My hometown is a small town in the Zhongyuan region of China. Most people do not know the town, and neither the hills nor the streams there have names.

Three years have passed and I have returned to my hometown after a long absence. With the construction of the city, new skyscrapers and construction sites can be seen everywhere. As I stood in the castle town and looked out into the distance, the surrounding skyscrapers were like waves, slowly swallowing up my memories of home. People are like migratory birds, seeking new nests in a changing environment.

My grandmother used to live west of my hometown and spent 30 years there. In 2015, all the buildings in the area were being torn down to develop a new residential neighborhood. However, eight years later, the area looks as if it has been forgotten and has remained in ruins for a long time. Older people have a hard time leaving the land they have lived in, but my grandmother was forced to move three times.

Returning to my hometown, I found the town unfamiliar, but still subconsciously searched for people and things that were familiar. Then, with a sense of farewell, I tried to document them by taking pictures.

What exactly is a hometown?

If the familiar landscape were to disappear, would home still exist?

Or, if my hometown fades away like a nameless stream in my memory, will it still flow on, far away, where I cannot reach it?