05/08/2026
《石斋故里》（2026年第二期）: 我把乡愁写在你的名字里
感谢东山比干文化推荐这篇文章刊载于东山岛《石斋故里》（2026年第二期）。经过时间的沉淀，并经主编悉心润饰，《我把乡愁写在你的名字里》终于以更完整的面貌与读者见面。
这篇文章并非一蹴而就，而是在不断修订中逐渐成形。最初于2024年8月以另一标题《回程东山岛康美村》发表于“东山比干文化”微信公众号，其后于2025年9月刊载于《漳州比干文化会刊》第六期；此次收录于《石斋故里》的版本，又重新梳理、补充与修订，希望能以更完整的面貌呈现给大家。
《石斋故里》创刊于1986年，现由东山县委宣传部主管、东山县融媒体中心主办，是东山岛具有代表性的地方文化刊物。
这是一段跨越百年的寻根故事，记录了一位海外第三代华人循着祖辈留下的线索，最终寻回故乡东山岛康美村的心路历程。
谨与读者分享以下文章《我把乡愁写在你的名字里》：
“参天之木，必有其根；怀山之水，必有其源；人之有祖，亦犹是焉。”
——清·张澍《姓氏寻源》
这句话让我感同身受，意思是：耸入云霄的树木，一定有其根基；环绕山陵的洪水，一定有其源头；每个人都有自己的祖先，万事万物也都有其根源。
缘起
大概在二十世纪二十年代，我的祖父一家四口离开福建东山岛，前往新加坡“讨生活”。当时祖父已是不惑之年，带着我的祖母和两个年幼的孩子（我的两位伯伯）背井离乡。1930年以后，我的大姑妈、三伯、二姑妈和四伯相继在新加坡出生，而我的父亲则排行第五，是最小的儿子。
在新加坡，祖父以石材生意为谋生，从墓碑工作室收集加工所剩下的碎石，筛选后再转售。其中，细碎的花岗岩、大理石颗粒（俗称“石米”）用于“洗石子”墙面；较大的石料则用于当地工地修马路。虽是无本生意，但他每天非常辛苦，都要在炎炎烈日之下干体力活。先辈和朋友对祖父的印象是“每天看到他拉着盛满石头的木车去工地”。后来，年纪尚小的父亲也充当“帮手”，常常帮忙在后面推木车和筛选石子。再后来，因当地新开了石矿，受此影响，祖父的石材生意日渐萧条。1958年，七十三岁的祖父与世长辞，那时，我的父亲只有二十岁。
我没见过祖父，只依稀记得小时候在大伯家看过祖父母的照片和神主牌，并记得他们的神主牌上写着“福建东山”。只是，有一点让我深感疑惑：因为我曾听闻长辈说过，祖父来自诏安五都（编者注：明嘉靖九年，东山五都划归诏安管辖）。
我们对祖父家乡的讯息知道的很少，只听说他常去新加坡亚峇街一带民信局寄钱回家时，曾告诉我父亲：在家乡初夏的早晨，于家门口就可以吃到清甜的荔枝。
在我上中学时，老师在外国文学课上，曾与我们讨论过一本名为《根》的英文书，并借此探讨我们华裔的名字与家谱的关联。对我而言，我的祖父是从中国来到新加坡的，我是第三代新加坡华人，这一点，我的许多同学也和我身世相近。曾经以为，凭着自己知道祖父母的名字，以及他们的祖籍是福建东山岛，就以为足够了解自己的祖先了。但其实，真正的了解远非如此。
2005年7月，我们一家人到厦门旅行，为期四天三夜。父亲说我们的老家东山岛离厦门不远，就在附近。然而，由于当时网络资源有限，加之没有高铁，交通不方便等原因，我们便打消了去东山岛的念头。何况，我们连祖父的家乡在东山岛的确切位置也不清楚。这种情况，哪怕后来在2010年，我在苏州工作一年间，偶尔看到东山岛的资料、规划图时，我都未能确定我的家乡的精准地点。
几年过去了，东山寻根之行始终未能实现，但那份对祖父故乡的牵挂，一直放在我心里。
直到2019年8月，一位朋友告诉我，她回到外祖父的家乡时，意外发现有个做过“宰相”的家族先辈。这再次勾起了我寻根的念想。回家后，我即问父亲是否记得祖父生前提过故乡的具体名字。他想了一会儿，不确定地说：“好像是康美。”至于为何是康美，父亲隐约忆起，祖父出殡那天，送殡的人群中似乎有人撑着印有“康美”字样的雨伞。
