Home is not home

Home is not home. Home is a warm lamp when you are wandering and wandering. Hometown is the root of a surname.

I have always liked Wang Guowei's triple realm of "going up high-rise buildings alone and looking at the ends of the earth" and "I don't regret when I broaden my clothes and disappear for Iraq" "Suddenly looking back, the man was in the dim light.". It is not only the three realms of art, but also the three realms of life. It may also be suitable for the early, middle and advanced stages of wandering people in their life. We can see the bitterness of wanderers from "going up high-rise buildings alone and looking at the ends of the world". We can see from "gradually widening the belt of clothes and never regret, and people will be haggard for Iraq." Seeing the belief of wanderers, we get our destination from "suddenly looking back, the man is in the dim light".

People are born without hometown. Your current place may have your family of four generations, so you mistakenly regard it as your hometown. Just because this place has the memory of giving birth to you and raising you, just because your close relatives and villagers match this land. This leads to a complex that is easier to touch the depths of your heart when you are old and when you are exiled. People are born without hometown. For most people, we just start from the harbor built by our ancestors, and start to anchor and set sail, looking for the king land of our generation. Maybe that's the "home" where we live. As for the "Hometown", maybe we lost it in the period of our grandparents. The paradise we found may have become the harbor for our children to anchor and sail, or the hometown of their shallow understanding after they began to live in the world. Thus, generation after generation, people stay and migrate in migration. This may be the home of Grandpa and there may be the home of grandchildren, but neither here nor there is the hometown of their grandchildren.

Living in the world may be the root, but in front of living in the world, there is infinite migration. My father told me that when he was three years old, Grandpa picked him out of the mountains of Luonan with a shoulder pole. They finally migrated to Baishui. My father became a grandfather. In the eyes of my children and grandchildren, Baishui is our hometown. For my father, my hometown is both Luonan and Baishui. Because Luonan gave birth to him, but Baishui raised him. It is said that my grandfather's ancestors migrated from Shanxi, first settled in Huayin, and then migrated from Huayin to Luonan. In Grandpa's generation, he moved to Baishui with his father. Now, I can't live in Baishui world, which seems to be my hometown but not my hometown. So a new round of migration began again, and drift and exile became the whole of life and livelihood. Maybe Shiju is just an extravagant dream for our Yang descendants.

I don't know where I'm going, and I don't know where I'm going to die. Because life is not only a process of seeking, but also a process from slave to quiet. Because on the land of Baishui, Grandpa's ancestral grave has been leveled, leaving only fertile fields of other families. Perhaps in a few years, there will be no burial, let alone tombs. When Grandpa was dying, he was not talking about white water, but Luonan who gave birth to him and raised him. Huayin and Shanxi before Luonan are probably the hometown that my grandparents talked about! So wandering and wandering are passed down in my surname. Now, our generation has once again started to anchor and sail, and once again started to migrate.

Hometown is so kind because it can easily touch the most vulnerable part of your heart. It is a utopia that cannot be found. It is a kind of care and deep feeling that can give you warmth. It seems to exist, but it doesn't exist. Perhaps for those who live here, they will lead the Department to leave one day to find their new paradise.

As a drifter, I like to see the light in the settler's window during the journey. I know it's not my hometown, and there's no home where I live. But there is the home I yearn for and the happiness of my family. Perhaps only the family affection under the lights at this time is the true meaning of human existence. I may be just a passer-by here, but the warmth of the passer-by at that moment is always fixed.

Hometown is not home, but it fascinates the Wanderers because of the existence of home. When hometown is becoming a memory and concept, it is hard to find. Hometown exists because of the memory of giving birth to me and raising me, and hometown exists because of the collocation of close relatives and villagers. In fact, this is only the hometown in the superficial sense. It is the home in essence.

Maybe it's time for us to miss our hometown and start to miss our hometown. Perhaps only when close relatives and villagers give their children the memory of giving birth to him and raising him, that place is their hometown in the shallow sense and their home in essence. So it has become the hometown of your children, but it's not yours. It's just because your "home" is here. There's a lamp you saw when you yearned and cared about on your journey.

Hometown is not home, home is a post station for migration, and hometown is the source of the birth of our surname.