Notes on the Return of Original Prose to Home

We are walking along the mountain road to the top of the mountain, bypassing one sharp turn after another.

When I was a child, the snow on the top of the mountain did not melt all the year round. We looked up and said, "Look at Baimao Mountain!" " .

Once, we felt eternal sureness because of the aging of this world.

What about now? The friend said: "We have to drive to the top of the mountain more than 3,700 meters to find a good angle to see the snow." When you stop at the top of the mountain, there is only a little snow on the opposite mountain. In the winter sunshine, it jumps on the hillside like spring.

It never snowed here this winter! Snowflakes that fall every year melt quickly every year. It makes you feel that the world has begun to lose everything.

Strictly speaking, this is not my hometown. I was not born here. I came here with my parents at the age of two and left at the age of 18. However, I have always regarded coming back here as going home. Probably in everyone's heart, even if you are far away, you still have to leave a place to call back and leave a feeling to call home.

When my friend drove to a curved platform, he said that he often brought his wife here on weekends, turned around here and drove back for a while, waiting in front and watching his wife walk down the mountain road in the rearview mirror.

"Let her take a walk and relax. She is too tired to teach Chinese for too many hours a week." He just said a fact unconsciously, but I was moved by the tacit understanding inadvertently revealed.

For several days, I've been thinking of calling his wife to tell her about it when I get settled in my home in Beijing. She is also my good friend.

"Maybe you are a bystander?" Then, she pondered over the phone for a long time and said slowly-how many times have I passed my bosom friend in my life? In this ever-changing world, how can we keep each other's hearts?

On the way down the mountain, I saw a group of scattered yaks on the hillside.

Barbed wire is pulled on the slope to divide grazing areas.

Two big yaks with thick black hair almost fell to the ground from their backs and looked at each other through barbed wire.

I have racked my brains to know how to solve these problems. One of the shoulder muscles relaxed and turned to run. Staring at it for a while, the other one relaxed, raised the heavy horn that he had been aiming at, slowly retreated, turned around and walked away leisurely.

Much like two little boys in kindergarten, they stood up for their beloved toys, and their little breasts touched each other until one of them gave up.

As animals, they are happy, especially animals that grow freely between heaven and earth. They will always stay in human childhood, without experiencing the ups and downs of reality, the impermanence of fate, and the distortion and entanglement of personality between gains and losses.

Dozens of small courtyards are a group, and several small villages are dotted in high and low valleys.

It's still early, there is no smoke. My friend deliberately chose a road through the village. After passing through several small villages, I didn't see anyone, but those brand-new tiles and neat brick walls, red peppers and golden corn hanging on the eaves occasionally, you can feel their life breath. The house is alive, too

I remember two years ago, some friends and I drove to Zhangjiakou Ski Resort and passed by some small villages in mountainous areas. The windows of those houses are all broken, and the dark windows are like wide mouths, calling for the owner to come back in vain. There are even abandoned three-story red brick buildings. When the house is built, the owner must be filled with joy. Now people have gone to the city to make a living, so they have lost their once warm home.

How can people in these small villages survive from generation to generation in this distant hometown? If you have never seen the noise of this world, is it something to be grateful for? At least it will reassure you. Pursuing the outside world will always make you feel the sorrow of being displaced.

Can I do that? One side of the soil and water, keep a quiet heart. Like the people in these villages, they only move with the work and rest of nature. What do they do at home in winter?

Every holiday, the train, soot, smoke, sleepy and greasy face in the carriage stop at one station after another and yell at the peasant woman selling eggs. My childhood was bumpy between the two cities.

I can understand my mother. Her heart never belonged to me. How can she, a capitalist lady, go to the box to listen to Yiya Peking Opera, stay in this quiet place? So she had to drag me back to my hometown and home again and again. And I became a duckweed on the train.

Is there really no sound? I'm sitting at home now, trying to remember the sounds I heard in the mountains. I can't find accurate onomatopoeia words to record them, just like I can't catch a drop of water from the sea. The sound of life is surging quietly, like the monotonous waves of the sea. I am used to hearing you say that the sea is calm.

Monotonous color, monotonous voice, monotonous day after day, I know I can no longer be associated with this solemn monotony, and at this time, it is too late.

There is also a low mountain near the county seat. When we were young, we called it Ant Mountain. At that time, there were only low bushes on the mountain. Every March, we will take shovels to plant trees, just as middle school students are happy to go for a spring outing now.

Now a park has been built here, stone roads and stone steps have been paved, pavilions have been built, and an artificial lake has been built at the foot of the mountain. My classmates told me that I have a nice name now, but I don't care to remember it. I just keep its old name "Ant Mountain" in mind and say "Ant Mountain" to my friends who grew up together.

