You people from my old country, tell me what happened there! When you passed my window, was it Plum or Han Mei? -Wang Wei Everyone has a dream land in his heart. Think of it when you are proud, think of it when you are frustrated. Every year, every festival, I will be moved by that scene and think of it anytime and anywhere. The vast sea and sky are dusty, and after the lights of the bar are exhausted, the beautiful scenery, autumn wind and late rain in Luoyang can't help but make people miss it. Far away, people are sad: "There are dozens of frosts in Bingzhou, and I miss Xianyang day and night, crossing the mulberry dry water for no reason, but I hope that Bingzhou is my hometown." I can finally go home, but I feel uneasy: "The books outside the ridge are broken, and winter goes and spring comes." Now, near my village and meeting people, I dare not ask a question. The word "stranger" sounds bleak. Meeting an old friend in another country is a fast life. The daughter of a timid boatman can't help beaming when she occasionally hears a little local accent on the river. She forgot to be shy and accosted a strange man across the boat: "where is your home?" "Near here, next to the fishing pond? . Let's catch our boat together and see if we belong to the same town ... "The vast space and leisurely time will not dilute this feeling: this is the local complex. Xiu Yuan's life journey is bumpy, starting from childhood. The world that people first see-almost the whole world-is the hometown where I was born and raised. He began to feel hungry, cold and warm. He was sad, crying and laughing. He began to feel love from his mother's arms, his father's eyes and the teasing of his relatives. But I know the other side of love and hate, but only after a little contact with personnel. One mountain, one water, one insect, one bird, one grass and one tree, one week, one cold and one summer, one vulgar moment, one wisp of one sip, all melt into the flesh and blood of childhood and are inseparable. And it may be rooted in this land for generations, with a family history of joys and sorrows. While listening to grandma's story, I planted it in a small heart. Neighborhood folks meet each other in the streets and lanes, by the well on the bridge and at the corner of the ridge fence, laughing and knowing each other with their eyes closed, breathing the same air, imbued with the same wind and habits, and are inextricably linked with each other. A person has to go through a lot of exploration to set the tone, tone and orientation for his life, and the future is full of unknowns. However, the brand of childhood is like a cocoon, tightly wrapping itself, and like a tattoo pattern, it is attached to him all his life. A nest of gold and silver at home is not as good as a nest of grass. However, people are restless animals. How many people, with youthful vigor, gritted their teeth and raised their hands, bid farewell to their reluctant hometown, and Wan Li abandoned the country to find ideals, pursue honor and start a career, which was full of romance. Only a vague poem can break into the world. Most of them are completely realistic: many young boys and girls are sent out by their parents in tears to stage various tragedies in order to maintain the minimum survival requirements. As soon as people leave their homeland, they become orchids without roots, duckweeds chasing waves, flying autumn sheds and dandelions scattered by the wind, but the dreams of their homeland will always follow them. "The thread in a loving mother's hand makes clothes for her wayward son", which is long enough to circle the earth three times and take off with the satellite. As a result of idleness, most children are always in the rivers and lakes, and gold, beauty, false reputation and interests have become empty. Some of them were bored and came back with nothing. Some spring flowers and autumn moons wander around the scene. "You must be very sad when you get home." Some people are exhausted, jump out of vanity fair and stay away from the right and wrong places. Only when I am lonely will I close the door of my old garden. Some are indifferent, accidentally touching the dust net, unwilling to bend down to pick up five buckets of rice, go to the west, plant chrysanthemums and enjoy themselves. -but to reach this state, there must be at least a few acres of barren land and three huts to retreat, otherwise others will have to live in another country. Only a very few, a very few individuals, with a chance of one billion, succeeded in taking risks and returned home in splendor-"If you don't return home with wealth, who knows!" The creator of this famous saying is Xiang Yu, the overlord of Chu, but he failed, failed. He rebelled with 8,000 children in Jiangdong, and no one was spared. He felt ashamed to see his elders in Jiangdong, and decided to commit suicide in Wujiang. Xiang Yu deserves to be a hero in the world. In terms of strength comparison, he was much stronger than his opponent Liu Bangqiang, but he lost a game of chess in political strategy: he thought he was invincible, killed too many enemies, and took advantage of victory to burn Xianyang; Although everything about Liu Bang was related to the wealth of debauchery, Qiu did not commit any crime after entering the customs. Finally, the world turned to the heart, laid the foundation for the Han Dynasty and became an emperor. Back home, I gave a big banquet, entertained my old friends and brothers, and danced wildly for more than ten days. "The wind blows and clouds fly, the weaver girl returns to the hometown