Wen/Yi Zhi
I'll tell you about my hometown, and by the way, I'll tell you about my constant concern and sadness.
A little fireworks curled up, and a twilight enveloped the mine. A stream of black water flowed down the artificially dug river. Men with black faces wore red helmets and hummed songs as they crossed the mud-lime bridge. Simple and generous women sat at the crossing with insoles with embroidery and auspicious words on them, laughing and chatting, waiting for their husbands to come home.
My hometown is very different. It is a dialect with various accents. For example, Aunt Zhu's house next door speaks hot and sweet Sichuan dialect. Xiao Chen's family, who is separated by several lanes, is from Shaanxi, and a strong and free Shaanxi dialect pops out at any time; Uncle Cai's family speaks soft and waxy Shanghai dialect, of course, most of which is Gansu local dialect. I didn't expect this environment to become a bridge for me to communicate smoothly with people from all over the world when I grow up. There is no obstacle for me 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 metal" and "collecting hair and growing hair". What I expected most was "pulp, delicious pulp", which immediately attracted me to get out of bed and rush to the door to shout, "I am so excited.
However, this special flavor can no longer be tasted, and this kind of scene will never appear again. The high-rise buildings in the city can only hear the roaring traffic and the impatient drip. My hometown has become a living picture in my dream, but it disappears when I open my eyes.
Because it has become a barren land.
My hometown is a mining area. A long time ago, skilled workers from different places brought their families to this land with great energy and settled down here. They devoted their life to how to dig wells safely and efficiently. They transported these "black gems" to all parts of the country with their hard-working hands and construction wisdom. At the same time, efforts should be made to build new homes in green mining areas, rationally plan street layout, mine 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 foolish men moving mountains, the mining areas are more and more beautiful, and the 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 lived in the most beautiful era 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 fast.
when I was about to leave my hometown and 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 quickly assigned to other mines, some to districts, some to towns, and some to remote ravines. Every household was in a mess and everyone cried goodbye. Workers evacuated in batches, then schools were evacuated, students were diverted, and finally young family members followed after the workers settled down, leaving only a few old, weak, sick and unable to leave the huge mining area. The hawking became less and less every day, and the shops were closed. In the end, even buying food was a problem. Some grandparents started to grow their own vegetables. Later, our family moved out of this place that was once full of laughter and warmth. The former neighbors all had new neighbors.
during the years from college graduation to work, my hometown has really become an unreachable distance, not because of traffic or 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 blooming on the Tiger Hill behind the house, and whether there are fireflies dancing 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 happened to take the children back to our hometown and set foot on the black land that we once loved. My heart was extremely sad. All kinds of heartbreaking scars eroded by time at home can no longer be associated with the warm hut in the impression. The crossing where women used to love to get together and talk about homely things 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 are moth-eaten on the collapsed beams, and the waste behind the door is piled up into hills ... That scene, I believe that anyone with fresh memories will feel shocking when he returns from home like this, and he will struggle for an instant.
when the rain comes, it hits the eaves. My husband put his arm around me and I held the child. 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 it was to swim. I baked potatoes on the mountain, secretly pulled out farmers' wheat and roasted wheat kernels, and lay on the tiger-shaped stone on Tiger Mountain to watch the flow of white clouds. That kind of comfort and fun is hard for my children to appreciate. But now, I don't want to say anything, and my husband didn't speak. We just stood under the half-collapsed eaves and just wanted to wait for the rain to stop. Only the child stretched out his tender lotus-like arm to pick up the raindrops, and his mouth still read his new poem "I pick up the rain, I pick up the rain, I pick up 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 ears and infiltrated my heart, and there was a warm touch that spread.
alas! Let go of this lingering homesickness. You see, the memories are still wonderful old times and the homesick road that has been extended.
About the author:
Yizhi, a female, was born in March 1986 in Tianshui, a small south of the Yangtze River in the north. I like writing, especially love prose creation, and sometimes write stories. I love eating and shopping, and 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, and now I mainly do personnel management.