Tell a joke first.
One person cried, asked, and answered: Lend money to a friend, who knows that he took the plastic surgery.
In “The World of the City,” author Anthony Orom said one thing: Patricia and his childhood neighbors were alarmed that the old house was about to be dismantled, and immediately set off to take a look at the place where he lived. He exclaimed, “For us outsiders, the house is nothing but a tangible object, but for them, it is part of life.”
Such anxious, such a rush and no time to delay, I have a deep understanding.
The efficiency of modern demolition is too terrible, and the smoke is extinguished overnight. It’s too late to visit relatives, and it’s too late to say goodbye. It’s too late to save a relic. For a dutiful son, the regret that he can’t deliver the end will make him cry.
In 2006, when I was doing the 30th anniversary of the Tangshan earthquake, I saw a mother describing her son emotionally: “Before the earthquake, Tangshan was very beautiful. The old mining bureau had a garden, a house, and the most beautiful iron. The communication place under the Bodhisattva Mountain… The Workers’ Culture Palace is really beautiful, there is an open-air stage, and there is a classical European-style flower wall, which is covered with green vines. The Kailuan Mining Bureau has a swimming pool with a diving platform and a beautiful floor-to-ceiling window. Big ballroom…”
The terrible thing about the earthquake is that it uproots life and destroys the entire foundation of objects and visual memories. When doing the TV program, even a picture of the old city looks hard.
After 1976, a new generation of Tangshan people almost completely lost their memory of their hometown. A few years ago, an American photographer sent a photo taken in 1972 when he was here. The whole Tangshan was boiling, and the old man was thinking, and many old people couldn’t make a sound. Because of the loss of the original location of the home, in the past 30 years, millions of Tangshan people have had a sacrifice day, but there is no place for memorial service. The call to the undead has been a mess of paper ash at the crossroads.
The sacrificial day of a generation, the nostalgia of a generation.
More terrible than the earthquake is a manual operation called “modernization.” At a city seminar, an official from the Ministry of Construction said: China is becoming a country composed of a thousand similar cities.
If in this world, everyone can only identify and cherish a hometown, and the hometown information is independent and unconfinable, then we have to use the thousand cities that are the same and similar. The courage and basis of the word “hometown”? Do we still have the possibility of sensation and the spiritual foundation?
Yes, a thousand mirror images were broken, crushed into powder, and they were born out of the same pair of molds. This is the new Chinese city under the “new and ever-changing” and “overwhelming”. They are no longer one by one, but a group of cloned corps in uniform uniforms, a collective secretion of an era.
Every hometown is falling, and every hometown is disfigured by plastic surgery.
After reading an interview with Yu Jian, a poet in Kunming, I was deeply impressed. Yu Jian is a man who loves his hometown. He used many beautiful words to describe the things around him. But 10 years later, he sighed: “A new hometown makes my writing like a lie.”
Yes, the “post-90s” generation must believe that Yu Jian is lying and in a nightmare. Because of what he said, there is no corresponding object in the real world. The article also cited his friend’s argument: “Zhou Lei said, ‘If a person suddenly loses memory after liberation, and then wakes up this year, he can’t find a home, no matter where he was born in Kunming.’ , ‘Impossible, amnesia 15 years ago, certainly not found now.'”
This is not only the poet’s jealousy, but the encounter of everyone in the era. Relatively speaking, the degree of tampering in Kunming is still relatively light.
”Hometown” is not only an address and space, it is a face and memory energy, there are annual rings and time stories, it needs visual evidence, it needs the basis of time, needs detailed support, even if it is a clue, even if it is a stone, a stone… …otherwise, why does a whale recognize the sights in front of you? Why do you affirm this old dream of dreams? This is where you collect your childhood and witness your youth?
When the things in front are completely inconsistent with the memory, when the moss of the past is wiped clean, when there is no thing to remind you that you have been with the ears, and get along with each other… can it make you excited? Is there the meaning of the place of life?
