Family “being sensible,” school “following the rules,” society’s “stable expectations” — they’re like invisible layers of code, training me to be a perfectly obedient character. But I am not a role they built. I am a living person.

Family discipline: being mistaken for “the elder”
I still remember two seeds they planted in me when I was small: first, if you’re a boy you should yield to girls; second, if you’re older, you should tolerate and give way to the younger.
You read that right — when I was one, my parents already told me I had reached the same generation as an uncle.
It sounds absurd now. The scene happened in first grade: my niece — only a year younger than me — came over to play. At first we laughed and played, then we fought over something. In most homes that would have been smoothed over with a few words. My parents, however, said to me: “You’re the elder. Let her have it.”
I froze. A thousand questions crowded my head: “What does ‘elder’ really mean?” “Why should I let her?”
In that moment I realized that “maturity,” “tolerance,” and “yielding” had quietly become the shape of who I was expected to be. They completely overlooked one thing: at that time I was, like my niece, just a kid in elementary school.

School domestication: a test of obedience disguised as “credits”
School discipline was more systematic — even institutionalized into an “assessment mechanism.”
I remember one incident in middle school: a “cleaning for credit” episode that stuck with me.
During PE, my homeroom teacher suddenly singled me out to clean, saying it would “add to my credits.” My grades weren’t great; I’d been in arguments with girls and was close to being reprimanded. I went. A few classmates with “high credits” went too — though later we learned they’d been threatened: “If you don’t go, points will be deducted.”
They took us to a neglected “physics garden” on the roof of the teaching building. We did heavy labor for an entire period and then learned why: some inspectors were coming to evaluate the school.
We had been drafted as free labor. I heard other grades had similar summons — all for school rankings and administrators’ promotions.
That day I understood: those metrics dressed up as “student conduct, appearance, spirit” were simply another way to test obedience.

Social expectations: the lie that there’s only one right path
Deeper discipline plays out across the whole social structure. After school, during holidays — tutorials and enrichment classes never really stop. Time that should belong to rest and exploration is systematically filled. Our childhood becomes a 996 simulation sold as “for your own good.”
They plant a belief without us noticing: want a decent job and steady income? Study. Want good grades and praise? Conform to teachers and follow the plan.
These statements sound natural, but they narrow a life to a single “correct” trajectory:
Study → Work → Buy a car and a house → Marry and have children → Retire steadily.
Step off that track and you get labeled “immature,” “irresponsible,” “abnormal.”

But if this is “normal,” why do we feel hollowed out like machines? Why, the more sensible we become, do we lose ourselves?
In their eyes I was only a role in a system. I remember — and I insist —

I am a living person. We are living people.

Family “being sensible,” school “following the rules,” society’s “stable expectations” — they’re like invisible layers of code, training me to be a perfectly obedient character. But I am not a role they built. I am a living person.

Family discipline: being mistaken for “the elder”
I still remember two seeds they planted in me when I was small: first, if you’re a boy you should yield to girls; second, if you’re older, you should tolerate and give way to the younger.
You read that right — when I was one, my parents already told me I had reached the same generation as an uncle.
It sounds absurd now. The scene happened in first grade: my niece — only a year younger than me — came over to play. At first we laughed and played, then we fought over something. In most homes that would have been smoothed over with a few words. My parents, however, said to me: “You’re the elder. Let her have it.”
I froze. A thousand questions crowded my head: “What does ‘elder’ really mean?” “Why should I let her?”
In that moment I realized that “maturity,” “tolerance,” and “yielding” had quietly become the shape of who I was expected to be. They completely overlooked one thing: at that time I was, like my niece, just a kid in elementary school.

School domestication: a test of obedience disguised as “credits”
School discipline was more systematic — even institutionalized into an “assessment mechanism.”
I remember one incident in middle school: a “cleaning for credit” episode that stuck with me.
During PE, my homeroom teacher suddenly singled me out to clean, saying it would “add to my credits.” My grades weren’t great; I’d been in arguments with girls and was close to being reprimanded. I went. A few classmates with “high credits” went too — though later we learned they’d been threatened: “If you don’t go, points will be deducted.”
They took us to a neglected “physics garden” on the roof of the teaching building. We did heavy labor for an entire period and then learned why: some inspectors were coming to evaluate the school.
We had been drafted as free labor. I heard other grades had similar summons — all for school rankings and administrators’ promotions.
That day I understood: those metrics dressed up as “student conduct, appearance, spirit” were simply another way to test obedience.

Social expectations: the lie that there’s only one right path
Deeper discipline plays out across the whole social structure. After school, during holidays — tutorials and enrichment classes never really stop. Time that should belong to rest and exploration is systematically filled. Our childhood becomes a 996 simulation sold as “for your own good.”
They plant a belief without us noticing: want a decent job and steady income? Study. Want good grades and praise? Conform to teachers and follow the plan.
These statements sound natural, but they narrow a life to a single “correct” trajectory:
Study → Work → Buy a car and a house → Marry and have children → Retire steadily.
Step off that track and you get labeled “immature,” “irresponsible,” “abnormal.”

But if this is “normal,” why do we feel hollowed out like machines? Why, the more sensible we become, do we lose ourselves?
In their eyes I was only a role in a system. I remember — and I insist —

I am a living person. We are living people.