I was standing on Ant Mountain, and my classmates showed me the foot of the mountain in the east, which used to be my parents' factory. Now it has become a large high-rise residential area.

When I was a child, I skipped classes in the afternoon and would climb the courtyard wall from the children's school in the family area to play in the factory. Pieces of neatly arranged factories with shrubs in the middle.

Squeeze into the bushes and pounce on those beautiful butterflies who are sleepy in the afternoon sun. Often there are thorns on my pants, and I sit on the side of the road patiently picking thorns. This is an afternoon to kill fun.

I have been used to being alone since I was a child. Until now, shopping alone and walking alone in the park always make me feel psychological pressure. When I was not in kindergarten, my mother locked me at home. I stood on a small bench and looked out of the window alone for the whole morning.

Because of school, my mother often forgets to come back and cook lunch for me. I heard that the aunt next door came back. She and her mother are teachers in a school. I heard her two children twittering like birds. Mom forgot about me before she came back.

Mother went to the factory to talk to the factory director because one of her students was slapped by the staff of the factory security office. I tore up the picture book, folded many paper boats, end to end, and circled around the bed. I imagine that one day I will sail far away from my mother by boat so that she will never see me again.

Now, the factories and family areas built by their generation are gone. I think I can feel my parents' feelings more or less. Clear and shallow, looking back, there is at least one line of footprints, but they can't see anything. I live a hard life, trying to reform myself and want to stand up straight.

Mom, a capitalist's smelly young lady, was reeducation through labor in the mountainous area in the suburbs of Beijing and was beaten as a counter-revolutionary family member. I had to avoid the whirlpool of right and wrong with my husband who was born in a poor middle peasant and come here with the border guards.

At that moment, my mother must have hated the sudden change of reality, the impermanence of fate and me. Because she said that without me, she could get a divorce and live without running so far.

But I didn't understand when I was a child! How can I guess that I have become a burden and an unnecessary burden because of my importance in my mother's life? How can I accept the hateful revenge that my mother will give me every time she is unhappy in her later years? She was twisted, and then she twisted me strongly.

So I have always believed that I am an unnecessary existence that is not even worthy of mother's love.

Why did my mother turn her face away like an angel in front of all her classmates and give me the other side? It's too difficult.

I have been curled up in countless skinny bodies with black and blue wounds, entangled in this problem. At the beginning of life, the most full love has become a black hole that I can't fill for many years! I can only explain to myself, because you shouldn't have come. You are an extra child.

I remember walking with a book in my arms at night. When you are tired, go to KFC to read leisure books. After reading a few pages, the chair was really uncomfortable, which affected my interest in reading deeply. Fortunately, I can sit in front of the French window and look out for a while. Cities at night always have the same face. Big cities just have more neon lights, car lights, window lights, all kinds of lights and excited people. You don't have to look up, and you can't see the stars clearly. The starry sky is full of lights, like the reflection of the city. Not as simple as the starry sky in my hometown, but I just polished the planetesimals very brightly.

When I think of the starry sky, I think of a girl in a high school class with a braid hanging down to her waist. I have forgotten her name, and she slowly surfaced, as if she had turned out from the deep sea of memory.

During that time, I was obsessed with death.

The poems I write in my diary are all about life and death, such as To myself in the grave. This strange psychology may help me to balance the injury and emotional loss in reality.

This makes me feel that at least I have the right to choose to die.

At the moment of death, I longed for her to be tortured by regret. I stubbornly believe that the girl with a single braid, her brother will not give in and leave, there will be some souls attached to her. The floating soul attracted me to be friends with her.

When I go home with her every night, I always look up at the starry sky, which is clean and bright without any interference, and I can easily distinguish those constellations. It is by no means a mirage in the city, it is more profound than anything else. It will never force you to face the big problems in life, and its eternity and vastness give me stability. Smoothed those ditches and ridges in my heart.

"We met at the best age of life from 15 to 18." He said that on the night of the class reunion, I sat on one side of the big round table, surrounded by high school classmates 28 years ago. The bright lights made me feel unreal. It's as if I'm walking down a narrow aisle, with yesterday that seems to have passed away on one side and the present that seems to be under construction on the other. I don't know which side to hold steady in the ups and downs, and give me a real reliance. In the middle of this unresolved issue, I saw my life slowly spread to both sides with this as the boundary. Any result is actually hidden in the past. All the layouts have been set up.

Once, because of my mother's indifference, I have been cynically participating in the noise as a gamer, keeping myself in a less trembling posture.

At this time, on one side of the round table, I deeply felt the pain. How I wish everything would not give me a chance to greet them with warm colors.

