The place of one's birth is not chosen.
When you are an ignorant child, you don't know if this place is the first place in the world, or a poor place, or a desolate and desolate world, and this becomes the first imprint in your memory.
This is where you were born, and this is your homeland, your hometown.
It doesn't matter how long you've lived in this place, left, migrated, or spent the rest of your life there; No matter what kind of emotions you have for this land, whether it is nostalgia, concern, complaint or curse, this first memory will be engraved in your life without hesitation, this is home.
There is a very interesting phenomenon in the Chinese Chinese dialect that whether you were born in the countryside or in the city, you will call your birthplace your hometown.
The term encapsulates the long and far-reaching meaning of an agrarian society and people's deep attachment to the land, which can be pondered but not necessarily investigated.
Even if someone uses their place of origin instead of their place of birth, they usually refer to it as their hometown when they introduce themselves.
Everyone has their own hometown and their feelings about their hometown are also different.
However, in the essays about my homeland, almost all I read were praises, praises, longings, nostalgia, self-blame, and guilt.
The reader's feeling is that, while resonant, it seems to hide a lot of real feelings; Although it can trigger associations, the complex emotions in the heart cannot be fully expressed.
In this conventional template narrative, what I read is the same, the same person, and the same song.
No matter which one I read, I felt déjà vu, and it evoked my feelings of joy and sorrow, intimacy and alienation of my hometown.
Throughout the ages, there have been many and varied descriptions of hometown.
Who doesn't miss their homeland? Who doesn't love their hometown? For everyone, it's the norm.
I have written many essays about nostalgia for my hometown and praise for my hometown, which have also been published in newspapers and magazines, and some of my works have been included in annual anthologies and collections.
But to this day, I'm not sure if I've truly expressed my true feelings about my hometown.
The memories of one's hometown are actually not complicated.
The first is the environment, and the second is the people in the environment.
In my simplest definition, I'll start with the natural environment of my hometown.
My hometown is surrounded by mountains on three sides, and the mountain in front of my house is called Yaogu Mountain, which is named after the legend that there is a fairy Gu who picks medicine to save the people.
The mountains are continuous, stretching for hundreds of miles, and on the other side of the mountain is Linxiang, Hunan.
There is a mountain on the mountainside called Yokory.
When I was a child, I often went up the mountain to chop firewood, and I had to pass through this mountain, and after my essay "Hengling Boundless" was published in the supplement of "People's **", more than 70 high schools across the country included this article in the college entrance examination mock test.
There is a mountain behind my house called Jianshan, and there is a temple on the mountain, which was once destroyed, and after being restored a few years ago, the incense is said to be very vigorous.
I've always wanted to climb to the top of the mountain, but I've never been able to do so, but when I was in elementary school, I went up the mountain with my classmates and flew kites.
To the left of my house is a relatively low hill that I climbed to the town of Beigang when I joined the army, and from there I began my journey out of the mountains.
To the right of my house is a small plain that stretches downward, typical of mountainous rice producing areas, with a small river with gentle currents but also dangerous undercurrents.
In the summer, I often fish and catch shrimp in dangerous places with my friends barefoot, and sometimes I have a harvest, which is very happy.
We frolicked in the water, touching small fish in the crevices of the rocks, and later learned that it was crucian carp, also known as the head fish, as well as eels and soft-shelled turtles.
Walking about six or seven miles along the river, you will come to a place called Daping, where I went to elementary school and junior high school.
At that time, I went to school barefoot, occasionally wore a pair of straw sandals, rubber shoes could not be bought, and cloth shoes were used to wear after washing my feet at night.
There are many interesting things to do in childhood and adolescence, and it is very fun for a group of friends to play "catching sheep" together.
In the moonlit village front sunbath, we were engrossed in playing, sweating profusely.
As the moon slowly moved, I felt like I couldn't get enough of it when I got home.
It's also fun to play "leg butting", where one leg stands on its own, one leg is balanced on its hand, and then it collides with each other.
In an instant, the entire drying field was filled with one-legged independent figures, and whenever they collided with each other, those who were "defeated" would be eliminated.
The last two remaining people will have a "duel", and the audience is filled with childish shouts, which is very lively.
When we have fun, we don't realize where the danger is coming from, we just feel like we are playing in the sunyard.
But one day, a black flower dog suddenly burst into the crowd and bit me and another partner.
Even though we didn't know there was rabies at the time, and even though there was no rabies vaccine in the countryside, we still felt pain.
I still have two tooth marks from dog bites on my right leg.
The dog that bit me bit a lot of people in the village, and everyone hated it deeply, but there was nothing they could do.
Because of its owner, there were four tall and strong brothers.
