Youth Notes

However, one day, I was not calm, not only not calm, but also very excited.In fact, I've never really been calm.

She was able to enter a key middle school through the back door of her father.

Her home is like a villa, the result of her father's corruption.

There must be a lot of things in her house, so many people come to ask for mercy and make connections all day long.

Her little uncle also became the leader, and it was her father who opened up the relationship.

The world is as black as crows, how can there be honest officials in this world?

……

Many words like this poured out in the class at once.It is impossible for me not to be excited. Dad has always been the god in my heart.

Dad was the sunshine in our dark little house. Although he came back once or twice a month, the light and heat lasted my entire childhood.

I know what we eat every day, what we wear all the time, what our mom does, what our family looks forward to the most.Our common holiday is to meet Dad, because Dad always "doesn't want a home"...

In my earliest memories, my father loved to talk about ideals with me, telling us to be a person who can make a difference and contribute to society.Dad said that to be a person is to be upright and kind, to be hardworking, to be aggressive, to be generous, to be loyal and selfless.Those words are treasures one by one. I keep them in my arms all the time, warming and illuminating my lonely road.

Just like believing that the sun will rise tomorrow after it sets, I just believe in my father.No one is more innocent than my father, and no one can damage my father.

But it's useless for me to get excited, I can't compete with them, I'm not a good talker.When I get excited, I won't say anything.I told myself, I must strive for success, I want to be a person like my father taught me to be, our clear sky can be seen, the earth can be seen, and the sun and the moon can learn from each other!Rumors stop at wise men, and I believe there are wise men.

I remember when I was seven or eight years old, my grandma went to the market to buy a purple sugar cane, and I got two knots.I was walking in the village with my two or three-year-old brother on my back, and a boy of the same age from the same village ran over to me and said, "Give me a bite of the sugar cane, just take a bite." I gave him the sugar cane .Before he had time to blink, he ran away without a trace. I stood there in a daze for a long time without recovering.I have been standing there in a daze, thinking for a long time but still can't figure it out, I can't figure it out: How could this happen?

It was also that age, maybe even younger.A girl from the same village who was one year younger than me came to my house to play with me, and we played with hidden beads on the dirt floor in front of my house to hunt for treasure.Because I couldn't walk anymore, my leg hurt.Because my mother told me to keep an eye on the chickens outside the vegetable garden, so as not to let them peck the leaves of the vegetables. As a result, I sat under the tree in a daze again, wondering what a human being is, what is a soul, and The question of where to go after death is still singing to the bamboo forest.Anyway, I didn't like it, the chick pecked and trampled the freshly grown vegetable leaves.When my mother came back and saw it, she exploded with anger. She happened to be holding two bamboo sticks in her hands, so she beat me with those two sticks.Mom must have gone crazy, punching a hole on the outside of my knee, and a thick stream of blood was gurgling out quickly, warm and bright red.I am not in pain, not at all. Thinking about it now, I seem to be a little happy, very comfortable and happy, the blood flow is really "smooth".But I still howled reflexively. It is impossible not to cry when you are beaten until you bleed. Even if there is no pain, even if there are no tears, you should still cry.I do not know why it has to be like this.I forgot how the bleeding from the hole stopped, I just remembered that it started to hurt after the bleeding stopped, and it hurt so badly.That hole is like an eye next to my knee, a big red round eye, that eye is soft, much softer than a real eye, yes, like magma, a condensed fluid.

I just sat sideways on the dirt floor and played with that round red eye looking at the sky.

We have fun.Our village is very small, there are not many children, and we don’t usually play with us much, because my father is the son-in-law who married into my mother-in-law’s house, because my mother is a bought daughter, the only adopted daughter of my grandparents, the only child .Because my grandfather was a Kuomintang soldier whose fertility was destroyed, and because my grandmother was married to my grandfather with a bought daughter after her husband died, the daughter of a landlord.Because there is only one boy among our four brothers and sisters, and he is the youngest boy who was almost lost by "family planning".After my grandfather died before I was born, we were all "outsiders".Yes, a complete outsider.Of the seven of us, none of us has the blood of people from this place flowing in our bodies.We are different from others, we have nothing, we have nothing to do with it.It is a single existence, a single existence without power or backing.We should not speak out, we should endure, right and wrong, verbal abuse, insults, beatings.At least being snubbed and bullied.That's as it should be.Unless Dad came back from outside.Dad is a "working comrade" with culture and level.Papa always came back with something good to share with the selfish, greedy kids in the village.Even if there is no delicious food, if any child keeps following daddy, daddy will go through the top and bottom pockets of his clothes to find a coin or something.No more, I will touch their heads and praise them.We never have coins in our pockets, if we do, we will hand them over to our mother right away.We are very happy with our father's praise.

