Writing the first two paragraphs of nostalgia

1. Choose one section of nostalgia and write a one or two hundred word essay

Nostalgia is a kind of pain that lingers in the heart, just like love between life and death between a man and a woman; Nostalgia is another great emotion that occupies the deepest part of our hearts.

Nostalgia comes from the special nostalgia for things in the past. When the rain rings in the ears at night, nostalgia will come true. And it is at the bottom of our spirit. Because every time we return, our homesickness is like a traveler out of Yangguan in the west, full of the beauty of looking back suddenly.

I once thought about the innocence of homesickness. Lian Pian, but after a nursery rhyme and a story, I can only feel sad for the deconstruction of nostalgia. Nostalgia is either getting farther and farther away from us, or it has been transformed beyond recognition by modern things. Real life is a material battlefield, and there is no smoke. The battle between money and morality is a refuge that gradually cannot tolerate homesickness. With the complete collapse of spiritual temperament and the invincibility of instrumentalism, is there a back garden for human beings to rest and relax in our era?

Maybe everything that exists is reasonable, so when the strait-like nostalgia is slowly obscured by modern high-rise buildings, when the blood-like nostalgia is diluted by pop culture, when the continent-like nostalgia is When sensory pleasure is completely defeated, our bored hearts may have forgotten the direction home. Can homesickness still become homesickness? When looking back, nostalgia was once a spiritual connection with a dusty history. The thundering sound in the pile of old papers has already told the timeless soul of "old friends, stories, and hometown" in the ever-flowing cultural river.

When the setting sun takes away the memory of spring in your life, can you still welcome the joy of archaeologists digging into the sea of ??history in the dusk?

Perhaps the deconstruction of nostalgia is a helpless reality. When it is no longer a work of art, when it is said to be an emotional luxury, when it has become an indifferent memory , wouldn’t the unforgettable nostalgia become a big lie?

In fact, we are also in a material society without nostalgia, and the spiritual monument that supports our character suddenly collapsed in a disaster without a storm. Overwhelmed. We love strange cities, we wander on drunken streets, we appreciate fresh performances, and we cheer for the wandering of youth.

How beautiful it is to be at home all over the world and wander around the world! Will homesickness just make me flounder? What makes us even more embarrassed is that the beautiful flower-like hometown we look back on has long since lost its appearance in the wind and sand. How could we proudly write the most sincere words for it in the latest encounter after a long separation. < /p>

After homesickness is banished by industrial civilization, the emotional substitute for comfort can only be acquired substances manufactured on machine assembly lines. It helps to strengthen the muscles of the body, but does not care about the warmth of the soul. ? The modern "nostalgia version" turns out to be so trendy and alternative: the keyboard-typing "Send to the North on a Rainy Night" achieves the future tense of nostalgia with a glimpse of love conveyed online; Modern emotional garbage; checks, remittances, and credit cards dominate the world, sucking up the spiritual fat of love in one breath with the most economical and utilitarian exchange.

Is nostalgia really just an empty shell of emotion? Is there still a back garden in it? Deep in the peach blossoms? If the outside world is wonderful, can you put aside the bitter taste of nostalgia and let others drink it for themselves? Remember the nostalgia and let the lifelong love sing more beautifully! "It's okay to meet each other, but I miss you all the time when I'm not here." There are always times of loneliness in a distant foreign land, so our writing, our singing, and our contemplation will inevitably be overflowing with the fragrance of nostalgia. I can't go back at that time. The hometown we went to is so lovely, like the nursery rhyme that my mother sang softly beside her cradle when she was a child.

