Sometimes, I often wonder what life is, why it can make people love and hate, and why it is painful but cannot be escaped. Those seemingly ordinary days are often heavier than we think. Just like a full fruit, it looks bright and beautiful, but once it is bitten, it is a rotten heart.
I grew up in a remote town. There are no bustling streets, no flashing neon lights, and no wide roads. In the town, almost every family has some unspeakable pain. Some people work in the fields all their lives, and some people drink the kind of water that smells of soil every day. There is nothing but the most primitive survival. What hurts me most is that there seems to be no end to all this.
I remember when I was a child, I often saw my father carrying a tattered cloth bag to the market to exchange for some side dishes and rice. At that time, I always felt that life was so difficult, but so simple. Nothing is closer to reality than the days at that time. We lived a simple life, but we didn’t have too many extravagant demands. All the happiness seemed to be hidden in the ordinary, in the fields, and in the outline of my father’s back in the sunset.
However, time did not give us too much tolerance. My father’s body gradually weakened, and my mother was no longer so young. The burden of life gradually bent their waists. There was no laughter and joy in the house, only endless silence and fatigue. Whenever night fell, there was always an unspeakable sense of depression in the house, as if the whole world was sleeping in this darkness, so quiet that it made people breathless.
At that time, I didn’t know what “difficulties” meant. I only knew that every day I had to stand at the entrance of the village waiting for my father to come back, and then eat a bowl of porridge full of vegetable leaves and rice grains together. I remember one time, I couldn’t help asking my mother why our life was so hard. The mother’s eyes became empty for a moment, and after a long time, she gently said: “Child, life is like this, no one can escape it.”
There were no tears in the mother’s eyes, only an indescribable fatigue. When she said this, her voice was as light as the fallen leaves in the autumn wind, without any sound, but it made people feel distressed. At that moment, I suddenly understood what fate was. It is like a bottomless pit, we fall into it one by one, and finally we can only rely on ourselves to find a ray of hope. Perhaps, we have no choice but to walk alone in this deep pit until the end.
I was already seventeen years old when I left my hometown. The young me walked into the city with longing and ideals. At that time, I seemed to think that the city was the place of dreams, where there were bustling streets, where there were traffic, there were infinite possibilities. I thought that I would be able to see a wider sky after I walked out of that barren town.
However, after arriving in the city, I found that I was still just an insignificant existence. Although the city is bright and the streets are bustling, I feel particularly lonely among these people. Every morning, I walk hurriedly on the crowded streets, and every night, I am silent in the noisy city. Gradually, I realized that the light of the city cannot dispel the darkness in my heart. It only makes you see more clearly the distance between yourself and the world.
So, I began a long struggle. In order to survive, I did various jobs: selling newspapers, working as a cleaner, and even moving stones on the construction site. Every day, I am fighting poverty, and every day, I am looking for a glimmer of hope. But every time I turn around and leave my job and walk back to my small rental house, the loneliness in my heart surges like a tide. The prosperity and hustle and bustle of the city have little to do with me. It only gives me an empty face and a heart that is no longer young.
Looking back, I realized that the land of my hometown is my root. Even if it is full of injustice and pain, it is still the most real existence. In those years, although I have not received any earth-shattering happiness, I have never really given up on myself. Life, although ruthless, has taught me tenacity and patience. Every fall, every rebirth, is an opportunity for me to get to know myself again.
Today, standing in front of the town I used to live in, I can still see those familiar scenes: my father’s back, my mother’s warm eyes, and the smell of soil on the country road. Although the years have taken away many of the past beauties, the memories left on that land will never fade.
Once, I wanted to escape from here, I wanted to escape from this land that brought me pain and loss. But now, I understand that I can no longer get rid of this innate connection. It is like an unhealable wound. No matter how far I go, it will eventually bleed in my heart.
And this bleeding may be the meaning of life. It makes us more clearly aware that the original self still exists deep in our hearts and has never left.