PS: The following is a translation of a text about my hometown in 2010. Pen? Interesting? Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 infoIt's the Spring Festival again, I wish you all friends, especially those who are wandering away, a happy new year!

In the world of life, suddenly like a traveler. In the past decades, I have been wandering uncertainly, passing through the fields, passing through the city, and there are countless walks. Although, I don't know where I came from, I don't know where I come from.

Nian and Tao Li, is the resignation of Hangzhou. The water is shining, the mountains are empty, and the West Lake is the place where I was born. Go to Hangbaili, the small town of Luoshe, where my grandmother lives. Despite this, I also passed through Hangzhou.

I went from my father to my ancestral hometown. You can see that its cane forest is densely woven, the clear stream is like blue, the single banyan tree becomes an island, quiet and strange. The storks are gray and white, and the negative slanting sun is coiled; The banyan covers the sun, attracting hundreds of birds and surging. This Baon is also known as the "Bird's Paradise". Fuxin will be the world of Kwai Township, the light boat is narrow, full of sunflower leaves, diffuse fragrance, falling into the water and serial, passing away leisurely.

Although Xinhui is called its hometown, it no longer has the feeling of a hometown. It's hard to be half a sentence of the country. No one here knows me, read me know this person? The old father and the young left home, and I was at a loss if I abandoned my son to find my roots. The old traces are obscure, and the indifference cannot be reassigned.

Often dreamers, Weijiang scenery. The lotus pond is sparkling, and the spring mulberry is soft and green. The mulberry is dyed purple and sweet, and the autumn pomelo is covered with gold and honey. In winter, there are sauce meat, zongzi, dried fish, and the forest hangs in the hall. A pot of taro, fragrant around the beam.

During the winter and summer vacations, I often take a small steamer to Luoshe. There is a big stone bridge in the east, and there are many naughty children in summer, jumping and playing naked. When the bridge is washed for rice, the bamboo basket comes out of the water, the jade chips are dripping, the rice is like a fine pearl, and the fish jumps at the bottom of the green basket. Mellow fragrance wave by wave, Taihu Lake fat. The interest here cannot be exhausted for a while!

My grandmother passed away, and my hometown went with the people of the past. However, his ancestral home was Danyang, and he later moved to Huzhou. I also heard that this place tastes Luoyang human settlement, because it is called Luoshe. In this way, the origin of the ancestors is difficult to examine. Although the soul is haunted by dreams, Luo She's true hometown?

Growing up in Si also, and the heart can not be attached. The softness of the West Lake, the grass of the botanical garden, the smiling flowers of spring, the lush camphor trees in winter, the green green fence of the mountains, if the cradle is decorated, the love of my joy can not be obtained and embraced. Every time I return to the province, in the hustle and bustle of the alleys, melt in front of the knee, be stunned, and behave in a good manner. "Popularity" is more than a thousand miles away. Alack! But sigh to yourself: Where is your hometown?

I often think about the small Xing'an Mountains, the land of ice and snow, as clear as blue, and the fog is boundless. The snow is knee-high, the water comes out of the forest, and the sound of the spring is like music. Occasionally, there is a warm current, overflowing with the slope, the tower head is verdant like jasper, and the bath water crystallizes.

When there is no wind, looking for the scenery of the forest, it is quiet. Six out of light, silver wool spread shoulders. The women are shining, like the love of the goddess. I know that there is a sound of rain and snow. Close your eyes and listen, the snow falls and caress the branches, such as mulberry silkworms sipping leaves, babies sucking breastfeeding, and the sound is also strong!

Staying in a tent for the night, every time a big wooden stick is burned in the furnace, rumbling like a train through the forest, and like the roar of a tractor in the field. The sound of ice avalanches at the foot of the mountain starts from time to time, and it clicks into a symphony. In the morning, the mountains and forests are quiet and charming. In the morning glow, the smoke is purple, and the coils are swirling. The trees are covered with sunshine, and the branches are brocade. There are insect traces in the snow in front of the door, I don't know what they are, such as plum blossoms, such as willow tops, such as question marks, overprinted like ribbons, or historical, or annoying, winding and passing away, insignificant and hidden in the deep forest.

There are hundreds of kinds in the forest, and I love them very much. Taste the place of the end of life. The snow field is vast, the insect tracks are ups and downs, and when I am in my generation, would I rather care? I left home at nineteen and walked in the ice and snow. I once thought about my West Lake day and night, and thought of my warm hometown in the south of the Yangtze River. Belch! But do I have a hometown? Now we know. In the sending of the trip, do not hear of it, enough to perform, the love is noted, take root, and be at peace with the encounter. If Pingbo is a prodigal son, he has come to the foreded, his family is all over the world, and he is herding the world. There are more and more things, and there are more and more things. Maintaining feet and practicing everywhere is like a hometown!

In the summer season in the city, every memory of the Northland wilderness. The white clouds and black soil are as pure as pure, stained with the blood of young people. And the husband's years are like a hard work, and the women in Jiangnan Pu have been working hard for twenty years, and they are also magnificent. The size of the world, or like mustard Sumeru. In the coming day, I will continue the previous traces, in such a world, looking for and building, the dream home.