根据这些信息，我开始在互联网上搜索并找到“漳台族谱对接网站”，这个网站本来就是为了方便海内外宗亲对接族谱、寻根问祖而设立的平台。在网站上，我找到了2000年12月出版的《康美林氏志谱》，这本志谱记载了康美林氏从一世到二十三世的世系，也让我确认“康美”正是东山县的一个村子。《康美林氏志谱》的附录列有一长串迁居台湾及海外的林氏族人名单。顺着密密麻麻的名字看下去，我终于在志谱第294页找到这一行：
“周士堂二房十二世义公世系：十六世水赶，十七世才荣、才成、开路，十八世友宝，居新加坡。”
在这一段文字中，我找到了祖父的名字，知道他是周士堂二房十二世公义世系的第十六代，而我的两位伯伯则是第十七代。
兴奋之余，我还看到族谱上竟然记载着两位我不认识的同宗亲人：一位伯伯和一位堂兄，他们居然也都居住在新加坡。我当时对“世系”“堂号”这些宗族名词还不是太懂，不明白里面的家族渊源，只满心欢喜地跟家人确认：我们终于找到祖父的故乡了——东山县康美村，那个藏着祖父乡愁、也连着我们家族根脉的地方。
我很高兴自己可能正在接近真相。可惜后来事情多，再加上疫情的突然到来，回康美村寻根的行程又一次被耽搁。
2024年初，我们决定，无论如何都要在当年11月去漳州东山岛寻亲，亲眼看一看那片祖父魂牵梦萦的故乡。为了这趟行程，我们提前做了大量功课，找了很多东山岛风土人情、康美村风貌的视频和文章，一遍一遍在心里勾勒故乡的样子。
此外，就有关《康美林氏志谱》的附录相关情况，我们还专门咨询了一位专做协助寻根的博主。这位博主建议我们联系新加坡林氏大宗祠九龙堂。由于祖父当年是大宗祠九龙堂的会员，曾积极参与宗祠活动，我们本寄望于在此找到突破口，可惜对方回复称并无祖父当年的活动档案。
之后我又试着联系康美林氏联谊社，想多要一些族谱或宗亲信息，电话却一直打不通。我不甘心，再问新加坡林氏大宗祠九龙堂有没有康美林氏联谊社的联系方式，仍旧无果。寻根之旅又陷入“山穷水尽”困境。
就在我感到一筹莫展时，转机悄然而至。我在“东山比干文化”微信公众号上，偶然读到一篇《康美村林氏源流》。现在回想起来，这篇文章真的是“柳暗花明”，在我的寻根路上起到至关重要的作用。
我当即在“东山比干文化”公众号留言区留言，简要介绍了我的祖父是来自康美村，以及家族的堂号等相关信息，询问是否有康美村的联系人，以方便对接。没想到留言很快得到回复，在公众号主编林松峰先生的热心帮助下，我顺利获取了康美村老年协会会长林细成先生的微信和电话。
我怀着激动的心情第一时间联系上林细成会长，说明来意并报上祖父的名字。林细成会长很是热心，在连夜查阅《康美林氏族谱》和《康美林氏志谱》后，进一步确认了我的祖父身份与谱系。同时，林细成会长还让我联系我的房亲宗侄林双福，他也是康美村老年协会副会长。
随后，林双福将我堂哥的微信发给我。这位堂哥排行最小，他们家有五个兄弟姐妹。
经过一番梳理，两家血脉渊源终于清晰：我的祖父当年是家中的独子，而堂哥的祖父是嗣子，就是从亲兄弟那里“过房”而来的。在那个年代，这种宗族传统极为常见，因此我的祖父与这位过继来的兄弟，在宗法和情感上是一家人，他们共同的祖父也就是我们两家共同的太祖父。堂哥回忆说，他小时候，父母跟他提起过，有一位堂祖父当年去了新加坡，不仅寄钱回来过，还曾托他父亲帮忙修缮老家的祖屋，除此之外，就没有更多细节了。
堂哥还告诉我，我们祖辈当年居住的地方，就在现在康美村太师公祖庙后面。只是岁月变迁，当年的祖父的房子早已空置，堂祖父的房屋倒塌了。堂哥说他在十八岁时用石块垒起围墙，一直保留到现在。听到这些，我好像穿过那堵石墙，看见祖父当年在家乡生活的样子，心里满是感慨。
