started to pin slowly. I closed my eyes. My hands started to create the appearance for the earth, the wheel and my hands move at the same speed, it flows slowly and slowly. It was liked we know each other really well. A small pot has been produced. I felt really happy and curious to know what will it looked after I painted on it.

I started to sketch out what I wanted to draw on it. I used what I have learnt in class for the decorate on the pots and the right colors for each types. My grandfather really liked the countryside, so I think drawing a buffalo or the cranes on the rice field will be fine. Suddenly, there’s a voice in my head told me to draw the image that I truly want to show my grandfather. When I think about him, I remembered my death grandma and their small house with a lot of bamboos over side. I still remembered the last time that I watched the sunset with my grandparents outside their almost broken house, it was a happy moment. I decided to draw that scene and think that my grandpa will be happy to see it.

I carefully choose the right color. In my memory, the bamboos were dark green but it really shines. The sunset has a red orange warm color. No words can describe how happy my grandparents looked. The overall of the scene made my tears fell down when I remembered that happy moment.

I opened my grandpa’s bedroom door. He was awaked and I slowly brought the pot to him. My grandfather touched the pot with silent. I was quiet but inside my heart, it was beating nonstop. After 15 minutes past, the silent kept covered the whole room. Suddenly, I saw the tears slowly came down on my grandfather’s face. The simple expressions on my grandpa’s face showed me that I’ve finally succeed.

[]