Old house, hometown

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He was old and sick, and his whole body was like dried leaves. Those who originally had more contacts saw me like this, and their passion for communication was immediately reduced by half. Even if they happened to see me occasionally, they felt very uncomfortable and helpless. Some of them are old, nodding even if they are prevaricated. Now, this situation has gradually formed a fashionable fashion. For this reason, my social circle is shrinking day by day, almost to zero, sometimes for months without a phone call, or even a chance to speak during the day. Alas, in old age, in addition to the body often looking for trouble, but also to adapt to the external environment brought about by psychological loneliness.

However, recently, some changes have taken place, and three or five calls from home can be received every day. One moment it was my nephews, the next my nephews, and sometimes late at night. The content is similar, similar. That meant telling me that the old three-room red-tile mud-brick house handed down to me by my ancestors was about to be razed to the ground. The hill behind the old house and many fields will be levelled. There are many other houses in the village that will also be shoveled. The contract, the developer and the village committee had already signed. Those peasant households whose houses have been uprooted shall be unified and organized by the village committee to build a new rural area together. The village committee is responsible for dividing the homestead. The style and structure of the new house shall be built by each family according to the unified planning of the village. When building a house, you only need to give an oral report to the village committee, and the funds are raised by each family. For those who are in special difficulties, the village staff will make a democratic evaluation to determine, and the village will try its best to give a little subsidy.

They also told me that the village leaders said my situation was special: although my hometown was in my village, I went out to be a soldier when I was 18 years old and returned to my hometown when I was 50 years old. Although the hukou was once left in the village of origin, but later still implemented the policy, he found a less satisfactory job, and the hukou was also transferred out. It's been years since the transfer. If it is required to allocate homestead when building a new village now, the area can be considered the same as that of people with registered permanent residence in the village, but they can only enjoy the same treatment as other immigrant households. It takes about 70,000 or 80,000 yuan to purchase homestead. In addition, it depends on whether the new homestead is enough for the people with registered permanent residence in the village. If it is not enough, even if money is given, it will not be possible. Besides, even if the homestead is bought, if the new rural style houses are not built according to the unified planning and requirements of the village committee within three years, the homestead will be transferred to people with registered permanent residence in the village.

On the phone, the nephews spoke with nervous, flustered and uncalm accents. Although the ownership of the old house did not belong to them, out of respect for my uncles and uncles and their promise to look after the old house for me voluntarily, they have always loved my old house as if it were their own house.

The so-called old house is the house where my family has lived for generations. My grandparents once lived, my parents once lived, and my sister and I also lived. Except for me, the elders have renovated and perfected the old house.

When I was three years old, my grandmother died in the old house, because I was young and did not leave a very clear memory. When I was fourteen years old, I encountered three years of natural disasters. Grandpa ate coarse chaff and bark for a long time, which accumulated in his stomach and could not be excreted. He died alive. Before I died, I would pull those things out of his anus with my fingers every day, and even that could not save Grandpa's life. When I was forty, my father was alone and died of a stroke in his old house. I hurried back to my old house from the army station thousands of miles away, but I still couldn't catch a glimpse of my son before my father closed his eyes. I personally held my father's body, placed it in the coffin, sprinkled flowers, green leaves and lime, and wished my father a good journey in heaven. When I was fifty-six, my mother died in my old house. I rushed back to my old house from my unit hundreds of miles away and touched my mother's body. Although her whole body was cold and stiff, her eyes were still wide open, perhaps complaining that she had not seen her son before she died. I gently caressed my mother's eyes, and she closed her eyelids safely. Even though her old body was gone, her eyes, like her soul, remained alive. For three hours I knelt in front of my mother's coffin, thinking of her selfless love and kindness.

The old house was about to be shoveled away, along with the barrier behind it--a hill. Pine trees, green bamboos, orange trees on the mountain, as well as the habitat of ancestors 'bones--graves, flowers competing to open and grass withering one year after another, and those footprints I once left. Similarly, the paths and old camphor trees in front of the old houses will be shoveled away.

The old house that was shoveled still retains many of my memories, where there is my father's stooped figure, my mother sewed clothes and shoes for me, and I personally fed cattle, pigs, dogs, chickens, cats and so on singing and laughing.

My childhood was spent in the old house, and a lot of homework was done under kerosene lamps. In the old house, I helped my father make straw sandals, picked water from a pond far away for the whole family to eat and use; helped my mother grind flour, picked up firewood, and did housework; and helped my sister complete the homework assigned by the school.

On the hill behind the old house, I played hide-and-seek, picked oranges, picked flowers, dug bird nests; squinted my eyes, looked at the moonlight, counted the stars, dreamed of the future or distant scenery.

I left tens of thousands of footprints on the path in front of the old house, so that I could walk back to the old house without difficulty with my eyes closed.

Under the old camphor tree, I have cooled off, escaped the rain, played cards with childhood playmates, played and shared common joys and misfortunes.

The old house still contains the comic books I have read and some review materials for exams; the fir bed and bedding I once slept in, a camphor box full of books; all kinds of clothes I wore in spring, summer, autumn and winter; the photos left by several students at graduation, the collection of parting words; and the god tablets of heaven and earth, which I worshipped during the holidays. All of them will be shoveled away with the old house and completely disappear from this world. From then on, their concrete forms were destroyed and could only be stored in my mind in the form of images.

My thoughts, nostalgia, reluctance, helplessness and sadness will last for a long time because of the disappearance of the old house.

Many days and nights I dreamed that I would return to my old house one day to enjoy my life; I also hinted to my children that after my death, I would scatter my ashes on the graves of my parents in the back mountain of the old house, adding fertilizer to the grass and trees there, so that they would grow greener and greener.

I am reluctant to part with the disappearance of the old house, where there are good mountains, good water, good trees, good grass, good flowers, good air, where every path I am familiar with, where the old camphor trees have sheltered me from the rain. Whenever I feel down, squeezed and frustrated in my hometown, the existence of the old house will always bring me an invisible support. Because I think: Even if fate is how bad, at least there is an old house, it is ready to accept me. It has been breathing with me for a long time, and it will never abandon me. It will give me some comfort. Now, the old house is about to be shoveled away, soon will disappear forever from the earth, this undoubtedly gave me a great blow, greatly affected my mood.