我父亲是家里最小的，从小到大，他并没听祖父和伯伯们提过东山岛，也没听说过康美村的人和事。想来祖父当年背起行囊离开故土之后，就很少在家人面前叹思乡之苦、说归乡之念。也许他怕牵动离愁，更怕牵绊后辈前行的脚步。那份沉甸甸的乡愁，被他小心翼翼地收进岁月的褶皱里，藏在晨昏的静默里，藏在半生的克制里。
二、旅程
2024年7月初，我和妹妹临时做出决定，在7月中旬前往福建漳州东山岛寻亲，把原先计划的11月提前了4个月。出发前，我们做了一份简短的回乡攻略，重点围绕东山岛和康美村，把掌握到的资料反复理清楚，盼着能顺利完成寻根心愿。
7月18日，我和妹妹抵达厦门后直接去了漳州。下午3点，我们前往漳州古城，原本计划去看看漳州林氏宗祠（比干庙），可到了大门口，被告知祠堂已经关门。第二天早晨，我们再次前往漳州比干庙，又被告知当天庙里开会，仍无法入内。虽然两次都没能进去，有些遗憾，但我们没有灰心，心里默默希望，下次再来时，能走进这座承载林氏宗族记忆的庙宇，切身感受先辈留下的文化气息。
中午，我们乘车前往东山岛铜陵镇预定好的酒店，之后去了南门湾游玩，感受东山这座海岛的风情。
7月20日，堂哥和侄孙专程来到酒店接我们，一起回康美村。虽然是第一次来到这个陌生的地方，但由于之前看了许多有关康美村的视频和文章，这里的每个角落都让我们感到有种似曾相识的亲切感。
依照故里的习俗，堂哥家特意煮好了红糖面线，碗里加了两枚鸡蛋，以此为我们接风洗尘，祈愿顺遂吉祥。随后，堂哥等人带我们参观了祖厝遗址、太师公祖庙（康山书室），详细讲述家族的相关往事。
在太师公祖庙，我们见到了早已在那里等候的林细成会长。堂哥他们跟我们细数了一段他的祖父在“破四旧”年代时，曾冒着风险，保护一块元代“三官大帝”石像的尘封往事。言语间满是对先辈的由衷敬佩。
之后大家一起去康美古堡中央的康美林氏家庙，林细成会长给我们介绍家庙前的认祖石。我们被家庙屋顶色彩鲜艳、栩栩如生的剪瓷雕这种精美工艺所吸引。大殿四面的堂梁上，分别悬挂着“岭南方伯”“父子进士”“陇西中丞”“三世尚书”“两代乡贤”“明经”“元戎”“父子文魁”等牌匾，每一块牌匾都承载着家族的荣耀和风骨。我们也简单地看了家庙内的一些展览，对展览的内容并不陌生，因为来此之前已经做足了功课。
而最触动人心、最具震撼力的，莫过于家庙旁祖妈井上镌刻的“饮水思源”，寥寥数语，道尽宗族根脉，像是祖父当年对故乡的牵挂，也像是先辈对后代的叮嘱，深深烙印在我的心中。
走出北门，我们移步林日瑞纪念馆（忠孝堂），细细溯源林氏宗族的过往，感受着先辈们的家国情怀，对自身家族的根脉也有了更为深刻的体悟。我们以自己是爱国先贤林日瑞的后裔，油然而生满心的自豪。
漫步康美村时，一路走来，周遭的风景悉数掠过眼前，我在反复回想先前的点点滴滴：若是当初早点来，是不是就能少些遗憾，也许是我想多了。忽然间，我似乎明白了一个困扰已久的问题:为什么祖父给所有男孙辈取名时，中间都用一个“美”字？这个“美”字是祖父对故乡康美一生未曾割舍的思念。这份深藏心底、无可替代的乡愁，穿越岁月，也悄悄延续到了下一代人的名字之中。
之后，堂哥和四位侄儿带我们去西埔，盛情张罗了一场热闹的接风宴，我们还见到了开大排档的二堂姐。大家坐在一起，你一言我一语亲切地闲话家常，轻声询问彼此的生活近况。席间，侄儿无意间提起，当年祖父兄弟俩曾在康美古堡南门经营一家名为“裕隆”的糕饼店，颇负盛名，手艺深受乡邻称赞。只可惜这门手艺未能传承下来，如今家族中再也无人会制作那些传统糕点了。
