To me, the concept of home changes continually along with my age.

對于我來說，家的概念隨著年齡的變化而不斷變化。

In my childhood, home was a string of calls. It seems that I was entitled to more freedom than today’s children. I didn’t have to show up in front of my parents right after school, instead I would go to play with my classmates who lived in the neighborhood. We frolicked like mad until dinner was ready and our parents called "Come back! Come home for supper!" Days passed by as I grew up in the company of those calls. Even now the ringing voices are still echoing in my ears.

在童年的時(shí)候，家是一聲聲呼喚。那時(shí)的我似乎比今日的孩子擁有更多的自由。放學(xué)后不會(huì)先在父母前露面，而是與住的相鄰的同學(xué)聚在一起，天馬行空，玩的天昏地暗，直到炊煙散去，聽見父母“喂，回家了，吃飯了”的呼喚才回家，這樣的聲音伴著我慢慢長大，日復(fù)一日，至今仍在我的耳旁回響。

In a wink, my childhood was gone. When a thin layer of hair began to grow around the corners of my mouth, home became a place I tried to escape from.

一轉(zhuǎn)眼，童年過去了，當(dāng)胡須慢慢從嘴角長出，家又成了一個(gè)想逃的地方。

As I read more and more, my world opened up, presenting a broader picture before me. The bed I used to sleep in became too small, and words of care from my parents began to sound superfluous. How I wished I could have a space of my own someday! Later I was enlisted into the army and put on the green uniform. During my service days, home was the series of letters I received one after another. My most homesick moments were when I read those letters from my family.

書看多了，世界也變大了，一張床小了，父母的叮嚀也顯得多余了，盼望著什么時(shí)候我能擁有自己的天空?后來，穿上了綠色的軍裝，來到了部隊(duì)，家又變成了一封封信箋，每次收到信后，是最想家的時(shí)候。

When I got a job, I began to get "hurt", to rise and fall in a sea of people, and to understand that you can’t share all your pains with other people, even with your best friends. So again, another wave of homesickness came over me. When I was badly hurt, I imagined myself flying home on wings. Pushing open the door, I let tears flow down my face. At that moment I felt that as large as the world was, what I needed was only the familiar smell of home and the unchanged view outside the window of my old house…

走上了工作崗位之后，開始“受傷”，開始在人海中翻騰，開始知道，有些疼痛無法對人說，甚至知心的朋友。于是，重新開始想家。當(dāng)受了“重傷”時(shí)，幻想著飛到遠(yuǎn)方的家中，在推開家門的一瞬，讓自己淚流滿面。此刻，世界很大，而我所需要的，只是家中那種熟悉的味道，那窗前一成不變的風(fēng)景……

Struggling for mere existence in a place far from my mother, I was often at a loss what to do after work and on the weekend. Picking up a thick telephone book, I leafed through it from cover to cover but found not a single number I could call. At this time home appeared in my mind as a cozy nest I yearned to build with another person.

遠(yuǎn)離母親，在外省生存，工作之余便有無數(shù)個(gè)周末無處打發(fā)，手中的電話本很厚，從頭翻到尾，卻沒有一個(gè)號碼是為我此時(shí)準(zhǔn)備的。這個(gè)時(shí)候，家又變成了自己要和另外一個(gè)人建立的那一個(gè)新的小家。

From dating to engagement, we finally fell into each other’s arms and decided to step into marriage. Thus on an ordinary day we formed an ordinary family. Then the concept of home changed again: it became the light left on for you when you return late at night; the peacefulness in which you occasionally exchange words, one reading a book, the other watching TV; and a place where you can entertain friends and use foul langue when you feel elated.

從相識、相戀到相擁，一個(gè)平凡的日子里，我擁有了一個(gè)平凡的小家。此時(shí)，家的概念又變了，它是深夜回家時(shí)那盞為你點(diǎn)起的燈，是傍晚你看看書我看看電視偶爾交談幾句的那種寧靜，是一桌胃口不好時(shí)也吃得下的飯菜，是得意忘形時(shí)可以呼朋喚友可以張口粗話的地方。

Not long ago I became a father. When I greeted into my family the birth of a new life, an odd sensation welled up in my heart. The little creature obsessed me so much that though I tried to get rid of it I only found myself all the more indulging myself with it. That is a kind of force that binds you with a sense of happiness.

不久前，我成了父親，我和一個(gè)新的生命在家中相逢，一種奇妙的感受充斥著我的心，小生命開始讓我“玩物喪志”，想掙脫卻又那么愿意沉溺其中，一種用幸福來縛住你的力量。

The concept of home kept changing as my life hurried along. Among the many definitions I gave to it, there is one which relates to grief. I remember, for instance, how my father’s early death led me to understand all the injuries inflicted by the world added together are sometimes less devastating than a single misfortune in your family. However, you may also feel a kind of strength in your family. After my father’s death, my mother, who used to be quiet and gentle, became strong and indomitable. She led my brother and me out of our misery and we got back on our feet again. Tranquility came back to my home, where happiness reigned as before. In retrospect, I can compare home to an unyielding plant: it may be burnt down by wildfire, but it will sprout again when the spring breeze blows.

家的概念在不停地變換著，生命在這種變換中匆匆地走著。眾多的概念中，家有時(shí)也意味著一種悲傷。比如當(dāng)年父親的辭世，便讓我知道，世界對你的傷害加在一起有時(shí)也不如家中的變故給你的傷害大。然而在家中，你也會(huì)感受到一種堅(jiān)強(qiáng)，比如父親過世后，柔弱的母親開始變得堅(jiān)強(qiáng)，她帶著我們哥倆，一步一步地從變故中走出，之后，家又重新“站立”了起來，又變得祥和，變得不再陰云密布。在這個(gè)過程中，家又像是一種生命力頑強(qiáng)的植物：野火燒不盡，春風(fēng)吹又生。

Although I already have much life experience behind me, I know there is still a long way ahead and my concept of home will go on evolving. But already I have come to see that home is where we can find the true meaning of all the hectic rush of life. What makes the concept different is that sometimes it refers to an individual’s home and sometimes to the home of many, many people.

生命起步雖久，前路卻還遙遠(yuǎn)。家的概念還會(huì)變換，然而我已經(jīng)知道，家是奔波的意義，只是這家有時(shí)是自己的，有時(shí)是蕓蕓眾生的。