Whoever dares to provoke them and beat their dogs, these four bullies will definitely come to you for trouble.
I can't fight them, but I can get a dog myself.
I have a spotted earth dog and it grows very fast, tall and strong.
Once, he actually bit the black flower dog that bit me all over his body.
I named it "Saihu", which was inspired by "Lin Hai Snow Field".
Aside from school, I was inseparable from Saihu.
When I go to the mountains to chop wood, it always runs ahead of me, driving away the snakes and beasts in the mountains; If anyone disrespects me, it will stand before me in anger; I sit down to rest, and it will jump up and sit next to me.
When I enlisted in the army and left home, it took me all the way to the town of Northport, and even when I chased it away, it would not look back.
I got into the military truck, it was still looking at me with its legs up, and I saw the tears in its eyes.
In the army, every time I wrote a letter to my family, I would ask about the "Saihu", first hearing that it had been beaten crippled, and then that it had disappeared for no apparent reason.
You don't have to guess to know that it must have been captured and slaughtered, and most of the dogs in the mountain villages have such fate.
I've been heartbroken about this for years, and since then I've never had a dog again, and I'm afraid that the fate of Saihu will repeat itself.
When I was a child, a group of children from our village would get together and something fun would always happen.
We catch snakes in the fields and grass, and we release small snakes to catch big snakes.
Snakes are killed, skinned, and impurities removed, and someone steals the pot and salt from the house, and then stews the snake, and we share it together.
I couldn't accept eating a snake, but I was bitten by a snake.
Once, I was pulling weeds in the field when I suddenly felt very painful in my fingers, and when I looked closely, a snake quickly slipped away.
My fingers were bleeding, I got rid of the dirt from the wound, and I applied a handful of dirt, and I didn't dare tell anyone when I got home.
Although our lives are worthless, our lives are resilient.
The wound healed after a few days.
At that time, as soon as summer arrived, the melons and fruits were ripe, and we used the moonlight to steal them.
My favorite is the vegetable melon, which I wipe twice on my clothes when I pick it off, and it is crispy, sweet and fragrant.
Looking back now, it may have been because I didn't have enough to eat.
The next day, the owner of the garden found that the melons and fruits had been stolen, and some of the grumpy people cursed loudly, but most of them did not bother to investigate, and the owner guessed that some of the children who stole the vegetables might have his own children.
Roasting sweet potatoes, baking potatoes in the wild is a very common thing.
We always feel that the food baked outside is better than the one at home, and it is very fragrant.
As long as we can roast, we will roast, we dig a small hole in the ground, find some firewood on the nearby hillside, take out the matches brought from home, light the fire, and we can start roasting, and we can also rely on the fire to keep warm in winter.
Grilled fish bones are the most memorable thing, each of us will take the fish bones and fish bones thrown on our dinner table to the wild and grill them, and then everyone will rush to eat them together, not to suck, but to chew and swallow together.
However, it is only during the Spring Festival and the annual opening of the rice seedlings that the production team will fish out the big fish from the pond in front of the door and distribute them to each family, so that the children will have the opportunity to grill the fish bones.
Moreover, it is fragrant only when the bones of the big fish are grilled.
The so-called big fish weighs two or three pounds.
The smell of grilled fish bones wafts everywhere, and the friends who missed it will smell the fragrance, and the adults will be happy when they smell it: "These children are grilling fish bones." ”
At that time, the superlative entertainment was watching movies.
As soon as the two large wooden poles are erected and the screen is pulled, you can watch the movie.
No matter which village shows a movie, adults and children will flock to it.
The "Three Wars" we watch most often: "Tunnel Warfare", "Mine Warfare" and "Southern Expedition and Northern War".
After watching too much, we ourselves began to play "mine warfare".
The people were divided into two groups: one group hid and dug pits to bury "mines", and dug small pits on the hillside, in which stones would sting their feet, covered with branches and miscellaneous leaves; The other group is confined to waiting under the slopes of the hills where the "mines" are not visible.
One on the slope said: "The mines" have been laid, come and find them.
A bunch of people down the slope scramble up the slope to find it, and if they find a "mine", they will be rewarded with a sweet potato, or a turnip.
If you can't find it, you will be penalized, and it will also be deducted with sweet potatoes and turnips.
If you accidentally step on a "mine", you will not only be stung in the foot by a stone, but you will also be punished twice.
"Mine warfare" can only be played at night when there is a little starlight and a little blur, when the moon is bright and there are many stars, it is not good for hiding, and when it is too dark, the game cannot be played.
In the countryside, the admiration and appreciation of craftsmen has almost become a local custom.
On the one hand, they have a craft in them; On the other hand, they can do a lot of manual work, so they are always invited to eat and drink well, which is enviable.
