There is a kind of monarch butterfly on the earth. They hibernate in the southern forests of the American continent, waiting patiently for the end of winter. When spring comes, they flutter their wings and fly north. The first generation, the second generation, and the third generation lay eggs on the milkweeds along the way, die, turn into butterflies, and set off again. The third generation can only reach the far north of the continent at the end of summer. Here, the fourth generation was born, and their natural mission is to return to their warm hometown, where they will end their lives and begin another generation's life. To this end, they change the characteristics of the species, carry the marks left by their ancestors, fly southward without any confusion, fly 5,000 kilometers, and finally return to the same tree where their ancestors inhabited.
I know that the barrier between me and my hometown is not 5,000 kilometers but billions of light years, but I am like a fourth-generation monarch butterfly, flying to my hometown unswervingly and persistently, even if I am on a wild planet...