We will slowly understand that nostalgia is a masterpiece of history, and it gives us not only It is a sweet spring in the desert, and it also pours the dew of the mind on travelers in the world. I hope that nostalgia will be resurrected in the spiritual tomb with the rebirth of human thinkers, and we will not let us humans lose the few acres of dream fields. 2. Nostalgia is rewritten into short essays of 100~200 words each

1 A young man was sitting at the table. The candlelight flickered, reflecting his slightly pale face. He was gently pasting an envelope. A small stamp, written on the envelope was his mother's name. The cold moonlight illuminated his meditative back. What was he thinking? Is it the lullaby that my mother crooned when I was a child, or the song that I curled up on my mother’s lap to play as a child?

joy? Or was it the mother's excitement and joy when she received the letter? How he wanted to go back and see his dear mother! Caressing the small stamp, he suddenly felt that it was very heavy. 2 Time flew by, and he was already a young and strong young man. He ran wildly on the road to the dock, holding the stamp tightly in his hand. Holding a small boat ticket, the sun shone on his face, and his heart overflowed with joy. Yes, right away, he could get on the boat and go straight to his hometown--where his beloved Wife, children, and elderly mother. It’s been a long time. My wife and children must be more beautiful than before! She must be looking forward to it at the entrance of the village now, right? Thinking about it, he couldn't help but smile. The ship set sail, and he stood on the deck and stared - the dream, just in the distance. 3 He stood blankly in front of a short grave - that was him It was late for his mother's grave. He rushed back so late, but it was still late. The drizzle wet his clothes and hair, but he didn't notice it. Why, why did God let their mother and son separate? He hated himself so much and hated himself for not coming back earlier so that he could see his mother one last time! Mother, can you bear it being so cold and lonely down there? On his face, it was no longer clear whether it was tears or rain. He grabbed a handful of soil - it was this thick soil that ruthlessly separated him from his mother - he was outside and his mother was inside. 4 Things have changed, and now, he is already a gray-haired old man. Time has carved too many wrinkles on his face. He is looking out of the window for a long time. It is a shallow strait - but It is this strait that separates him from the mainland. How he hopes that one day he can cross this shallow strait and return to the embrace of his motherland! Of course, he believed that that day would eventually come. 3. A 600-word composition imitating nostalgia (nostalgic style)

Sadness, what? Homesick, patriotic, or something more?

When I was young, I obeyed everything and didn’t understand what worry was. Just the same, spend time without any worries. Happy and short-lived, no regrets remain.

Gradually, I began to grow up. Far away from home, went to a distant place. Didn't go home for a long, long time. Mother sent the core. The content of the letter made my eyes moist. I closed the letter and saw a stamp from the person who posted it on the envelope. It's small and square, but it holds my mother who is far away in a foreign country and who I look forward to day and night.

This is the first "sorrow" I have since I grew up - the nostalgia held by stamps.

I have grown up and become more mature than before. But it has a little more childishness to love.

I rushed back from a distant place to visit my elderly mother. This is also the time for me to start a family.

The bride is beautiful and virtuous. I am also very harmonious and happy with my mother. The wrinkles on the face of my mother, who is in her final years, are clearly visible. But a trace of happiness still exists. Beautiful bride, my return seems to have smoothed the wrinkles on my mother's face, no longer obvious, and become vaguely visible.

Soon, I went to that distant place again, leaving only my mother and bride. The mother's face lost a trace of happiness. I was reluctant to leave, but I still left.

As a result, I miss the bride more and communicate less with my mother. I gradually forget my mother, but I still miss the bride. So we started going home every three days, and each ticket brought us closer to each other who were originally far away. But there is only room for the bride in my heart, and my mother only occupies a small corner.

Many years have passed and I have really grown up. Returned to my hometown again to visit my long-lost bride. Suddenly, I found that there seemed to be one person missing from the family. It turns out that my mother is not at home, she went to a place far, far away. --Heaven. Far further away than I am. She and I were separated by a thick layer of soil. My mother was lying inside, while I was standing outside. The longing for my mother suddenly returned to the starting point. There was no end, and the endless longing was taken away by her.

——The third "nostalgia" separates the low tomb.