下午，堂哥和侄孙又带我们游逛乌礁湾、苏峰山、马銮湾，感受东山迷人的海岛风光，让我们对这片祖父深深眷恋的土地，也生出浓浓的喜爱。晚餐时，四位侄儿的家人也都来到二堂姐开的大排档，大家围坐在一起，热热闹闹，这份久违的亲情，温暖了我的整个盛夏。
三天的寻亲旅程，满载着欢喜，尽管时间短暂却意义非凡，让我们姐妹对祖籍东山岛产生了浓浓的亲切感。尽管探亲时正值盛夏，加之台风来临前天气闷热潮湿，阳光甚至比新加坡还要炽烈，让我们有些不习惯，但这些都远远比不上亲人相聚的温暖、比不上找到家族根脉的喜悦。
这趟旅程，更象是“祖父的回程”——他当年背井离乡，终究未能再回到故土，而我们替他了却了这个迟到的心愿。对于我们这些在海外出生的华裔而言，总会在某个时刻滋生出一种“寻根”情结：有一天能踏上祖辈的故乡，和远方的亲人团圆，真真切切触摸到家族的根。
这趟旅程，与其说这是一次寻亲之旅，不如说，是我们在寻找自己的根，寻找的不只是血脉相连的亲人，更是藏在岁月深处的来路与归宿。寻亲，是溯源、是回望，是让漂泊的心灵找到归属，让我们明白自己从何而来。无论走多远，身在何处，那些散落的故土情怀、代代相传的人间烟火，始终是我们生命中最坚实的根基。
而“寻根”，是一条连接过去与现在、远方与故土的纽带，纵使山海相隔、万里迢遥，这份血脉与乡情，从未断裂。
原来，祖父早已把回家的路，悄悄藏进了我们的名字里。
#寻根之旅 #东山岛 #康美村 #康美林氏联谊社 #南洋华侨 #新加坡华人 #家族记忆 #石斋故里
Shizhai Hometown (Issue No. 2, 2026)
“I Wrote My Homesickness into Your Name”
We are delighted to share this article, recommended by Dongshan Bi Gan Culture for publication in Shizhai Hometown (Issue No. 2, 2026), a cultural periodical of Dongshan Island. After careful refinement over time and close editorial guidance, I Wrote My Homesickness into Your Name now appears before readers in its most complete form.
This article has gone through several rounds of research and revision. It first appeared in August 2024 on the Dongshan Bi Gan Culture WeChat Official Account under the title Returning to Kangmei Village, Dongshan Island. A revised version was later published in the sixth issue (September 2025) of the Zhangzhou Bi Gan Cultural Journal. The version published in Shizhai Hometown has since been further expanded and refined, in the hope of offering readers a fuller and more resonant account.