of the sea, and Andrew keeps all directions!" This is Liu Bang's masterpiece at that time, which is recorded in the history of poetry and has been passed down to this day. Disasters have displaced a large number of people, especially wars, which not only lead to sparseness in rural areas and separation of flesh and blood, but also inevitably lead to moral collapse and distortion of human nature. Liu bang lost in the battle with Xiang Yu and fled hastily. In order to escape lightly, he pushed his underage children off the car three times. Xiang Yu took Liu Bang's father hostage and threatened to cook him, but Liu Bang said, My buddy, my dad is your dad. If you cook him, don't forget to share with me. In order to fight for the world, you can be so crazy! Of course, war can be divided into justice and injustice. "Every man is responsible for the rise and fall of the world"; "Why stay at home when the Huns are still alive"; "the quartet is a matter of peace of mind"; "Why don't men take Wu Gou and accept 50 states in Guanshan" is an eternal beauty talk. However, the ultimate goal of a just war is to stop the war with war and build peace, instead of maintaining the war with war and replacing violence with violence. What is more worrying than disasters and wars is exile: it is difficult to return home and the country is difficult to run. Qu Yuan, Jia Yi, James Zhang, Han Yu, Liu Zongyuan, Su Dongpo, and even Kang Youwei and Liang Qichao are really without generations. -Perhaps special mention should be made to Lin Zexu, the great patriotic saint who opened the first chapter of China's modern history. In order to ban opium, he was convicted and dismissed from office and sent to Yili. At the sad moment when he went to Xudengcheng, he took a poem to bid farewell to his family: "You are greedy for life and death, don't avoid every cloud has a silver lining. Exile is the mercy of the monarch, and it is just right to raise the humble. " Rereading this poem a hundred years later is still heartbreaking, with boiling pulse, sour eyes and low lingering. Immigration is a tradition of the Chinese nation. Our ancestors have a deep-rooted concept that all relationships in life have a tendency to return to their roots: birds love old forests, fish miss old forests, flax depends on the north wind, foxes die first, trees soar and leaves return to their roots. There is a superstition that comforts people. It is thought that in a hundred years, there will be a homesick platform in the underworld, where the ghosts of the deceased will go on stage to see their relatives in the world on a moonlit night. But this lingering affection cannot change the cold reality. For more than a hundred years, many people still have to leave their homes or even cross the ocean to make a living in a foreign country. There were no fewer than ten million Chinese workers who went abroad in the Qing Dynasty, and their footprints were all over the world. Their blood and sweat permeated the gold mines, railways and plantations in the emerging capitalist countries. After the American Civil War, slaves were liberated, and our yellow-skinned compatriots became the follow-up troops of slave labor precisely because of their diligence, hard work and low price. Of course, they never thought about what human rights are. In order to change the fate of the motherland, the revolutionary movement led by Sun Yat-sen originated in Honolulu, USA. The first generation of China producers, many of whom worked part-time in France. After the reform and opening up, the tide of going abroad is surging, and it is in the ascendant. There is also a seemingly unpredictable but actually understandable contradiction: Hong Kong, abandoned by the Qing Dynasty in the Opium War, has finally returned to the embrace of the motherland after 150 years of vicissitudes. What a great event! However, many Hong Kong people who were born in Sri Lanka, ate in Sri Lanka and managed in Sri Lanka are regarded as "a cloud on their heads", preferring to abandon their possessions and make immigration plans one after another. The trend of generations of China people traveling to the sea has its own distinct background, color and connotation, which cannot be generalized, but it is the reflection of the ups and downs of the times and the splash of waves in the mighty progress of history. The cohesion of national centripetal force does not depend on geographical distance. Our first generation of overseas Chinese, living abroad and having children, have been longing for China from generation to generation, and will never forget the feelings of Sangzi. They all gave generously when the motherland needed it. Hong Kong Island, from ordinary residents to kings of all walks of life, gentlemen and celebrities from Hanyuan, have expressed their solidarity with the mainland, which is a touching example. "Beauty is not beautiful, hometown water, relatives are not close, hometown people", the farther away from home, the deeper the experience. Scientific progress has brought the ends of the earth closer to each other, and the fusion and exchange of eastern and western cultures has made the soul connect, and the earth will become smaller and smaller. But the love for the country will not disappear. Staying at home, never seeing a ship or train, or getting lost and wandering abroad should have become a thing of the past. We should have the lofty sentiments of flying high, the freedom to swim in the water, a warm and stable home and a proud motherland, and stand in the forest of modern world civilization.
My heart is gone.
