Poland, where I once studied and worked, is a Catholic country, with churches of all sizes everywhere, and the statue of the Virgin standing quietly in the courtyard on the corner of the street. Every weekend, the crowd is bustling with bathing and changing clothes and packing up for worship. The whole ceremony lasted for an hour. The atmosphere of the hall was solemn, and the sound of the pipe organ was low and peaceful, soothing people's hearts. When the priest reads the Bible, he sings the same tone as in ancient times. The believers sing the next sentence naturally, and the organ immediately follows the melody. I am obsessed with this solemn sense of ritual. After the end, people filed out, mostly friends who had lived nearby for half their lives, greeted each other happily, and then drove home.
Older people often get together to chat on weekends, talking about things when they were young, about the climate and harvest, and the children's whereabouts. Often chatting and chatting, they would sing, singing hymns, in a peaceful and peaceful manner.
One time around the Spring Festival, it was also a gathering, and I invited Lai, who was also in Poland, to come to my house as a guest. The so-called home refers to the Polish family I lived in at that time. After having a good meal and having a good meal, everyone started to sing hymns again, led by the old man. Miss Lai said she liked this ancient tradition very much. The landlady asked, is there such a song that was sung a long time ago in China? I thought about it and said yes, so I sang a qin song "Three Stacks of Yangguan" "The Qinghe Festival is spring, the rain in Weicheng is light and dusty, the guest house is green and willows are fresh, I advise you to drink more wine and go out to Yangguan in the west. People without a reason. Trent, Trent, long-distance crossing of Guanjin, melancholy. I went through hardships, hardships, hardships..." Before the song was finished, she suddenly found that Miss Lai was already in tears. The landlady comforted me softly, and I was stunned.
Then it was shock. I know that my singing is not good. She cried because she was in a foreign country thousands of miles away, and she felt sad, but why didn't I cry? Then I remembered my childhood wanderings and exiles. From Shandong to Xinjiang, I kept moving and transferring schools, and I stayed in almost every place for less than a year. In my impression, crying because of parting was the first time I transferred from elementary school. I cried hoarsely and my eyes were swollen into walnuts. On weekends, I secretly ran back to the gate of the original school to watch. After that, I stopped crying because there were too many times, including after the family was stable, the school was divided into classes, etc., the classmates reluctantly looked at each other with tears in their eyes, and I just watched from the sidelines, thinking that it would make a difference if we saw each other or not. Therefore, they are often said to be ruthless.
The girl Lai, with the pear flowers and the rain in front of me, because she sang an ancient song at random, she didn't have to say anything, she already gave me a heavy blow. It seemed that something was waking up in my heart, and a sleepy little beast opened my mouth. Eyes, lying on the cage, stretched out sharp claws, scratching my heart aches.
A few days ago, I watched "Old Man in Mountains and Rivers". The boy in the movie is called Zhang Daole. His parents divorced when he was young. After that, he moved from Shanxi to Shanghai to live with his father. He had a new family and immigrated to Australia at the age of seven. As an adult, he is a person who looks completely westernized. English has become his native language. He gets along well with the locals. He can make fun of his English name dollar in class, and everything is normal. However, he accidentally bumped into Chinese teacher Mia divorced from her ex-husband, and gradually fell in love with her. It's hard to tell what kind of feeling it was, like Mia played a song that her mother used to listen to, like Mia also got divorced, like Mia driving him out, reminding him of a similar scene in his childhood, with Mother. With Mia, he could talk about China and the memory that was too vague to remember. However, the matter has come to this point, the mountains and rivers are thousands of miles away, and the old people are nine layers of heaven. It was like a crustal movement that awakened the dormant volcano in his body, which began to erupt after meeting Mia, gurgling hot and restless magma.
So what the hell is hometown? How can it be like cancer cells, the incubation period is so long, and once it occurs, it is irresistible. I know that those who are brave are always on the road, they either have a huge tree in their hearts with strong roots, or they are just looking for it. However, there is no cure for nostalgia, and one can only recuperate slowly, piece by piece with incomplete memories. I don't know where my hometown should be. Everything I've experienced seems to be temporary and fragmented. I don't know where to look for those old friends who have never stopped, there are poems that can be sung, and friends who have met half a lifetime.
Later, I quit my teaching job abroad and returned to the small town where my parents lived. Mountains and rivers change, but if I see everything, I won't feel right and wrong in the future. I want to be a person who accompanies my hometown to grow old, just like Tao in the movie. I want to personally cultivate my fields, which will last forever in Japan. When the rice fields are full, and the rivers are quiet, my tigers will become more tame.
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