Founded in 1986, Shizhai Hometown is one of Dongshan Island’s representative cultural publications. Today, it is administered by the Publicity Department of the Dongshan County Committee and published by the Dongshan County Integrated Media Centre.
This is a story of tracing one’s roots across more than a century. It follows a quiet and heartfelt journey of a third-generation overseas Chinese woman as she follows the faint clues left by her forebears and ultimately rediscovers her ancestral home in Kangmei Village on Dongshan Island.
We are pleased to share the full article, I Wrote My Homesickness into Your Name, with our readers.
“Tall trees must have roots; water that embraces the mountains must have its source; so too must every person have their ancestors.”
— Zhang Shu, Xingshi Xunyuan (A Search for the Origins of Surnames), Qing dynasty
This saying has always resonated deeply with me. Towering trees must have roots; waters that surround the mountains must have their source; and so too must every person have ancestors, just as all things must have an origin.
The Beginning
It was in the 1920s that my grandfather’s family of four left Dongshan Island in Fujian for Singapore to make a living. By then, my grandfather was already in his forties. He brought my grandmother and their two young children (my two uncles), and left his homeland behind.
After 1930, my eldest aunt, third uncle, second aunt, and fourth uncle were all born in Singapore, while my father was the youngest son, the fifth boy in the family.
In Singapore, my grandfather earned his livelihood in the stone trade. He collected leftover stone fragments from tombstone workshops, sorted and processed them, and sold them again. Fine granite and marble granules (commonly known as “rice stone”) were used in Shanghai Plaster wall finishes, while larger pieces of stone were used in local construction work for road paving. Though the trade required little capital, it was hard labour, and he worked every day beneath the scorching sun. Elders and friends remembered him as “the man you would always see pushing a wooden cart full of stones to the worksite.” Later, when my father was still young, he too helped, often pushing the cart from behind and sorting the stones. Eventually, as new quarries opened in Singapore, my grandfather’s trade gradually declined. In 1958, he passed away at the age of 73. My father was only 20 years old then.
I never met my grandfather. My only faint memories are of seeing my grandparents’ photographs and ancestral tablets at my eldest uncle’s home when I was little, and I still remember that “Fujian Dongshan” was written on their tablets. Yet one thing always puzzled me: I had once heard elders say that my grandfather came from Zhao’an Wudu. (Note: during the ninth year of the Jiajing reign in the Ming dynasty, Dongshan was placed under Zhao’an administration.)
We knew very little about my grandfather’s hometown. The only story I heard was that when he used to send money home through a remittance agency around Singapore’s Albert Street, he once told my father that in the early summer mornings back in his hometown, one could eat sweet lychees right at the doorway.
When I was in secondary school, my teacher discussed an English book called Roots in English literature class, using it to explore the connection between Chinese names and family genealogy. For me, my grandfather had come to Singapore from China, and I am a third-generation Singaporean Chinese; many of my classmates shared similarly migrant family histories. I once thought that simply knowing my grandparents’ names and that our ancestral home was Dongshan Island in Fujian was enough to understand my ancestry. But in truth, real understanding is far more than that.
In July 2005, my family travelled to Xiamen for a four-day, three-night trip. My father said our ancestral home, Dongshan Island, was not far from Xiamen. Yet because internet resources were limited, there was no high-speed rail, and transport was inconvenient, we gave up the idea of visiting Dongshan Island. Moreover, we did not even know the exact location of my grandfather’s hometown on the island. Even later, in 2010, when I spent a year working in Suzhou, I occasionally saw materials and planning maps of Dongshan Island, but still could not determine the precise location of our hometown.
Years passed, and the journey to Dongshan in search of our roots never materialised. Yet that longing for my grandfather’s hometown remained in my heart.
Then, in August 2019, a friend told me that when she returned to her maternal grandfather’s hometown, she unexpectedly discovered a family ancestor who had served as a prime minister. That story reignited my own desire to search for my roots. After returning home, I immediately asked my father whether he remembered the specific name of the hometown my grandfather had mentioned before he passed away. After thinking for a while, he said uncertainly, “It seems to be Kangmei (Khong Bee).” As for why Kangmei, my father vaguely recalled that on the day of my grandfather’s funeral, someone in the procession seemed to be carrying an umbrella printed with the Chinese words “Kangmei.”
