Twenty nine years ago today, my mother gave birth to me. Now my mother is in my hometown and I am in Beijing. I go home once a year. They are always in that old house, and I always change from one city to another. The starting place is always different. When I called home, they asked me if I was doing well outside. I said yes, I had enough to eat and wear. I asked them if they were good. They said good weather and good harvest. They always ask me whether I have eaten, and then they ask me whether I have eaten. Eating seems to be a first-class event. They were born in an era of famine. When their father was a child, he went out to beg for food in the whole family and was sold when the time difference was short. They always remember the feeling of hunger. The freshest one was talking to my nine year old nephew. In the past, he was just a vague child in my impression, but now he can express it clearly. I asked him about his transfer and whether he had any friends. In fact, I also wanted to say to him: "when I was nine, your grandparents went to other places, and I learned to stand on a stool and cook with a spatula for the first time." Our life intersects less and less. When we go home once a year, the theme gradually becomes urging marriage. No matter what the topic will turn to marriage. Once I couldn't stand such repetition, so I said, "I have my life." My mother asked on the other end of the phone, "Why are you so selfish? Have you considered the feeling of being a parent? Walking in the embankment and talking to others, I'm embarrassed to say anything when they ask about you." I didn't know what to say for a moment. I tried to talk about my world, my thoughts, my gains, and they responded blankly. They were in that small village that never moved, listening to a voice flowing in the distance. I dare not say anything bad. Being cheated by intermediaries, being scolded and stolen can arouse their concern. But they will turn back and say, "you have to find a woman to get married!" I think in my thirty years of life, what I often feel is a scene: I am in a small box, my hands and feet are retracted, and I can't stretch out. When I was in school, I was worried that I couldn't afford the tuition fee and that I would be sympathized and ridiculed by others; After work, I'm worried about getting fired. I'm always awakened by the nightmare of unemployment. When I jumped out to see myself, I saw an image of self pity: the lack of maternal love, always put myself in a position that needs love. So I'm going to succumb and please, for fear that people don't love me. I played all kinds of jokes and watched people's reactions. I want to be a good child of my parents and a good colleague at work. In my heart, I suppress myself. The life I want, the open and wanton life, always stops because of my inner fear. When I am alone, I look at an aging body, and I often feel self loathing in my heart. When I first graduated from college, I still stayed in the city where I went to school to work. At that time, my girlfriend called me back to school. She waited for me at the station and took me to the restaurant. When the door was opened, there was a room full of people with birthday cakes in the middle of the table. I was excited and terrified. No one has ever held such a grand birthday banquet for me. In the face of so many blessings, I don't know how to respond to them. Intimate feelings have never been familiar to me. When I was a child, I faced the world alone. I accepted it alone and digested it alone. Suddenly someone was so kind to me that I was a little at a loss. Later, I left that city and looked for a job in another city. When I found it, I was fired. I didn't have enough to eat and I couldn't pay the rent. I didn't tell her. We broke up at that time. I gave part of my savings to my brother, and all of them to my parents, leaving hundreds of dollars to stay until my salary next month. I felt a little bankrupt. I always remember when I was in college, my parents lent money to my relatives to go to school. The scene of them raising money one hundred and one hundred was unforgettable to me all my life. I also remember that my mother was crying because of stone pain on the mountain and had to work in the field. I think it's time for me to repay. After all, I can't live completely according to my will. Part of me is theirs. When I was born, my seven year old brother ran to the field to call my father, and then ran home to set off firecrackers. Now he is thirty-seven. My mother is sixty. My father is sixty-one. My brother is now in business. He owes money, quarrels with his daughter-in-law and quarrels with his business partners. Now he is gone. He's been gone for half a month. When I entered the threshold of 30 years old in my life, this was the worst thing I encountered. I always have this idea in my heart: he must be alive well, but he hid under too much pressure. If something really happens to him, I will bear the responsibility of raising my two nephews and take good care of my parents. I have made this plan. Since life is like this again and again, I don't need to be pessimistic. I'll do my duty quietly. I'm thirty. A few days before my brother disappeared, he asked my mother, "do you like your little son better? He is sensible and obedient. Look at my two sons. When I quarrel with their mother, the boss will stick there, face up and don't talk. The little one will smile at his mother and then at me. Don't you think my little brother is just like my little one?" My mother said angrily, "I love you all the same!" When my mother told me about it, I said, "he was worried that you would dislike him." The mother said excitedly, "he is my son! How can I dislike him!" When I am thirty, I will think of his thirty and my father's thirty. One by one, we pass through this node of time and rush to the future life. I often feel sorry for my parents, who raised two children they can't understand. They are still looking forward to a safe and smooth life. My brother called me for the last time and said, "I'm at home. I don't dare to look into my mother's eyes. Her eyes are frightening." When there was no telephone before, my father would reply to every letter from my brother who was studying abroad. He and his mother often peel cotton in the room. I lie on the table with paper and pen. He dictates one sentence and I write one sentence. It often starts like this: my son, I received your letter; The conclusion is also fixed: save some money, study hard, and come out to make more contributions to the country and society. Mother will add: eat enough! I will also add: bring some books back! Although I don't write now, But I will keep texting him: "I think life is always like this. Worse, better, worse, better. In the midst of good and bad, people become tough. In this way, they will not be good or bad. Time continues to move forward and days continue to move forward. In the repeated tossing and turning, they have a rich body for all kinds of situations in life, such as the coldness of the world and the coldness of human feelings meeting. Just accept the only part of my life and live it well. " I hope he can see this. What I want most is to see his text message: "brother, I'm fine. Happy birthday to you." two hundred and one

