Lost…

On the red dirt road, dusty in the sun and muddy in the rain, is the old house of her mother, where she single-handedly worked hard to raise her children. Every time she returned to her hometown, she would stop by, looking around for her mother's figure, looking for the familiar things of the past that now seemed strange. Now, the road has been paved cleanly, the old house has been replaced by a solid two-story house, surrounded by a fence, the gate has a trellis of white and pink bougainvillea, staring blankly at strangers. She tried to find the old squash trellis, the old electric wire strung from the beginning of the alley to the squash trellis used to dry clothes, the row of mustard greens that her mother planted but couldn't find them. Now the yard is decorated with several proud pots of roses, the corner of the yard where mustard greens were grown is now a fish pond with trickling water. The scenery is now much more beautiful and luxurious than before, but why does every time she looks at it, her heart aches, she hurriedly drives away from the sadness that is chasing after her.

Mom! Tears fell down, blurring his glasses. Mom, it had been six years. Six years since Mom followed Dad to the white clouds, six years as fast as a blink of an eye. Six years was enough to turn a peaceful countryside into a bustling town, to turn dilapidated level 4 houses into multi-storey houses, to turn rice fields and gardens into houses close together… Only the pain remained the same. Only the pain had not changed a bit. Orphans at any age are equally lost and empty.

After Mom passed away, my second brother sold the old house and moved the altar to my brother and sister's house. He said that it wouldn't do anything, and that my brother and sister would take care of the death anniversary. So the childhood house was no more. The new owner demolished the dilapidated house and built a new, more spacious and beautiful one. Many times he wanted to blame my second brother for selling his brothers' childhood and memories of Mom. Was money that important to him? Then he stopped. Mom was gone anyway. My second brother had his reasons. The old house was dilapidated, and no one would live in it if they built a new one. All three of us had our own families and houses, and building one now would only cost more. It was fine to worship anywhere, so he brought his parents to his house to be closer to their children and grandchildren. Living in the old house was lonely and sad. So who could blame him? No matter how beautiful the past was, it was just the past. No matter how much regret, no one bathed twice in the same river. Well, let things go with the flow.

Every time I return to my hometown, wandering through the streets, I suddenly feel so strange. Is that where I was born, is that where I walked to school twice a day, is that where I caught crabs and snails… why does everything seem so strange? I become a stranger in my own birthplace, asking about every road to my relatives’ houses. Suddenly I am startled, have I really lost my roots? Suddenly a sadness sneaks into my heart, making it ache.

Mom!

Childhood!

My homeland!

Since when did I lose everything? Since when did I give up everything? Since when?

The question swayed in his mind, not knowing where to anchor to find the answer. The question cut the wound in his heart deeper, haunting him with sadness. Who could he blame now, was it because of the times, was it because of time, or was it because of himself? He didn’t know why, he only knew that now, in his old hometown, he was lost in a maze of sadness, nostalgia, and remorse…

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