My mother's departure did not stop me from growing up. I grew up and even started to grow older.

There are a few wrinkles on the face, which has been through many vicissitudes of life, but still has not lost a trace of sadness. Missing my mother still doesn't stop. The children have grown up too.

Gradually, I began to yearn for the mainland, feeling that my mother was watching over me there, looking at me, hoping that I would return to her.

I also often tell my children that there is a novel thing on the mainland that will make you feel warm. Right there, right on the other side of the strait. As long as you cross the shallow strait of the bay, you can reach it.

So, with this hope, I looked forward to returning to my mother's side and her warm embrace. Just on the mainland - on the other side of the strait.

I still miss and look forward to it.

Until I leave, my longing will continue, and it will not stop until it becomes "sorrow". 4. Use the beginning of each paragraph of nostalgia to write a composition about maternal love or friendship

Maternal love is an idyllic poem, long and pure; maternal love is a landscape painting, natural and fresh; maternal love is a song, gentle and affectionate.

Mother, you are the supporter of my career. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have realized my dream of becoming a teacher. When I was filling out my application form for the college entrance examination, my father, brother, and sisters did not allow me to choose a career as a teacher. Again, you have always supported me and encouraged me. When my career improved, you always supported me; when I suffered setbacks, you continued to encourage me; when I was frustrated, you told me again and again: failure is success. If you are a mentor, you can start over again by summing up your experience. If you persist, you will win. From then on, whether I suffered setbacks or achieved achievements in my career, I faced them calmly. Mother, it is your support and encouragement that have made my career so brilliant. I am forever grateful to you!

Mother's love is the intoxicating spring breeze, the drizzle that moisturizes things, the laughter that accompanies you throughout your life, and the wisps of longing for you as you wander around the world.

Mother, your daughter has grown up and cannot serve you by your side, but you will always be my only concern in this life. Mother, I am lucky to have you as my mother in this life. The selfless maternal love you gave me will be my lifelong love and my lifelong gratitude. 5. Composition on nostalgia

There is a continuous drizzle outside the window; tonight the wind is beating on my window lattice again, The homesickness in my heart is like a soaked seed, swelling for no reason. The dream that had been wandering for many days vaguely climbed up the winding path in the village.

Who is it, playing the homesick song with the sound of the flute on the moonlit night? The sad tune inadvertently fills the wasteland in my heart; who is reading that homesick ancient poem every night, sad? The tranquility is dripping with endless and peaceful nostalgia. I once thought that I was used to living from 8 to 5 in this strange city. In the days of frustration, the mountains and rivers of my hometown have gradually drifted away. Suddenly looking back, I discovered the fragrance that was stuck in my heart, and realized that I was a flying kite. No matter where I was, the rope of my soul was always tied to the sycamore tree in front of my hometown.

A sudden rain wetted all my memories. Nostalgia is like a garden full of leeks; when they grow, they are cut; when they are cut, they grow again. Everything about my hometown flashes in my memory. Thoughts are swimming like fish in my lonely soul. I once indulged in the frustration of life, but the mountains and rivers, the simple people, and the unchanging posture of my hometown were translated into poetry and faded into a wordless song and a rhymeless poem, and I My soul has long since wandered away, returned to my hometown through thousands of mountains and rivers, and is tasting the pure rice wine with the honest folks.

When the geese flying south can no longer be seen in the sky, when the leaves on the sycamore trees turn yellow and green, my unchanging nostalgia is still playing so long, just like my hometown. The clear and distant sound of the flute is endless; it is just like Empress Li's "Leaving hatred is just like green grass, walking farther will bring you back to life."

6. Imitation of "Nostalgia" (composition in unit 4 of the second volume of the seventh grade Chinese language) without words of time and place

Waiting

(your name)

In front of the door

Nostalgia is a small scrap

I am here

The river is there

In the yard

Nostalgia is a narrow food stamp

I am here

Wealth is over there

Under the eaves