Deep homesickness

        　　In fact, people, like trees, have a root, which is home. Wherever you are and thousands of miles away, that root lingers around you.

        A person's local accent can be changed, his habits can be changed, and his place of residence can also be moved, but his roots will not be shaken. It is like a long and tough transparent ribbon, invisible and colorless, but always with you.
        
         Hometown is a violin in memory, occasionally you will play it, compose a melodious and desolate melody, as a comfort when you miss it; Hometown is a seat in tragedy, when you are tired, you will always take it out and settle your body and mind; Hometown is a picture of childhood, when the book of life turns pages in a foreign country, you will not forget the colorful childhood. That page; Hometown is a haven for travelers when they are down, a bandage when they are sad, and a silent comfort when they are sad.
        
         In the return season of another year, the wandering tourists began to carry their bags and follow the returning army on their way home. Despite knowing the long way home, they still traveled to their homes, only to return to their dreams, accompany their parents with white temples, and review the warmth of their homes.
        
         As a native Shanghainese, maybe I can't personally experience the hardship of returning home, but every New Year, when I see my office colleagues returning home early on vacation, I think of the feeling of leaving home at school. Although the school is not very far from home, but every weekend afternoon, I am very reluctant to leave home, because the next week can not see my parents; as time goes by, I turn sad and happy, because Friday can return to the nest that I miss so much, although the family was not rich at that time, but my laughter, tears, my childhood, more marks of my growth. Now because of the municipal construction, my house has been demolished, and I still think of it from time to time.
        
         In the long course of human history, how many travelers are like this. Although they are in a foreign country, they are in love with their hometown, and how many talented writers express their homesickness in writing. There is Li Bai's Silent Night Thought: "The bright moonlight in front of the window is suspected to be frost on the ground. Raising my head, I see the moon so bright; withdrawing my eyes, my nostalgia comes around. "Nostalgia" by Xi Murong today: "The song of hometown is a clear flute, which always sounds on the night of the moon. Hometown's appearance is a kind of vague sadness, as if waving goodbye in the fog. After parting, nostalgia is a tree without rings and will never grow old. No matter where you are, whether your life is sweet or sour, please go home and see it often. It is a warm spring, but also a place of belonging in your heart.