When we were children, we ran and played on the grass,
and blamed the bumpy ground for tripping our feet,
and disgusting it for staining our clothes.
When we were young, we were more used to walking,
on asphalt roads where the dirt will not stain our shoes.
The time seemed to be tardy,
we were getting tired of the bondage from our home and desperately eager to leave.
But when that day finally came,
the soil of our hometown becomes our most nostalgic sustenance.
It has witnessed the non-retroactive time,
and it has also witnessed our growth.
Every late at night, I look at the lights of thousands of houses,
outside the window as bright moon hangs high.
The hometown soil mixed with the humidity in the air,
brings me the breath of home,
to give me spiritual comfort whenever I feel homesick.
It’s as if the people and the land I miss are actually close to me,
and when all the dust settles,
I will eventually set foot on the land I missed for a long time.