That’s just an address for maps and for consumption. Just like the name of the station in Beijing, if you think that they all represent the “location” and try to consume its entity, it is a big mistake: “Princess Tomb” actually has no graves, “Nine Trees” actually have no trees, “Apple Orchard” In fact, there is no garden, “Longfu Temple” actually has no temple…
The “address” may coincide with the “place”, such as “Qianmen Street”, but it does not mean the location itself, but only the orientation, coordinates and geographic route. The place is a living space. It is a body with roots, objects and rich connotations. It breeds memories and emotions and carries life activities and years. For example, you say “Shichahai”, “Nanluoguxiang” and “Lu Xun’s former residence”, that is, a living place, when you go, you will harvest what you want. Another example is the legendary “Shangri-La”, which is a place named by the spirit, not an address – even if you can never arrive, only poetic consumption, it does not affect its existence and meaning.
The address is dead and the location is alive. The address is only used to indicate and find, and the location is used to live and experience.
Anthony Orom is an American sociologist who has a major discovery: modern cities prefer “space” but disregard “place.” In his view, the location is a concept that is disappearing, but it is responsible for the mission of “defining our state of existence.” “Location is the most important and basic place for human activities. Without a place, humans do not exist.”
In fact, the full meaning of “hometown” will be implemented in the “place” and the content it raises. In short, the cultural mission of “hometown” is to demonstrate the logic of “one person in the water and soil”, that is, to explore a person’s life and growth, that is, to trace the source of his important vital features and spiritual genes, and the source. If you leave this task aside, “hometown” will collapse into a blank word, a lie flower.
When an elder said that he was a Beijinger, the floating in his mind must be from the old alley, the courtyard, the Mayflower, the front door, the Liubiju pickles, the Yueshengzhai mutton, the small intestines, the stew, Wang Zhihe. Stinky tofu… a whole set of memories. Or, it is the steaming life system and values that Beijing has fed. Today, when a young person calls himself a Beijinger, he must refer to the household registration and identity card. Lenovo also has information such as “house”, “property rights” and “address”.
The former is deeply affectionate in his hometown and living in the soil, melting his life and career in the “Beijing” location. The latter claims to be institutional identity, legal qualifications and certificate holding rights, without emotional elements and spiritual elements.
What makes Orom angry is his motherland. In fact, the survival route of “focusing on space and disregarding the location” is more naked and in full swing in China.
The instinct of “space” is expansion and expansion. It has a tendency to be new and tired; the nature of “place” is quiet and loyal, and it supports conservativeness and stability. The encounter between the two has been transformed into urban changes, that is, the urban area is large and the building is new, while the familiar places and traditional blocks are suffering from the fate of garbage. In fact, anything that is too fast and loses its borders is terrible. There is a danger of losing the standard. It is all about the “place”. Like today’s Beijing, Shanghai, and Guangzhou, one person calls it “hometown”, I am afraid that there is already a shame –
On the one hand, the boundlessness of the desire of Dacheng makes that anyone can only consume a very small one. No one can grasp and intervene in it as a whole. No one can describe and count it as many times, no one can Can become a veritable “old man.”
On the other hand, because it is extremely unstable, the face changes from time to time, the layout is arbitrarily altered, and there is no relatively firm and permanent element for the human body. Everything is temporary, accidental, and the story is not settled – so you can’t remember it, can’t produce dependence. And deep feelings. In short, it no longer carries the commemoration of time, no longer responsible for your growing memories, no longer has the function of recording your life.
In the face of infinite enlargement and variation, and the city that does not stop for a moment, who dares to call himself the Lord?
Everyone is a passer-by, a stranger, and your impression cannot keep up with its facelift. And its “old masters” have become “newcomers” who are easy to get lost. In Beijing, many elders born in Sri Lanka and growing up in Sri Lanka are now far away from their own street. Why? I am afraid I can’t go home! In such a impermanent city, people and places have lost the most basic agreement. In the same position, things that are seen every year, every month, every week are flickering. Occasionally, you are not as good as someone who just entered it. The status quo of the site, once, I said that there is a good restaurant in Guangnei Street. The friend who was in Beijing shook his head, smashed it, and demolished it. How can I say that? I have been there last month. The friend laughed. It happened to be there yesterday, and the whole street was demolished. I sigh, it is an old street full of old age.