Twenty nine years ago today, my mother gave birth to me. Now my mother is in my hometown and I am in Beijing. I go home once a year. They are always in that old house, and I always change from one city to another. The starting place is always different. When I called home, they asked me if I was doing well outside. I said yes, I had enough to eat and wear. I asked them if they were good. They said good weather and good harvest. They always ask me whether I have eaten, and then they ask me whether I have eaten. Eating seems to be a first-class event. They were born in an era of famine. When their father was a child, he went out to beg for food in the whole family and was sold when the time difference was short. They always remember the feeling of hunger. The freshest one was talking to my nine year old nephew. In the past, he was just a vague child in my impression, but now he can express it clearly. I asked him about his transfer and whether he had any friends. In fact, I also wanted to say to him: "when I was nine, your grandparents went to other places, and I learned to stand on a stool and cook with a spatula for the first time." Our life intersects less and less. When we go home once a year, the theme gradually becomes urging marriage. No matter what the topic will turn to marriage. Once I couldn't stand such repetition, so I said, "I have my life." My mother asked on the other end of the phone, "Why are you so selfish? Have you considered the feeling of being a parent? Walking in the embankment and talking to others, I'm embarrassed to say anything when they ask about you." I didn't know what to say for a moment. I tried to talk about my world, my thoughts, my gains, and they responded blankly. They were in that small village that never moved, listening to a voice flowing in the distance. I dare not say anything bad. Being cheated by intermediaries, being scolded and stolen can arouse their concern. But they will turn back and say, "you have to find a woman to get married!" I think in my thirty years of life, what I often feel is a scene: I am in a small box, my hands and feet are retracted, and I can't stretch out. When I was in school, I was worried that I couldn't afford the tuition fee and that I would be sympathized and ridiculed by others; After work, I'm worried about getting fired. I'm always awakened by the nightmare of unemployment. When I jumped out to see myself, I saw an image of self pity: the lack of maternal love, always put myself in a position that needs love. So I'm going to succumb and please, for fear that people don't love me. I played all kinds of jokes and watched people's reactions. I want to be a good child of my parents and a good colleague at work. In my heart, I suppress myself. The life I want, the open and wanton life, always stops because of my inner fear. When I am alone, I look at an aging body, and I often feel self loathing in my heart. When I first graduated from college, I still stayed in the city where I went to school to work. At that time, my girlfriend called me back to school. She waited for me at the station and took me to the restaurant. When the door was opened, there was a room full of people with birthday cakes in the middle of the table. I was excited and terrified. No one has ever held such a grand birthday banquet for me. In the face of so many blessings, I don't know how to respond to them. Intimate feelings have never been familiar to me. When I was a child, I faced the world alone. I accepted it alone and digested it alone. Suddenly someone was so kind to me that I was a little at a loss. Later, I left that city and looked for a job in another city. When I found it, I was fired. I didn't have enough to eat and I couldn't pay the rent. I didn't tell her. We broke up at that time. I gave part of my savings to my brother, and all of them to my parents, leaving hundreds of dollars to stay until my salary next month. I felt a little bankrupt. I always remember when I was in college, my parents lent money to my relatives to go to school. The scene of them raising money one hundred and one hundred was unforgettable to me all my life. I also remember that my mother was crying because of stone pain on the mountain and had to work in the field. I think it's time for me to repay. After all, I can't live completely according to my will. Part of me is theirs. When I was born, my seven year old brother ran to the field to call my father, and then ran home to set off firecrackers. Now he is thirty-seven. My mother is sixty. My father is sixty-one. My brother is now in business. He owes money, quarrels with his daughter-in-law and quarrels with his business partners. Now he is gone. He's been gone for half a month. When I entered the threshold of 30 years old in my life, this was the worst thing I encountered. I always have this idea in my heart: he must be alive well, but he hid under too much pressure. If something really happens to him, I will bear the responsibility of raising my two nephews and take good care of my parents. I have made this plan. Since life is like this again and again, I don't need to be pessimistic. I'll do my duty quietly. I'm thirty. A few days before my brother disappeared, he asked my mother, "do you like your little son better? He is sensible and obedient. Look at my two sons. When I quarrel with their mother, the boss will stick there, face up and don't talk. The little one will smile at his mother and then at me. Don't you think my little brother is just like my little one?" My mother said angrily, "I love you all the same!" When my mother told me about it, I said, "he was worried that you would dislike him." The mother said excitedly, "he is my son! How can I dislike him!" When I am thirty, I will think of his thirty and my father's thirty. One by one, we pass through this node of time and rush to the future life. I often feel sorry for my parents, who raised two children they can't understand. They are still looking forward to a safe and smooth life. My brother called me for the last time and said, "I'm at home. I don't dare to look into my mother's eyes. Her eyes are frightening." When there was no telephone before, my father would reply to every letter from my brother who was studying abroad. He and his mother often peel cotton in the room. I lie on the table with paper and pen. He dictates one sentence and I write one sentence. It often starts like this: my son, I received your letter; The conclusion is also fixed: save some money, study hard, and come out to make more contributions to the country and society. Mother will add: eat enough! I will also add: bring some books back! Although I don't write now, But I will keep texting him: "I think life is always like this. Worse, better, worse, better. In the midst of good and bad, people become tough. In this way, they will not be good or bad. Time continues to move forward and days continue to move forward. In the repeated tossing and turning, they have a rich body for all kinds of situations in life, such as the coldness of the world and the coldness of human feelings meeting. Just accept the only part of my life and live it well. " I hope he can see this. What I want most is to see his text message: "brother, I'm fine. Happy birthday to you." two hundred and one