First-class craftsmen include carpenters, blacksmiths, blacksmiths, bricklayers, tailors, etc., and to the next level, barbers, shavers, bricklayers, and pot repairers.
My neighbor was a carpenter, and although his skills were average, he was sincere and considerate of his owner's materials and objects.
Over time, he became the first choice for carpentry work in and out of the house.
The carpenter had many children in his family, but only the eldest son could inherit his craft, so he was interested in carpentry.
I remember when we were playing together when we were children, he used the leftovers left by my father to make a cart cart, shaped like a wheelbarrow, with two wooden wheels and two pieces of wood like a mortar at the back, and slapped on the crossbar in front of it, making a clattering sound, so it was called "Dada cart".
A few days later, I also found some scrap wood and made one in his likeness.
We each pushed our own carts to play in the drying field.
When adults and children saw the car rattling sound, they all competed for **, and praised it again and again for "it's fun".
I once learned the skills of ploughing and raking, raising seedlings and planting crops, and turning grain and rice.
In addition, I also learned how to make straw sandals and straw hats.
The straw sandals I make are durable and durable, especially the difficult technique of closing the heel, which is top-notch.
And the hand-woven straw hat can only be regarded as an ordinary level.
Perhaps influenced by country life, I always have a lot of respect for the skilled craftsmen.
Therefore, when I see them in the city giving them a new look, I am not only grateful, but I also can't help but sigh that everything changes because of the people who have mastered the craft, who actually do it.
I especially admire people who are in business.
When we think back to what we ourselves have worked for in vain, fleeting, and repeated, we can only sigh.
Although the environment in which I grew up was not a treasure land of feng shui, nor was it a harsh landscape; Neither perfect nor worthless.
According to my judgment and thinking about my hometown in general, after talking about the environment, I will continue to talk about the people in the environment.
Although I have tried to avoid this topic many times, it is always haunted in my heart, and any obstacle can be resolved in thought.
People who grew up in this land are industrious and kind.
But in my childhood, I also encountered a few exceptions.
Our family is a typical "half-side household", with my father working outside the home and my mother living in the countryside with my brothers and sisters.
Except for my mother's income from working outside the home and my labor during the winter and summer vacations, most of our family's food rations were paid by my father's monthly salary of 32 yuan.
Although life was very difficult, our family's food payments were rarely delayed.
Some people in the village always think that our family is taking advantage of us, that we are "eating for nothing", and discriminate against us.
When it comes to the distribution of rations and supplies, our family is always given the least portion.
For example, when we red potatoes, we get them all in the most remote and highest mountains, and the sweet potatoes become food for wild beasts if there is no strong labor at home to pick them.
Poverty is not terrible, and we are not timid when we encounter difficulties, but we are most afraid of losing our dignity and making people treat us differently.
And our family spends most of our time in this situation.
Every year during the winter and summer vacations, I have to participate in the work of the production team, and after the holiday, the production team will issue a certificate detailing my working attitude, situation and time during the vacation.
At that time, I was timid, and I was always worried that the team would say something bad about the proof and affect my schooling.
Even though I'm small, I'm still trying to do all kinds of labor.
During the summer vacation, during threshing, the pockmarked team leader asked me to do the same work as the strong laborers.
While holding the sheaf bunches, he stepped on them, and he had to pull the heavy threshing bucket forward.
If the ground is dry, the situation is okay, but if it is muddy, I can only move forward little by little, and I really try my best.
I was only 13 years old at the time.
No matter what, they feel that "there is a family behind them", and since they have eaten the team's rations, they should do heavy work like adults, pulling heavy threshing buckets on the muddy fields like adults.
I worked very stubbornly, pulling the bucket with both hands, exerting too much force, and ended up in a muddy field, my face covered in mud and my mouth full of stinking water.
Even so, there was no one around to comfort me.
I struggled to my feet, spat out my mouth full of muddy water, wiped the mud off my face with my hands, picked up the threshing bucket, and continued on one step at a time.
The people around didn't have the slightest pity, just laughed.
They finally saw the offspring of a half-sided family, and a man who eats white rice would also suffer such a dilemma.
They retaliate for no reason, are dissatisfied for no reason, as if they see an outlet that they have been waiting for for a long time.
For me, this is just the beginning, and every summer I will be immersed in these days of being discriminated against, ridiculed, and muddy.
Ever since I was a child, I faced everything alone and never told my mother.
I know that it is already very difficult for my mother to live in the countryside with us, and if my mother knew this, she would fight with people.
The family could not escape the suffering.
So I can only endure it.
During the summer vacation when I was 16 years old, I was asked by the team to participate in the delivery of public food.