Based on that single clue, I began searching online and found the “Zhang-Tai Genealogy Connection Website,” a platform created to help clansmen in mainland China’s Zhangzhou and overseas connect genealogies and trace family roots. There, I found the Kangmei Lin (Khong Bee Lim) Clan Genealogy and Village Record, published in December 2000. This genealogy traced the Kangmei Lin lineage from the first generation to the twenty-third, and it also confirmed that “Kangmei” was indeed a village in Dongshan County. The appendix of the record contained a long list of Lin (Lim) clan members who had migrated to Taiwan and overseas. As I followed the densely packed names, I finally found this line “on page 294”:
“Zhou Sh*tang Second Branch, twelfth-generation Yi lineage: sixteenth generation Shuigan, seventeenth generation Cairong, Caicheng, Kailu, eighteenth generation Youbao, residing in Singapore.”
In that passage, I found my grandfather’s name and learned that he was the sixteenth generation of the Yi lineage of the Zhou Sh*tang Second Branch, while my two uncles were the seventeenth generation.
Excitedly, I also noticed that the genealogy recorded two relatives I had never met: an uncle and a cousin, both of whom were also living in Singapore. At that time, I still did not fully understand terms such as “lineage” or “branch hall,” nor did I know much about the family history behind them. I was simply overjoyed to confirm with my family that we had finally found my grandfather’s hometown — Kangmei Village, Dongshan County. The place that held his homesickness and connected us to our family roots.
I was delighted that I seemed to be getting closer to the truth. Unfortunately, life became busy again, and then the sudden arrival of the pandemic delayed the return journey to Kangmei Village once more.
At the beginning of 2024, we decided that no matter what, we would go to Dongshan Island in Zhangzhou that November to search for relatives and see with our own eyes the homeland my grandfather had longed for all his life. In preparation for the trip, we did extensive research, searching for videos and articles about Dongshan Island’s customs and the appearance of Kangmei Village, repeatedly sketching the shape of our ancestral home in our minds.
In addition, regarding the appendix of the Kangmei Lin Clan Genealogy Record, we consulted a blogger who specialised in helping people trace their roots. This blogger suggested that we contact the Singapore Lim See Tai Chong Soo Kiu Leong Tong. Since my grandfather had once been a member of Kiu Leong Tong and had actively participated in its activities, we had hoped to find a breakthrough there. Unfortunately, they replied that they had no records from my grandfather’s time.
After that, I tried contacting the Khong Bee Lim Si Union to request more genealogy or clan information, but the calls never went through. Refusing to give up, I asked Kiu Leong Tong again whether they had contact details for the Khong Bee Lim Si Union, but still to no avail. Once more, the search for our roots seemed to reach a dead end.
Just when I felt utterly at a loss, a turning point quietly appeared. On the WeChat official account “Dongshan Bi Gan Culture,” I happened to read an article titled “The Lineage of the Lin (Lim) Clan in Kangmei Village.” Looking back now, that article was truly a ray of light after the rain, and it played a crucial role in my search for my roots.
I immediately left a message in the account’s comment section, briefly introducing that my grandfather came from Kangmei Village and mentioning our clan hall name and related details, asking whether there was a contact person from Kangmei Village who could help with coordination. Unexpectedly, my message was answered very quickly. With the kind help of the account’s editor-in-chief, Mr. Lin Songfeng, I successfully obtained the WeChat and phone number of Mr. Lin Xicheng, chairman of the Kangmei Village Elderly Association.
With great excitement, I contacted Chairman Lin Xicheng at once, explained my purpose, and gave my grandfather’s name. Chairman Lin was extremely helpful and, after spending the night consulting the Kangmei Lin Clan Genealogy and the Kangmei Lin Clan Genealogy and Village Record, further confirmed my grandfather’s identity and lineage. He also asked me to contact my branch-relative nephew, Lin Shuangfu, who was also the vice chairman of the Kangmei Village Elderly Association.
