01.
I really got to know this small town in my high school years.
At that time, in addition to classes and reading novels, what impressed me the most is out of the school gate to the right, there are three forks of the concrete road, one next to the school, another road downhill to the east, both sides of the road planted with cherry blossoms, spring and summer, blooming full of a tree of splendor. Winding to the west of the one, the interface is a winding uneven steps, pitted stone steps left the traces of the polishing of the years. Along it has been toward the bottom, you can see the river through the county, the river is not wide, the clattering flow of the river in the water grass gives the small town a little aura.
The Rainbow Bridge connects the two banks of the river.
On the other side of the river is a noisy world.
The sides and center of the street are filled with stalls. The vendors witnessed the seasons and lived their peaceful lives here. They tidy up the fresh vegetables, sprinkling water on the green peppers and celery, the purple eggplants, the whitish bok choy, the bright red tomatoes, and piling potatoes, sweet potatoes, string beans, and pumpkins on the simple wooden planks of the stalls. On the tricycle is fresh pork, and the pork seller wears a black or blue apron, chatting with others while dealing with customers.
The neighboring farmers' market has an expansive lacquer-painted pagoda, a black netting above the street, and stalls built on stone piers below, with a wide range of small commodities and bundles of brightly colored cloths, which dress up this market life in a lively manner.
The center of the small town behind a small square, the square is surrounded by the orientation of the simple name of the street - West Street, Nanxin Street, Donggang; some also highlight the name of the place, Wujiaquan, Tongba, Erdaohe. Yet there is hardly a bus route. People rode bicycles and later motorcycles through the streets and alleys. If one is on foot, one can run the whole city in perhaps twenty minutes or so. The buzz is around the bus station, where people from the north and south depart and return. When leaving, the big bags filled with longing and fantasies of distant places; when returning, the hard work and sweat outside into a gift concentrated in the package to bring to the family.
It is so small, backward, remote, like an introverted lonely patient, in the noise and clamor exudes a cold loneliness.
But even so, perhaps because of low self-esteem, I have never sketched out the future, nor have I ever thought of going out to touch a prosperous world.
In my eyes, the language textbook "desert" of the vast desert and "lotus leaves" of the poetic Jiangnan, are equivalent to the mathematical formulas and theorems. They are just abstract knowledge and conceptual symbols, not concrete into a life, or form a temptation, can let me have a desire to chase the look.
I live in my own little world, never fantasize about tomorrow.
02.
As if by destiny, I ended up returning to this small town to work and live.
The house that my family bought with their own money has been demolished, and a high-rise has been built on the old site. The city has been expanded. The roads have become wider and there are bus lines going in different directions. Advertisements for branded tours have spread from the provincial capital to the capital city. The vegetable market that once stretched across the middle of the street was re-planned and moved out of town, managed in a standardized and orderly manner. Farmer's market disappeared, the stores and brand stores or opulent or literary personality to come, they bring the fashion elements for the small town, injected fresh blood.
When night comes, the tall buildings lined up with lights, traffic is like weaving. Neon lights flashing, people in the night exchange cut, release pressure, drink and buy drunk. In a trance, as if the year's ambition again possessed, in a glass of wine in the ignition is the fighting spirit of life.
Trimmed the river re-erected the bridge, the form of different lamp post colorful. The evening wind blew through the two embankments of the willow swaying in the wind, the evening rest of the people singing the local flower drum opera, immersed in the joy of self-indulgence. Some of them are excitedly dancing in the square dance, following the rhythm of the rhythm of the dance of the love of life. There are also companion or solo to the North Ring Road and Tianlu Mountain Village, nagging parents, filtering the residual dregs of life, footsteps interpretation of health, measure of life ......
The new small town is becoming more and more beautiful, each of its metamorphosis convenes more and more foreign workers to return to their hometowns to start their own businesses. They return to their hometowns from far away. Like all the rural cities that dot China's landscape, you can't even find its coordinates on a map. But it is beginning to thrive.
The young, naive girl of that time was swept along in life and work, becoming one of the thousands of soldiers who glued themselves to their own lonely courage in the minutiae day after day. The routine work has worn down the passion of the blood, the mediocre and trivial daily life has aged the face. Fantasizing about love and tenderness, wanting to maintain elegance, life's contingencies but always mercilessly remove the veil, like hemlock but never to return, leaving a chicken feather.
In the tearing forward I began to doubt the meaning of life ......
03.
Imagination has never been richer, I began to countless times to fantasize about faraway places.
There is a blue wave rolling sea, golden soft beach bathed in the warmth of the sun. There are mountain peaks towering mangled jungle, naive, lively jumping beasts and birds let people happy and excited. There is a vast expanse of grassland, patches of rapeseed flowers spread to the Qinghai Lake, a look up can see the distant outline of the snow-capped mountains . Or go to see the ancient trees, lakes and waterfalls, colorful Jiuzhai Paradise, and that brick, rowing paddle ink Jiangnan, with a long rhythmic life pace, but also will be soothing the restless soul. Finally, take the green train to enjoy the slow life, to the Potala Palace to complete a person's spiritual pilgrimage ......
Instead of fantasy, it is better to say escape.
In the trivial and mediocre life, I escaped again and again. Escape from its confinement and shackles, in the fantasy countless times to separate the spirit of jailbreak.
04.
Like me, there are still a few people?
Someone said: "Memory, like expectation, is a tool for simplifying and editing reality. Present life is like a long film reel wound together, and our memories and expectations are merely a selection of the best pictures from it."
Time moves forward day and night; it never stops for anyone. We are expanding our egos in the material world, expanding our unfathomable desires. In the world of mud and sand, panicked to put on a variety of masks, ignoring to consider the appropriate or not. The first thing you need to do is to get a good deal of money to pay for the services you need.
Everyone has their own unspeakable joys and sorrows.
We have grown roots in a familiar place, but we dislike the barren soil that nourishes us. From life and death to parting, being blunted into the majority of us, we have to be in the compromise and reluctance, organize the mood, pack up the line.
We in the "may you go away for half a lifetime, come back is still a young man" in the wish, trekking through the thousands of mountains and rivers of the soul, from the departure to return, and ultimately, no one has gone.
We must have learned to make peace with life in its inversion.
It smoothed out our edges, and we accepted its ten thousand images. Far away, has unconsciously penetrated into every minutiae of life. It's always been there.
The sadness and happiness of the rest of his life, the love of such a small city.
The first time I saw this is when I was a kid, and it was the first time I was a kid, and it was the first time I was a kid.
The next day at work, the foggy morning, humid breath came, as far as the gauze shrouded, as close as the sketch writing.
The night of the street lamp, just after the rain of the road slightly slippery, vaguely students early in the morning to get up in a hurry footprints, or the pace of exercise, wheels crushed traces of breakfast store just out of the pot of baozi emitted by the smell, so that people still seem to see the lingering steam pots next to the steam steamer. The street corner of the support of the frying pan rolling, two elderly people, white hair, holding long chopsticks, skillfully fried doughnut fishing into the next round pots, standing in front of the occasional passerby.
The picture in front of us is so rich and three-dimensional, it is the background and model of our life ...... city, in this early morning in the city, quietly opened the curtain of a new day.