The mission of the writer

I still remember clearly the first morning of the year of the Rat 2020, when the echoes of Tet still lingered somewhere. The phone rang: "Come to the office to meet the Editorial Board to receive an urgent assignment!" - the head of the department's voice was brief but urgent, making me nervous. My journalistic instinct told me that this was not an ordinary call. And that was true, that call opened the most special journey in my journalistic life - a journey not only of reporting news, but also of engaging in the heart of the epidemic, where I put on protective gear and became a true "soldier" on the silent front, called "fighting Covid-19".

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With a confused and worried mind, I left the room after receiving my first assignment in the middle of the Covid-19 outbreak. At that time, no one could fully imagine the level of danger nor the severity that the pandemic would bring. But then, with the belief and dedication of a journalist, I told myself to step forward strongly, without hesitation or retreat.

Not afraid of new vaccine sources, despite confusing information, I boldly took the lead in getting vaccinated to prevent the epidemic at that time. Photo: PHI LONG

The first time I set foot in the quarantine area, where the epidemic was raging, the air was thick with fear and uncertainty. The normally crowded streets were now silent and deserted, the shops were closed, and each gate was tightly closed as if to shield the people's anxiety. I had entered the quarantine area many times, crossed the blocked alleys, and crept into the field hospital, where every sound of an ambulance made people's hearts ache. At that time, the thin protective suit was like my only talisman. I only had time to bring with me a tape recorder, a camera, a notebook, and my heart was pounding with the uncertainty of the epidemic's developments.

Then, during the months of the pandemic that lasted for a long time, I also had many times when I felt anxious, holding my breath waiting for the test results. Then, without knowing when, with the little experience I had gained during my journey working in the heart of the epidemic, I became the "reluctant female doctor" of the unit. When the medical staff had to focus on the front line, in the rear, I quietly held the test strip, performing each step of the test for my colleagues. Every time I discovered someone with a "red line", my worries piled up, both for my colleagues and for myself, because I had come into close contact with another source of infection.

In tight protective suits, regardless of the weather, medical staff go to each house to test people for Covid.

Social distancing, I sent my two children back to their grandparents. Young children, elderly parents, all of whom are vulnerable, made my steps heavier every time I returned home. I did not choose the main door, but went around to the back of the house, where the porch was, where my mother, hearing the sound of the car, was always waiting with clean clothes, alcohol and a new towel. My father stood nearby, his eyes both worried and quietly proud, looking at his daughter who had just returned after a day of passing through the epidemic area. A few quick greetings, a few words of advice: "Disinfect thoroughly before coming into the house, okay? The children are waiting for their mother to come home..." Just that alone made my nose sting, my heart choked, and hugs during the epidemic season became reserved and measured.

But in the midst of that hardship, I understood that no one was allowed to stand aside. For my colleagues, for the community, and because the battle ahead was not yet over, I chose to put aside my personal feelings, continue my work, with all responsibility and faith, together overcoming the stormy days.

When the Covid-19 epidemic broke out fiercely, meetings, inspections, and visits to the epidemic center and quarantine areas became more frequent. There were urgent, unusual meetings that lasted until after 11 pm, when I left, hurriedly holding a box of sticky rice, sometimes a bun to fill my stomach. There were nights when I almost stayed up all night waiting for the Provincial Party Committee's directive to promptly inform about the epidemic situation as well as the decision to block and quarantine areas.

During nearly 3 years of accompanying that “silent war”, I cannot remember how many hot spots I passed, how many rapid tests I had, or how many hours I spent exhausted in the scorching sun with the stuffy protective gear. I only remember the anxious looks, the tears of separation at the quarantine fence, and the relieved smiles when I knew I was safe.

Temporary markets were set up during the pandemic and social distancing to provide essential goods for people in isolated and buffer zones. At that time, all consumer goods became valuable.

During those moments, I witnessed many times the doctors at the field hospital struggling in each emergency case, where life and death are only separated by a fragile breath. Amidst the sound of the ventilator, the calls of the patients, drops of sweat and tears silently fell on the cheeks of the soldiers in white. It was in those tense moments that made me cry because humanity was still shining brightly.

Each portion of rice, bottle of water, bag of medicine from the hands of soldiers, union members, and volunteer students... is like a warm light in the dark night. There are people who have not returned home for months, have not seen their children, only heard a few sentences over the phone, but still steadfastly stay at quarantine checkpoints and in treatment areas. They risk their health, accept the risk of infection, and even have to quarantine themselves... to keep the community safe.

And then, amid the silent love, there are also unbearable losses, when a phone call to report the death of a loved one becomes helpless because of distance, barriers and strict regulations of epidemic prevention. There is no farewell hug, no incense stick to send off. The epidemic has taken away so many sacred things that nothing can compensate for. But it is in that hardship that I understand more deeply the responsibility of a writer: to record and convey the most authentic things, so that in the future no one will forget the harsh moment when compassion shines brightly.

Looking back on my journey as a journalist in the midst of the pandemic, these are the months I will never forget. Those were not just working hours, but also the time when I truly lived my life to the fullest. Amidst the many lurking dangers, I learned what journalism is, what responsibility to society is, what dedication to the community is. Being able to work in that fierce moment, for me, was both a sacred honor and a tough test of my faith and love for the profession. Through it all, I understood that: Journalism is not just a job - it is a mission!

Hong Nhung

Source: https://baocamau.vn/su-menh-nguoi-cam-but-a39757.html