It turns out that the past is not nostalgic because of perfection. Last night, in the blog of "Listening to the Wind" station, I saw a famous writer's words: Although you stayed in the sweet marriage stream for a long time, that hard and even bitter first love will still sprout in your heart and brew a kind of beauty that has never been seen before.
There is probably nothing wrong with this. A lover met a rose stained with fragrance unexpectedly in the wasteland of love. How amazing, how passionate. At this time, most lovers will be intoxicated, and the fragrance of roses will definitely dissolve into his boiling blood and instantly become the cornerstone of love. Such beauty, who can refuse, and who can forget.
Some past events, though trivial and plain, often make you feel deeply. For example, although some old people are in today's reform and opening up, they are extremely rich in material culture and their lives have never been so moist as today, but they are always breeding a kind of "small homesickness". Mention an earlier era, and my eyes shine. At that time, people shared a pool of water and an acre of land of the same species, and everyone had the fruits of their own labor. There seems to be no gap between the rich and the poor. Work at sunrise and rest at sunset, a dull life. There is no fear of environmental pollution, no fear of fighting with each other, and I don't close the door at night, so I can live safely. This nostalgic mood is probably a kind of spiritual regret. Today, with the reform and opening up, political clarity, economic development and affluent life, people feel proud and can live with dignity, and the happiness index has never been so high as it is today. Isn't that so-called petty spirit a kind of public opinion, a more perfect pursuit and call of an era? At least it is not a denial of an era.
In the harbor of the mind, on the secluded path of the mind, the nostalgic stream always flows quietly without stopping for a moment. It's been a long time since I left the northern frontier. However, the wind rolled a stone as big as a bean and hurt my face. Sudden marching on a snowy night, comrades with southern accents, humble stations, innocent faces in No.24 Middle School (as an off-campus counselor for two years), hand-delivered sounding balloons in the blue sky, and our own green vegetable fields have always been there.
Nostalgia is a memory of life, a ray of mood, a state of mind. Whose life has not been touched by the heart several times, and whose past has not been regretted several times, this is a classic about individual life. Even though our experience is so trivial and insipid, it is always so heavy and unforgettable in our nostalgic mood. What touched me when I first stepped into the news propaganda post still touches me now. In the undisturbed afternoon, I will always gently open the dusty past, ponder its transformation, recall its truth, and look for a kind of agility, a kind of joy, and even regret. The stacks of silent self-taught books with different versions, messy notes and red diplomas in the bookcase always remind me that we can't do it once and for all. Only by assiduously eliminating laziness in life can we walk more steadily on the calendar of life.
Once moved, now still moved, will be transformed into permanent nostalgia. Time passed silently, however, uncle broom who insisted on compulsory cleaning for 17 years, gardener who was terminally ill and stuck to the three-foot platform, philanthropist who was willing to be poor and raise 38 orphans, good young man who dared to risk his life to save people, and good son-in-law who supported his parents seriously ill for 30 years ... These thousands of people shocked the earth and touched people's hearts. Their sentiments have quietly dissolved into my blood and turned into a kind of bone.
Time passes silently, but homesickness is silent and heavy. Most of one's life will be elegant and colorful because of nostalgia.