There is no hometown in the world, but homesickness is born because of a foreign country. –Inscription

What is homesickness? It’s just mother’s nagging, father’s scolding, grandfather’s candied haws, grandma’s popcorn, and grandma’s bridge… ordinary flowers and plants, one person and one thing, have become a deep homesickness, unforgettable, Lingering.

The years do not live, the seasons flow. Where there are mountains, water, bridges, homes, and smoke, this is my hometown. In the past ten years, elementary schools, junior high schools and even high schools have never left the land where I was born and raised. Perhaps it was because I longed too much for the outside world, or because of the phrase “The world is so big, I want to see it”, so I always wanted to be far away from home, so I wrote the vow of “Graduate and go far away” in my notebook. Fortunately, I got my wish this year; my home is in Chongqing, and I am in the northeast, thousands of kilometers away. The town is still safe and sound, and I have grown up and left. But I miss so much: homesick, family, and small town.

This peace of mind is my hometown. Winter comes very early this year. This season, the northeast is already snowing; as a native southerner, it is so happy to stand in the snow and enjoy this unprecedented experience. But there were other thoughts in my mind: the south at this moment, the home town at this moment, should be people with red leaves, yellow flowers and green smoke; it must be full of fallen leaves, high mountains and soft waters. In the Northeast, although everything is fine, everything is as I want, maybe everyone is like this, the place that made you want to escape before is also the place that you want to go back most. This peace of mind is my hometown.

The best way to express homesickness is to talk to your family more on the phone. A few days ago, I had a video with my grandparents who hadn’t been in contact for a while. I suddenly found that the blue hair on their heads turned white again, and the wrinkles around their eyes became more obvious; time, you go slowly, I would like to use me to switch their years. Long stay. The nagging that once made me frown, is now so warm and kind. One step away, time is like a bird. It seems that the longer they grow up, the more they miss home. I hope this deep yearning can pass through the grandparents’ windows and enter their dreamland.

What is the taste of homesickness?

It is the smell of toasted bread in a small town, the smell of sesame cake in the hands of my father in the evening, the smell of orange red sunset hitting the ridges, the smell of barbecued cumin powder in the hands of school children, and the long and thin streets wrapped at dusk, overflowing with the smell of sour life . .

I think this is the taste of hometown.