Over the years, I have been trying to correct myself, carefully looking for a firm and complete support, so that the child who has no initial and most important feelings to return to is no longer an unnecessary existence.

"I don't believe you will not be sad? I don't believe you won't cry? " More than twenty years ago, he said to me.

I just turned to leave when the orange light on the strip penetrated the snow and fog, and I was silent. Suddenly found that the world still has warm colors.

How sad, I learned to cry only on those who should be kept most but passed by.

Before that, I always thought that crying was the privilege of the favored children. From small to large, what was cheap was my self-esteem. This humble self-esteem forced me to ask for a complete and flawless relationship. So I failed to plant a seed of love in every experience, and even if I did, I didn't water it with clear spring water. The huge black hole in my heart made me lose my ability to love and accept love.

"Extra people" always make me extremely sensitive, and I am afraid that I will become a yellow leaf that will eventually be shaken off.

Haizi has a picture, lying on the ground, with his arms outstretched and his back facing the sky. I guess he was in this position when he was lying on the tracks. Only at that moment, everyone who is defined as a "superfluous person" in other people's emotions has the courage to give up self-esteem and embrace everything with open arms! Don't worry about getting hurt, and don't worry that your redundancy will hinder others.

I once complained about my hometown, because it was barren and closed, which brought too much disappointment and anger to my mother. I deliberately turned a blind eye to it and was always ready to leave sideways.

I once wrote a composition that my hometown was just a small station waiting for me to leave. I don't like it. Before waiting for the bus to take me away, I must hold a newspaper to block my sight. I don't want to see it, and I don't want to arouse any feelings. I'm afraid I'll be bound by these feelings in the end.

So I always thought that in my heart, there was no attachment to my hometown for the children who grew up with me. But I follow the clues of memories to understand that my stubbornness is actually afraid to admit my nostalgia. I'm happy about it. I'm glad that I finally learned to cherish, miss and appreciate my company. Because of this, my heart can return safely without being lonely.

Slowly pushed open the door and walked in. I found that I was no longer sad.

I have been worried that unforgivable seeds will grow in my heart, and I don't want to hold grudges all my life.

In my opinion, everyone's tragedy is caused by the sudden change of reality, the impermanence of fate and the improper adjustment of self-character. I can't choose the established facts, but I can hold my destiny by the throat and change my life path by being strong and not giving up on myself. I think in this life, I can't hold my mother and son tightly together and spoil each other like my son and me. I can't do it with her My body subconsciously resisted her approach and could not erase her tyrannical memory of it.

If my mother holds my arm tightly when crossing the street, my skin will get goose bumps immediately.

But I learned to relax my heart. After all, my mother is not the only one in my life.

I learned to look up at the starry sky overhead and found that my eyes were as bright as those bright stars on the long journey. They fell into my heart one by one. Once, the extra frozen child melted in spring.

When I wrote this, someone knocked on the door of the yard. I'll get the door. That's four-year-old Xiao Yuze. As soon as my door opened a little, he pushed his calf in and ran to the middle of the yard before stopping.

He turned to me and said, "Aunt, I saw you come back yesterday, but my mother wouldn't let me come. I came here secretly. Close the door quickly. "

I am very happy. I have always liked this child. His parents are foreigners, and they run a photo studio across the street, which also deals in typing and copying.

In the first few years, it was ok. In recent years, every family has typewriters and photocopiers, and the work has been much less and barely maintained.

Foreign hukou, children can't go to public kindergartens, and private kindergartens are very expensive. At the beginning of last year, they gave birth to another son, and the couple were a little stretched.

But unlike those who used to be poor together, the couple quarreled from time to time. A while ago, the mother of the child simply went back to her hometown with her youngest son, leaving her eldest son running around the alley every day, dirty like a little wild child, and nobody cared.

Every time I ask him, is mom back? He would immediately stop and stick to the wall, as if he had done something wrong to make his mother angry. He lowered his head and curled his lips and whispered, "No, my mother said I won't come back."

At first, the neighbors were very picky and felt that their children and mothers were a little cruel. Later, they gradually got to know something and felt really helpless. They can't afford the rent and don't have much work. In winter, they don't even want to turn on the electric heater. The older ones should go to kindergarten, and the younger ones should drink milk powder. They ask for money everywhere. Children and mothers often complain in the WeChat circle of friends in the middle of the night, and life can't go on.

I asked her why she didn't go back to her hometown, which is better than Beijing.

She showed me photos of her hometown. It is really a broken tile cold kiln. It takes more than 20 hours by train, then more than two hours by bus, then hire a donkey cart to go down the mountain, and then walk for more than an hour on the mountain road. There is not enough land to support a large family and there is no other way. You can earn some money in big cities.