Later, Lin Shuangfu sent me my cousin’s WeChat contact. This cousin was the youngest in his family, which consisted of five siblings.
After some careful sorting through the details, the blood relationship between the two families finally became clear: my grandfather was the only son in his family, while my cousin’s grandfather was an adopted son, brought in through a brother’s line. In those days, this kind of clan tradition was very common. Thus, my grandfather and this adopted brother (cousin) were, in both clan and emotional terms, one family, and their common grandfather was also the great-grandfather of both our families. My cousin recalled that when he was young, his parents had mentioned that a branch granduncle who went to Singapore, sent money home, and even asked his father to help repair the ancestral house back in the village. Beyond that, there were no further details.
My cousin also told me that the place where our ancestors once lived was behind the current Tai Si Cho Temple in Kangmei Village. However, over the years, my grandfather’s house had long since been vacated, and the branch grandfather’s house had collapsed. My cousin said that when he was eighteen, he built a wall out of stones, and it remains there to this day. Hearing this, I seemed to walk through that stone wall and glimpse what my grandfather’s life in his hometown had once been like. My heart was filled with emotion.
My father is the youngest in the family, and from childhood to adulthood he never heard my grandfather or uncles talk about Dongshan Island, nor did he hear much about the people or affairs of Kangmei Village. It seems that after my grandfather packed up and left his homeland, he rarely spoke before his family about homesickness or the wish to return. Perhaps he feared stirring up sorrow, or feared that such longing might hold back the younger generation from moving forward. That heavy homesickness was carefully folded away into the creases of time, hidden in the silence of morning and evening, hidden in his lifelong restraint.
The Journey
In early July 2024, my sister and I made a last-minute decision to travel to Dongshan Island in Fujian in mid-July to search for our relatives, bringing forward the original plan from November by four months. Before departure, we prepared a short guide to our hometown visit, focusing mainly on Dongshan Island and Kangmei Village, repeatedly organising the information we had gathered, hoping to fulfil our wish to trace our roots.
On 18 July, my sister and I arrived in Xiamen and went straight to Zhangzhou. At 3 p.m., we visited Zhangzhou Old Town. We had originally planned to see the Zhangzhou Lin Ancestral Temple (the Bigan Temple), but when we reached the entrance, we were told that the temple was already closed. The next morning, we returned to the Zhangzhou Bigan Temple, only to be told that there was a meeting in the temple that day, so we still could not enter. Although we missed it twice and felt somewhat disappointed, we did not lose heart. Privately, we hoped that next time we returned, we would be able to step into this temple that carries the memory of the Lin clan and feel for ourselves the cultural atmosphere left by our ancestors.
At noon, we took a car to our booked hotel in Tongling Town on Dongshan Island, and afterwards we went to Nanmen Bay to enjoy the island’s scenery.
On 20 July, my cousin and grand-nephew came specially to pick us up at the hotel and brought us back to Kangmei Village together. Although it was my first time in this unfamiliar place, I had already watched many videos and read many articles about Kangmei Village, so every corner gave me a strange and familiar sense of recognition.
According to local custom, my cousin’s family had specially cooked brown-sugar noodles, with two eggs added to the bowl, to welcome us and wish us good fortune and smooth days ahead. After that, my cousin and the others took us to visit the ruins of the ancestral house and the Tai Si Cho Temple (Kangshan Study Hall), where they told us in detail about the family’s history.
At the Tai Si Cho Temple, we met Chairman Lin Xicheng, who had already been waiting for us there. My cousin and the others recounted how his grandfather, during the “Destroy the Four Olds” era, had risked his safety to protect a stone statue of the “Third Official Deity” from the Yuan dynasty. Their words were filled with sincere admiration for the older generation.
