Going Home to Sweep the Tomb on the Ghost Festival

Answer 1

The following is an example of a novel fragment about returning home to sweep the graves during the Hungry Ghost Festival:

"Returning Home to Sweep the Tomb on the Hungry Ghost Festival"

I stood at the entrance of this familiar yet somewhat unfamiliar village. The atmosphere of the Ghost Festival enveloped the entire village like a thin mist. The wind seemed to be mixed with the special smell of burning paper money. It was a smell from the depths of memory, with longing and sadness.

He had not returned for many years, but the dirt road under his feet was still uneven. I walked in the direction of the ancestral graves on the mountain, holding a stack of paper money and a few incense sticks tightly in my hands. The trees on the mountain swayed in the wind, as if they were whispering stories of the past.

When he passed by the neighbor's yard, he could hear sobbing sounds coming from inside. I know that they are also grieving for their lost loved ones. Our former companions have now grown up and each of us bears the burden of life, but today, we all have the same goal-to sacrifice our ancestors.

When they arrived at the ancestral grave, weeds had already grown. I quietly squatted down and began to clean the weeds on the grave. As I cleaned up, I recalled the time when my grandfather brought me to visit the grave when I was young. At that time, my grandfather would tell me stories about my ancestors. Those stories were like seeds that were planted in my young heart.

After clearing the weeds, I lit the incense and stuck it in front of the grave. Then, I slowly burned the paper money one by one. As I watched the flames devour the paper money, I whispered,"Grandpa, Grandma, I'm here to see you." I'm sorry that I haven't been back for so many years. The outside world is very exciting, but I have never forgotten this land that gave birth to me and raised me. I have never forgotten your teachings."

In the smoke, I seemed to see Grandpa's kind smile and Grandma's busy figure. Are they looking at me in that world? The wind suddenly became stronger, blowing away some of the ashes of the paper money that had not yet been burned. I thought that perhaps they were responding to me.

I sat quietly in front of the grave for a while, and the thoughts in my heart surged like a tide. This trip to the tomb during the Ghost Festival is not only a ritual, but also a conversation between my ancestors and my soul. It is a tracing of my family's roots.

When the afterglow of the setting sun shone on the mountain, I slowly got up and bid farewell to my ancestral grave. I know that I will carry the hopes of my ancestors and continue to walk into the distance, but this small village and this ancestral grave will always be the softest place in my heart.
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