March comes when every available space is full of flowers’ scents and lush green plants. It comes dripping rain, with white cherry-apricot blossoms, the murmur of green pine forests, and pure water sparkling under the first rays of the sun. I take a bus to the city’s suburb in the early morning. The bus is full of sleepy passengers leaning their head near the windows. The bus slowly runs along the familiar road, passing through familiar people. Some boys are playing marbles in front of their house, trying to catch the running spheres which glint in the light of the day’s sun. A girl wearing áo bà ba (traditional shirt) is preparing tea before visiting an old village. A Korean friend wearing nón lá (Vietnamese conical hat) is buying tea, busy with his phone. My girlfriend says she loves saving her trips by photos. The photos are not used to showcase where she has visited or who she has met. Rather they’re for her personal use. In her free time she opens her online dairy, goes through the photos and reminisces upon all the great memories during her trips. In my camera, March is beautiful. It retains the purity of spring but is tinted with a bit of the playfulness of summer. In my photos, a little girl standing on chair finds her March in little red Antigone flowers. Meanwhile, a farmer working in the plateau finds his March on hills covered with white coffee flowers. And, where is your March?

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