Afterwards, we went together to the Kangmei Lin Ancestral Temple in the centre of Kangmei Fort. Chairman Lin Xicheng introduced us to the ancestral recognition stone in front of the hall. We were captivated by the brightly coloured, lifelike ceramic roof decorations. On the beams inside the main hall hung plaques reading “Lingnan Fangbo,” “Father and Son Jinshi,” “Longxi Zhongcheng,” “Three Generations of Ministers,” “Two Generations of Worthy Elders,” “Mingjing,” “Yuanrong,” and “Father and Son Literary Excellence.” Each plaque carried the honour and character of the clan. We also briefly viewed some of the exhibitions inside the hall, whose contents were already familiar to us because we had done our homework before coming.
Most moving of all was the inscription “Drink Water, Remember the Source,” carved on the Matriarch's Well beside the ancestral hall. In just a few words, it summed up the roots of the clan, like the homesickness my grandfather once felt for his hometown, and like the advice passed down by the ancestors to their descendants. It was deeply etched into my heart.
Leaving through the north gate, we proceeded to the Lin Ruiri Memorial Hall (Zhongxiao Hall), where we carefully retraced the history of the Lin clan and felt the family’s devotion to country and loyalty, gaining an even deeper understanding of our own roots. As descendants of the patriotic sage Lin Ruiri, we felt an overwhelming sense of pride.
As we strolled through Kangmei Village, the scenery around us flashed past, and I kept replaying everything that had happened. I wondered whether there would have been fewer regrets if we had come earlier. Perhaps I was overthinking. Then suddenly, I seemed to understand a question that had long troubled me: why did my grandfather give all the male grandchildren a middle name character of “Mei”? That character “Mei” was his lifelong attachment to Kangmei, his homeland. That homesickness, deeply buried in his heart and too precious to be lost, crossed the years and quietly continued into the names of the next generation.
Afterwards, my cousin and four nephews took us to Xipu, where they warmly arranged a lively welcome banquet, and we also met our second cousin, who runs a “dapaidang” (a food shop). Sitting together, everyone chatted familiarly, speaking one after another and asking about each other’s lives. During the meal, one nephew casually mentioned that back in the day, my grandfather and his brother had run a pastry shop called “Yulong” at the south gate of Kangmei Fort. It was once quite famous, and their craftsmanship was highly praised by the villagers. Unfortunately, that skill was never passed down, and now no one in the family still knows how to make those traditional pastries.
In the afternoon, my cousin and grand-nephew took us around Wujiao Bay, Sufeng Mountain, and Maluan Bay, allowing us to feel the charm of Dongshan’s island scenery and to grow even more attached to the land my grandfather had cherished so dearly. At dinner, the families of the four nephews also came to the “dapaidang” run by our second cousin. We all sat around the table in a lively gathering; that long-lost family warmth filled my entire summer with comfort.
The three-day trip to search for relatives was full of joy. Though brief, it was deeply meaningful, and it gave my sister and me a strong sense of closeness to our ancestral home on Dongshan Island. Although we were there in the height of summer, with humid, oppressive weather before the typhoon and sunlight even more intense than in Singapore, making us somewhat unaccustomed to it all, none of that could compare to the warmth of family reunion or the joy of finding our roots.
This journey was, in a sense, my grandfather’s return trip — he had left his homeland and never had the chance to return, and we fulfilled that long-delayed wish on his behalf. For those of us born overseas Chinese, there often comes a moment when the desire to search for roots arises quietly within us: a day when we can step onto our ancestors’ homeland, reunite with distant relatives, and truly touch the roots of our family.
This journey was not only a search for relatives; it was also a search for ourselves — for more than blood ties, but also for the path from which we came and the place to which we belong. To search for one’s kin is to trace origins and look back, to allow a wandering heart to find its resting place, and to understand where we come from. No matter how far we go or where we may be, the ancestral homeland left behind, and the everyday human warmth passed down from generation to generation, remain the firmest foundation of our lives.
And searching for roots is a thread that binds the past to the present, the distant homeland to the life we live now. Even if mountains and seas divide us, even if thousands of miles lie between us, this bloodline and this sense of belonging have never been broken.
It turns out that my grandfather had long ago hidden the road home in our names.