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Original:

"Hometown is Far Away"

Author: Zhang Kangkang

I always felt like a wanderer. For decades, I wandered and wandered. I've walked through fields, I've walked through cities, I've been to many, many places. Where am I from? Where is my hometown, my hometown? I do not know. When I was 19 years old, I left the city of Hangzhou. The shores of West Lake, with its shimmering water and empty mountains, are my birthplace. Luoshe, a small town in the south of the Yangtze River 100 miles away from Hangzhou, is my grandmother's house. However, I am just a passer-by in Hangzhou, and my ancestral home is in Xinhui, Guangdong. When I was 30 years old, I went back to my hometown in Guangdong with my parents. The hometown is home to emerald creeks, dense sugar cane forests and the mysterious and secluded Banyan Island. As the sun set, I saw the white stork with big wings and long necks hovering back to its nest, and the huge banyan forest was covering the sky and the sun, and the birds were full of sounds. It's the world-famous bird paradise. Xinhui County is Kwai Township, on the turquoise water waves of the small river, a string of slender boats full of fragrant sunflower leaves, heavy sticking to the water, long away...... But my hometown is no longer home. No one knows me, and I don't really know anyone. I can't even speak a full native dialect of my hometown. My father, who left home at an early age, and I were like outcasts who had been exiled, in the unfamiliar vernacular, searching for and discerning the roots of this land that remained for us. What often appears in dreams is the lotus pond in the south of the Yangtze River, the purple and sweet mulberries in the tender green mulberry fields in spring, the golden and bright pomelo in autumn, the sauced meat dumplings and dried fish that fill the hall during the Chinese New Year in winter, and a pot of fragrant boiled taro...... During the summer and winter vacations, I took a small steamer to my grandmother's house in Luoshe Town. There is a big stone bridge at the east end of the town, in the summer, many bare-bottomed children jump into the river from the piers, the small river is connected to the vast Luoshe Yang, I used to wash rice under the bridge, the bamboo basket is wet and drenched from the water, and a small fish flutters on the pearl-like white rice...... And my grandmother has long since passed away. When my grandmother left, she took her hometown with her. In fact, my grandmother and grandfather are not authentic Zhejiang. I heard that my grandmother's ancestor was from Danyang, Jiangsu, and I don't know when she moved to Deqing Luoshe; I also heard that the name of Luoshe is that in the early years, there was a group of immigrants from Luoyang, and the house of Luoyang people was called Luoshe. From this point of view, my grandmother's grandfather's ancestral hometown is also difficult to verify, and what is my hometown in the Jiangnan town that I am haunted by? So for the city of Hangzhou, where I was born and raised, there is a faint estrangement and suspicion. Naturally, I like the softness and indifference of the West Lake, the green meadows of the Botanical Garden and the fragrant smiling flowers in spring, and the green bamboos and lush camphor trees in winter...... But they are just ribbons and embellishments on my cradle, and I admire them and praise them but they don't belong to me. Every time I go back to Hangzhou to visit my parents, in the noisy and noisy streets, the "human smell" brought by me from a distant place always makes me feel incompatible with the warmth and humidity here...... Where do I come from? More often than not, I would meditate on the distant land of ice and snow, and the dark blue mountains of the Little Xing'an Mountains shrouded in mist. Walking knee-deep into the mountains, the unfrozen mountain springs in the shrubs sing all the way, and occasionally warm springs overflow down the slopes, and the low-lying towers are sealed like crystals, and you can glimpse the jasper-like grass under the ice. On a windless day in the mountains, a small snow drifts gently and slowly in the quiet oak forest, falling on the turban, not melting, and after a while, it is a gift from the Snow Queen. If you close your eyes, you can hear the sound of snowflakes kissing the leaves. It was the first time in my 21-year-old life that I found that there was a sound of falling snow, such as mulberry silkworms sipping leaves, babies sucking breasts, and the sound was affectionate. At that time, I lived in a tent, and the stove burned all night with a large thick wooden stick, rumbling like a forest train like a tractor in a forest field, and there was always the sound of an ice crash coming from the foot of the mountain...... The morning in the mountain forest is quiet and charming, the treetops on the slope are a touch of rose red, the lilac cooking smoke lingers, and on the white snow in front of the door, there are ribbon-like footprints of unknown small animals that have quietly come at night, carefully recognized, such as plum blossoms, willow tops, and question marks, clearly and chaoticly meandering in the snowfield, disappearing into the depths of the dense forest...... The intimate nature of the mysterious forest dwellers made me wonder if I should stay here forever. Small footprints float on the boundless snowy fields, just like our turbulent youth. At the age of 19, I left my birthplace, Hangzhou, and headed for the distant and cold Great Northern Wilderness. At that time, I missed my West Lake day and night, and my hometown was in the warm south. But now I know that I don't have a place to go anymore. We are always walking, sowing seeds that can grow all over the world. We are at peace with what we encounter and take root; If you come, you will be determined, and the four seas will be your home. We are like a group of nomads in the new era, a group of wandering immigrants who never have a home. Maybe I've traveled too many places, and I've had too many second homes. However, in the sweltering summer of the city, I still think of the northern wilderness, which melts into the land of our youth and sweat. Everything there is rough and rustic. Twenty years of sun and moon have sharpened me, a delicate Jiangnan woman, into a flexible and solid one. In the days to come, I may continue to wander, looking for and creating my spiritual home in this very large and very small world.