I was very grateful to that girl that day, she even took the initiative to come to play with me, and she had no temper at all, even gentle.If I play like this a few more times, I will definitely regard her as a good friend, and I will rely on her for everything from now on.However, without later, there is not even "then".She stuck the little mud-stained stick into my "red eye".That one, soft as lava, red eyes.She was so quick that she inserted it with a stick.So neatly, he plunged down.I don't know if she saw the bright red blood flow, but she ran so fast.Really quickly, my screams immediately led my grandma out, but when my grandma came out, she had long since disappeared.No matter how grandma scolded her, it was useless, no one would come to apologize, no one would come to visit.

I don't know how long it took for that wound to heal, and I forgot about the pain.I just remember that early morning, that morning, when the two little girls had a great time playing, suddenly a stick covered with sand was inserted into the soft magma strangely and inexplicably.Why did two people who played well suddenly become like this?I don't know how long I studied this question at that time, even now I don't have an answer.

These questions appear frequently, and they always challenge the world and the world in my heart.The one who thinks that the world should be a world full of truth, kindness and beauty, as my father said, as the teachers said, as the books said, and as the songs sang.This is our home, which we have together, the sun is shining, the flowers are fragrant, the trees are shady, and the beautiful home.

They challenge, they criticize, they deny, they subvert.I have been laughing, laughing at their stupidity and ignorance, laughing at their overreaching, contemptuously laughing at their stupidity to such an extent that they don’t even know that this world is beautiful, okay.They didn't even know that they were going to lose after all.

I believe in the existence of God.

God is an old urchin who loves to joke and play hide-and-seek.

Before long, he put this question on my father.

It seems to be less than a year, I was still 15 years old.That Mid-Autumn Festival.I asked Dad if we should climb up the nearby mountain and watch the moon there.Dad was very impatient, as if my idea was unbelievable.He said: I don’t have a car, how can I get there!There are so many people, what's the point of crowding around!

I'm silent, I can't make a sound.Dad is the leader, and he always takes a car when he goes out.Of course.He is used to it.Those ordinary people pushed and hugged each other to climb the only mountain in the county, the one near my house, and the one behind our school.What's the point of that.They climbed theirs, and if we go, we have to drive.We didn't go because we didn't have a car.Because Dad's "special car" is not available today.Of course, Dad couldn't squeeze up the mountain with those people.We are different from them.

During that Mid-Autumn Festival, and even during that half year, my mind kept replaying my father’s words.When the moon shakes, it will be sad, even at its fullest.The misty mist is its sorrow, the bright whiteness is the most frank and silent sadness, and the largest and fullest whiteness in a year like a disc is a kind of helplessness.It dwells in my heart, and dwells in sorrow.My father, the same father as the sun, my god, he is different.I turned it into text and gave it to the teacher.That was the first composition to be handed in after high school, Mid-Autumn Moon Night.The teacher appreciated it very much, and read my emotions with great emotion in the two classes he taught.Many students in those two classes came to me after class, and they wanted to inquire about the details.

I didn't say anything, I didn't want to say anything.If possible, I hope that those words will be cleared from everyone's memory immediately, as if they had never been cleared.I believe they are long gone by now.They are etched in my mind.

Dad, I'm sorry.I was wrong.

I was wrong because I can't get sand in my eyes.Not even the dust can get in.No fog can get in.

Because of people, because of society, this world does not allow my eyes to be covered with dust.If I knew, in fact, there was dust everywhere in society at that time, and those who commented and criticized others for being "dirty" would be so black in the future, so dirty and black.If I know, the world I believe in has always been only in my dream, in the teacher's mouth, in words and propaganda slogans, in poems and songs, not in this real world.I wouldn't be so stupid.

I wouldn't have spent my entire youth judging you, hating you, or even feeling deeply guilty about being born into a leading family.After many, many years, after your hair and beard are all gray, I know that you are still you, and the sky and the earth have indeed seen your innocence.The sun and the moon can learn from each other.You are not the sun, you are just a lamp in the world.A bright and solid lamp.I shouldn't ask you to be the sun, just like I shouldn't turn myself into a star in the cold night.

The high places are extremely cold, I am the cold star, but not high, but far away, vague, untouched by people.That cold star.