The team thinks that I represent the whole family, and as a person who eats white rice, I need to pick 140 catties of grain each time, just like everyone else.
Whether it is crossing a ravine or climbing a mountain road, as long as the rice is spilled from the basket and spilled, then the difference will be deducted from my family's rations.
What I picked on my shoulders was not only the public food, but also the food for our family's life, and I couldn't miss one.
Sixteen years old pick 140 pounds, my shoulders are swollen and bleeding, but I grit my teeth and persevere, as long as I don't sprinkle, don't splash, don't let a single rice fall away, then I'm a real man! Able to stand up and keep the family's food rations.
Delivering public food is not a matter of one or two days, but seven days in a row, and I have been persistent.
I really can't understand that at that time, in order to let the production team take more care of our family, my father tried to get some fertilizer indicators for the team many times, and fertilizer was a scarce material at that time.
My father also got a very cheap diesel engine for the team to use for the villagers to mill rice.
All these efforts, despised, ignored, have not changed in the slightest.
I remember one year, my family was in arrears on the payment of public food, and that was the only time my family was in arrears.
The team insisted on using more than a dozen pine floor slabs of my house as collateral, and the only heirloom copper kettle of value in the family was also confiscated.
After graduating from middle school, some kind-hearted people recommended me to become a private teacher, but the team members were unanimously opposed: one of their families ate food provided by the state, and it was an easy job for their son to be a teacher, so it was absolutely impossible.
It wasn't until I joined the army that I finally got away from those people.
This is what I feel most intuitively about people in a rural environment, and I can't put it into words.
I once wrote a long essay called "The Spiritual History of the Children of Half the Household", which was published in the magazine "Chinese Essayist".
In the article, I was honest about my inner thoughts and recounted the discrimination, humiliation, and injustice that my family and I experienced during that time.
I did think about it more than once: turning my back on my hometown.
Betrayal is not betrayal, let alone disobedience.
Instead, it turns around and writes authentically about those true feelings that are not bound by any norms and moral definitions.
Since there is such an experience, any writing should reveal the inner depression at once.
If we can't write in a real way in front of my hometown, can our writing be real? After my mother moved to live in the county seat, every time I invited her back to the village to relax, she always said, "I'm afraid to go back, I'm afraid of that place!" "I don't know how much injustice and pain my mother has experienced in that land called her homeland that I don't know about.
One thing I witnessed was that at that time, sweet potato fries were dried in the village in the drying field in winter, and whoever arrived first and laid the curtain first had the right to dry all day.
Later people didn't dare to touch other people's curtains, but they pushed our curtains aside, causing all the sweet potato fries to be sprinkled on the ground, which was our family's food.
Others don't dare to move, but for us as a half-sided family, the curtains pushed to your house are not ambiguous.
There are too many things like this kind of bullying and being looked down upon.
Each time, I patiently persuaded my mother, telling her that no matter how much humiliation and fear we went through, we should still go back, that it was our hometown, after all, the place where we had lived for more than ten years.
When her mother went, she brought milk and all kinds of food to her good sisters in the village.
When faced with those neighbors who had bullied my family for no reason, my mother would greet me with a smile and warm greetings.
At that moment, I felt my mother's calm and serenity after the storm, even though she may have been a little reluctant in her heart.
I go back to my hometown a lot.
Every time I go back, although I don't have the anxiety and fear like "I am more timid about my hometown, I dare not ask anyone", I still have nostalgia and nostalgia for my hometown, just like "I should cry when I see the bright moon together, and my hometown heart is the same everywhere in one night".
After a long time away from my hometown, the world has changed, and I have reached a kind of reconciliation with those who have been unfair to me and my family.
I understood their difficulty and narrow-mindedness in that poor era, and understood that the nameless fire in their hearts could only be vented on the "half of the households" around them.
When I returned, I brought them cigarettes, drank wine and tea with them, and they were in their twilight years, and they would confide in me their deep guilt.
At this moment, what was once hatred is transformed into pity.
Their families need to see a doctor in the provincial capital, and their descendants have some special expertise and want to ask for expert guidance, and some people are working outside the home but can't get a salary, so I try my best to help them handle it.
Turning around with your back to your hometown and facing your hometown again, it is emotion, longing, mixed tastes, the crampedness and uneasiness after talking about it, and the ease of calmly facing criticism and accusations after telling the truth.
My hometown insulted me, cursed me, and blamed me, but I responded with a smile and never turned away from it again.
That "umbilical cord" is behind him, and it is difficult to cut.
The moon is silent, the moon is silent, the moon is bright, and people are affectionate. ”
This is my hometown that I can't put into words.