Blowing out the wax and sweeping away, the boundless big city grand map, the same uniformity template…
Countless “places” are falling and being more stringed.
Numerous “hometowns” were in the fall and were uprooted.
Even in the city, the Chinese countryside is also falling and falling at a more alarming rate. Because it is weaker, has no focus and barrier, and is less self-sustaining and protective. I even wonder: Does China still have true rural and rural spirit?
The selection of CCTV’s so-called “Charming Town” is just a catwalk, and it is awarding “the ruins”. Those ancient towns and towns, just did not have time to take off the cheongsam horse, the inside is already modern underwear or empty. In them, I don’t seem to feel the soul, footsteps and smoke of the “small town” – the kind of life aesthetics and spiritual order that is completely different from the city.
The towns in the world are all performing, and they are all pretending.
The true spirit of the village – the peace and tranquility in the bones that can’t be installed.
”I will return to my hometown and win.”
The child of nature, Sai Ning, said.
Shen Congwen also said, “A soldier will either die in the battlefield or return to his hometown.”
They are lucky. In that era, the hometown was not dead. At least there are no signs and signs, so that the wanderer is worried that his hometown will die.
Yes, the death knell is ringing. It is time to say goodbye.
Everyone should hurry back to their hometown to see it before it is plasticized, disfigured or buried.
Of course, there is still a choice: never return to your hometown, not to witness its death.
I regret. I am going late. I should not go.
Since I have not lived in my ancestral home, I have been treating my small village with my parents in the 1970s as my hometown for many years. On the day of sorting out the old things, I turned out a copy of my own junior high school composition, which was called “Recalling My Childhood.”
”My childhood was spent in the country. It was a village surrounded by mountains, beautiful mountains, creeks, mysterious caves, honeysuckles everywhere. In the evening, throw a stone into the reeds. The ridge will start with hundreds of wild geese and wild ducks… It’s my happiest season when I am coming in the summer. I walked on the burning sand and ran to the paradise with the lotus leaves. There is a wide water slope in the north of the village. Like a bed, covered with green moss, under the slope is a deep pool, with round boulder in the water, slippery, like a big turtle, the back is a natural swimming pool…”
Frankly speaking, these descriptions are not adulterated. Years later, I met a professor of art. He told me that 30 years ago, he took students to the Jiaodong Peninsula and the Yimeng Mountain area for many times, and passed the village. Really beautiful, he bite. In fact, not only it, according to aesthetic standards, the villages of that era were able to enter the paintings, all of which were worthy of Tao Yuanming’s “Shunyuan Village, Yiyi Market. In the deep lane of the shit, the chicken mulberry tree.”
A few years ago, in midsummer, where honeysuckle was opened, I took my wife to see it. It was the first time I had set foot on it in 30 years.
Along the way, I kept portraying everything she was about to see, and she was dazzled by her fascination. I was also immersed in the imagination and emotion of “children don’t know each other, where the hello visitors come from.” But with the sound of the brakes, I was shocked, all disappeared, all disappeared, I couldn’t find the river, the pond, the water slope where the shrimps splashed, could not find the group of turtles… … replaced by a quarry, a brick kiln that smokes, and an advertisement on the side of the road: Welcome to the land of marble.
Like Yu Jian, I became a liar, a boast, a hallucinogen.
Without a hometown, no life experience, why do people confirm who they are and who they belong to?
There is no place, no road signs, how do people say where to come from, where to go?
In this era, there are too few things that are constant, too few things are slow, and we are not going back to the ground, and the footprints, villages, and shadows behind us are gone.
We sang a song all the way, but found no words.
We walked far and far, but forgot why.