I'll tell you my hometown, and by the way, I'll tell you what I often worry about and worry about.
A little fireworks curled up, a twilight enveloped the mine, and a black stream of water flowed down the artificially dug river. Black-faced men wore red helmets and hummed across the mud bridge, while simple and generous women sat at the intersection with embroidery and auspicious words on the insoles, laughing and chatting, waiting for their husbands to come home.
My hometown is very different. You can hear dialects with various accents here. For example, the spicy and sweet Sichuan dialect spoken by Aunt Zhu's family next door. Chen Xiao's family, who are separated by several alleys, are from Shaanxi, and they can always speak a strong and free Shaanxi dialect; Uncle Cai's family speaks soft Shanghai dialect, of course, most of them are Gansu local dialect. I didn't expect this environment to become a bridge for me to communicate with people from all over the world when I grow up. I have no obstacles to communicate with my husband's family in northern Shaanxi. Every weekend when I was a child, I heard all kinds of cadence cries in the morning before I opened my eyes, such as "sharpening scissors and chopping knives", "recycling scrap iron" and "collecting hair and growing it". What I expected most was "pulp, delicious pulp", which immediately attracted me to get up and rushed to the door and shouted, "I'm so excited.
However, this special taste will never be tasted again, and this scene will never appear again. High-rise buildings in the city can only hear roaring traffic and impatient dripping. My hometown became a living picture in my dream, but it disappeared when I opened my eyes.
Because it has become a desolate wasteland.
My hometown is a mining area. A long time ago, skilled workers from different places came to this land with great energy and settled here. They devoted their lives to how to drill wells safely and efficiently. They used their hard-working hands and construction wisdom to transport these "black gems" to all parts of the country. At the same time, efforts should be made to build new homes in green mining areas, rationally plan street layout, mining compound, people's children's schools, police stations, trade union hospitals and family areas ... Although sparrows are small and complete, with the efforts of generations of Yugong Yishan, mining areas are becoming more and more beautiful, and bridges and flowing water are all artificially built, but there is no lack of unique temperament.
I was born here and grew up here. I live in the most beautiful times in the mining area. I watched it change with each passing day and felt the pleasure brought by the comfortable and comfortable environment. However, I also witnessed how it declined overnight. Although it is said that good flowers don't bloom often and good times don't exist often, I didn't expect it to be so soon.
When I was about to leave my hometown to go to college, the mining area suddenly declared bankruptcy! I didn't realize the seriousness of the word "bankruptcy" at that time. Bankruptcy is because coal resources are exhausted and high-quality coal can no longer be mined. Then the diligent workers here will be sent to other areas. I saw with my own eyes that the workers were soon assigned to other mines, some to regions, some to towns, and some to remote canyons. Every household is in a mess, and everyone is crying to say goodbye. Workers were evacuated in batches, then schools were evacuated, students were diverted, and finally young family members were evacuated after the workers settled down, leaving only some old, weak and sick people unable to leave the huge mining area. The hawking is getting less and less every day, and the shops are closed. In the end, even buying food became a problem. Some grandparents began to grow their own vegetables. Later, our family moved out of this place that used to be full of laughter and warmth. All the former neighbors have new neighbors.
In the past few years, my hometown has really become an unreachable distance, not because of the traffic, nor because of the time, but what can I see even if I want to go back? I don't know whether there are people living there, whether there are peacocks in full bloom on the Tiger Mountain behind the house, and whether there are fireflies flying among the trees at night … I don't want to go back to my hometown, but I dare not.
After having children, my husband and I accidentally took the children back to our hometown and once again set foot on the black land we once loved. I feel very sad in my heart. All kinds of heartbreaking scars at home eroded by time can no longer be associated with the warm hut in the impression. Women used to like to get together and talk about homeliness. The intersection has been covered with a meter-high thatch, all the mottled lime skins on the walls are peeling off, the dirty cobwebs in the corners are caked, the termites on the collapsed beams are covered with rotting marks, and the waste behind the door is piled up into mountains ... I believe anyone who remembers that scene vividly will feel a shocking feeling when he comes back from home, and it is too late to struggle for a moment.
The rain came and hit the eaves. My husband put his arm around me and I held the baby. Before I came, I told my children in the car how beautiful my hometown was. When I was a child, I caught a gecko and put it in the river to see how interesting swimming was. I baked potatoes on the mountain, secretly pulled out the farmers' wheat and roasted wheat kernels, and lay on the tiger-shaped stone in the tiger mountain to watch the white clouds flow. That kind of comfort and fun is hard for my children to understand. But now, I don't want to say anything, and my husband hasn't spoken. We just stood under the half-collapsed roof, just waiting for the rain to stop. Only the child stretched out his tender lotus-like arm to catch the raindrops, and his mouth was still reading his new poem "I catch the rain, I catch the rain, I catch a drop of rain;" I'll pick it up, I'll pick it up, I'll pick up some rain ... "His soft little milk sound crawled into my ear and penetrated into my heart, and there was a warm touch spreading.
Alas! Let go of this lingering homesickness. You see, memories are still good old times and an extended road to homesickness.
About the author:
A Zhi, female 1986, was born in Tianshui, a small south of the Yangtze River in the north. I like writing, especially writing prose, and sometimes writing stories. I like eating and shopping. I hope to eat all the delicious food in the world, visit all the great mountains and rivers and make friends all over the world. I used to be the text editor of geography magazine and composition magazine, but now I mainly do personnel management.