But in recent years, the cost of living in Beijing has become higher and higher, and the rent and children's expenses have become more and more expensive ... there is no retreat and no progress.

The child's mother said: "It is better to find a way to live separately than to tie them together."

I haven't reached this point, and I can't understand giving up in this predicament.

Later, the mother came back and left her little son, who was less than one year old, in the country.

I always feel distressed at the thought that she holds the love of her chubby little son every day, that clever child, and everyone will hold out their little arms and hug with a smile.

I squatted down and asked Xiao Yuze, "Do you miss your little brother?"

He stretched out his arm and said, "Aunt, please hug me."

I hugged the baby before he answered, "I miss my little brother." But mom said she didn't want her brother. "

I hugged the child tightly and said, "No, mom is teasing you. You are all mom's treasures, and mom won't want it. "

I don't know what thoughts and worries children have in their young hearts. I'm just sad from the bottom of my heart I don't know how long it will take this child and his brother who was left behind in their hometown to repair their inner defects in the future.

According to the report, most of them have no land to grow in their hometown, but they can't find a stable job in the city because they have no skills or are old and weak. They can't afford the rent, so they can only wander around the 24-hour shop.

I don't know their lives. I only see them at the peak of Spring Festival travel rush every year. I saw them carrying quilts, thermos pots and washbasins in droves, pulling them out from all corners of the city and gathering at the railway station, waiting to go home.

After the new year, they came back like a big burden of moving and disappeared into the city.

I remember one time in the middle of the night, when I was insomnia, I went to McDonald's to read casual books. I also saw a middle-aged woman dragging a tattered woven bag, which should be full of plastic bottles she picked up all day today.

She sat down at the small table next to me, her thighs apart, and she kept muttering painfully, unable to hear what she was muttering. Maybe she doesn't even know what she's whispering.

She took out two bottles of beer and a bowl of cold noodles on the street. Soon finished eating and drinking. After drinking, her mood seems to have calmed down a little. She took out a newspaper, looked close to her eyes and mumbled over and over again.

I could see that she was on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. She makes me shudder, a woman. How did she get here? She can only live on beer night after night. How long can she last?

Does she have no family? Does she have no children? Isn't there a corner in this world where an emotion can hold her and prevent her from slipping down the abyss completely?

Compared with her, I am lucky. I have had those days when I was drunk, those days when I just wanted to live a happy life, and those days when I wanted to give up completely and stop asking myself why I came here. Was destroyed forever.

How I wish the vagrants in these cities could have my luck. They can also live a happy and stable life, instead of such a set of figures: by the end of the year, the number of "migrant workers" in China exceeded 270 million, and the number of "migrant workers" who migrated across regions exceeded 65.438+600 million. There are more than 60 million left-behind children-there are even more distressing reports. Many left-behind children all over the country suffer from zs, accidental sw, xq, collective fz…… ... ...

Those poor children have deeper inner sufferings than I do. As an extra group, what should they take to fill the black hole of emotional deficiency in their long life?

It is different from the previous reasons, but the great migration of population continues.

I'm relieved. I have moved on.

I hope that those who are still wandering on the edge of life will finally have a warm support and can move forward steadily; I hope that all people in the world can no longer be redundant people in this world, have a home to return to, have a feeling of waiting, are not trapped by any reason, are involuntarily exiled, and are emotionally broken and helpless. May those children sleep peacefully in their mother's arms every night, and may those houses that open their mouths and call their owners home draw curtains again and light up.

And for those of us who don't have to run around for a living? What do we need? I stopped writing, listened to the music on my mobile phone and thought about this problem.

"Liang Shanbo is different" played by Sheng Zhongguo and Yu Lina, especially in "Becoming a Butterfly", which is cheerful and free. A lingering bitterness, reluctant to part.

I used to have a Sony CD Walkman, black as a flying saucer. It cost me two months' salary when I bought it, and a piece of music cost me more than a week's meal. I was picky about my ears then.

Now the music on the mobile phone is just a rough background. It is difficult for my heart to keep up with the nuances of music, just as we no longer seriously feel other people's ideas and express our own ideas, and many times we just stay on the surface.

Exquisite life has worn away our once exquisite emotions, and other stones can attack jade. If the heart is as rough as jade, what is this other stone? Maybe everyone should have a spiritual home, back to the beginning, back to the moment when Ming Che saw the world.

After writing this, I just saw my hometown friends sending photos in a circle of friends. It snowed heavily today, and every day is a new world. It still looks old! Very good! My heart once again returned to my hometown to climb mountains and see the snow.