My "home" in Saint Nasser for a month is an elegant villa. Two floors, six rooms, four beds and three toilets are all mine and can't be used. In front of the house is a blue ocean, and next to it is a green park. I seldom meet people-except park tourists who babble to me through the glass window occasionally. After the first few days of dating and interview, anyone outside will suddenly fall into unbearable cold and listlessness, even the exiled president or king. This city doesn't belong to you. Except for all services, there is a charge. All the voices here have abandoned you and gone to their intended purpose, which has nothing to do with you. I don't know where to call when I pick up the phone, and I don't know where to go when I go out with the door key. Television broadcasts and pedestrian dialogues are all in French, French and French. You are imprisoned in a French prison, and there is nowhere to escape. Reading Chinese newspapers and English books brought from Paris has become the most serious situation, because in the next hour, the next quarter and the next minute, you don't know what to do. You have reached the edge of the cliff, and there is a silent deep valley in front of you, no, not even a deep valley. Deep canyons can also smash you to pieces, break your head and make you feel real. It is not a deep valley, there is nothing there, and there will be no sound and light when jumping, only emptiness. When you study the chandelier for the sixth or sixtieth time, you will know that you are going crazy. The days of emigration can drive people crazy. I don't want to emigrate, as if I lack courage and interest. C once asked me if I wanted to stay in France. His mayor friend can, and his father and the French Prime Minister are also good friends. I said, what can I do here? Keep the warehouse or make furniture? When cultural vagrants change their begging methods? Even if I live well, do I care so much about French bread and Renault cars? I'm very homesick-it seems a little hopeless. I am not particularly afraid of loneliness, but I miss the people I love. I know how important I am to them. I am their happiness and dependence. I sat in the soft fog, listening to the waves and seagulls outside the window, imagining that my mother, wife and daughter are sleeping now, waiting for them to sleep through the Wan Li at dawn. No matter where people go, they can't help feeling the distant land behind them, because there are his relatives and friends, at least his past. Time will always wash away the past days and make people look back. Only then did I understand why all kinds of tourist attractions abroad can't make me feel the kindness and excitement of my hometown. In my hometown, there is no bustling metropolis, no quiet lake, no solemn and stirring castle, and no big forest green enough to melt all your thoughts. My hometown is even deserted and messy. However, if you hear a Schubert solo in the sunset of your journey, the imagination that makes you burst into tears is often the hometown road, the moonlight in your hometown, the grass slope shining with silver luster in the moonlight, a lamb hasn't come home yet, or a plow is still stuck in the ground waiting for tomorrow. What's wrong with that? Perhaps Schubert is praising the court or love, but I believe that all energetic male solos should be dedicated to their hometown. Just as I believe that erhu in China can only play pathos, even horse racing songs and fair tunes are smiles with tears. Hometown has preserved our childhood, or youth and prime of life, and it has become a part of our life and ourselves. It is not a commodity, a tourist destination, a round-trip ticket, a weekend pastime, and can be sold to any customer at a certain price. Hometown has more things than any tourist attraction: your blood, tears and sweat. The beauty of hometown contains sadness. And beauty is always sad China's "sadness" contains the meaning of care. Beauty makes people sad, miserable and pitiful, which has revealed the truth of aesthetics. In this sense, the beauty of any scenic spot is somewhat unqualified, just an excuse for blood loss. I have been to France three times. This elegant and rich country, no matter how many times I come, I am just a spectator to pay the bill. I clinked glasses, sang songs, joked, took photos and patted my shoulders with the host here, but my heart secretly returned again and again. Of course, I know that I will be disappointed with the flooded market in my hometown, the crowded carriages in my hometown and the gloomy rainy season in my hometown, but that kind of disappointment is different from my disappointment with the places I have been. That disappointment can drop blood. The land of blood will really grow golden ears of wheat and touching songs. Hometown is what we pay-it's different from the place of birth. Only those who have worked hard and contributed can truly own their hometown and truly understand the feelings of the ancients, that is, wandering around and mourning for their hometown-whether it is branded in one place or many places, in the motherland or in a foreign country. People who have no hometown have nothing behind them. However, no matter how poor and down-and-out, wandering wanderers in Pingping suddenly burst into tears when they heard a solo, which is the boundless happiness to which their hearts belong.
Fragments:
1. It's raining in Mao Mao outside the window; Tonight, the wind is knocking on my window lattice again, and my homesickness is like a soaked seed, expanding for no reason. The dream of wandering for many days vaguely climbed the winding path in the village.
2. Who played homesick music on the flute in the moonlit night, and the sad tune inadvertently filled the wasteland in my heart; Who is reading the ancient poems of homesickness every night, and the degree of sadness drops the boundless and quiet homesickness. I used to think that in this strange city, I was used to the life of eight to five. In the days of frustration, the mountains and rivers in my hometown have gradually drifted away. Looking back suddenly, I found that fragrance was sealed in my heart and I realized that I was a flying kite. No matter where I am, the rope of my heart will always be tied to the buttonwood in front of my hometown.
3. A rainstorm has wet all my memories, and homesickness is like a garden full of leeks; Long cut; Cut it long. Everything in my hometown flashed in my memory. In my lonely heart, my thoughts are like fish swimming around. Once indulged in the frustration of life, however, the unchanging posture of that mountain and that simple family and hometown faded into a song without words and a poem with Kubinashi rhyme in poetry. My soul has already floated out and returned to my hometown through thousands of waters in Qian Shan. I am enjoying pure rice wine with simple folks.
4. When the geese flying south can no longer be seen in the air, when the leaves on the buttonwood turn yellow and blue, my unchanging homesickness is playing leisurely, just like the flute in Qingyuan, my hometown. Also like Li Houzhu's "hate like grass, you will live farther and farther".