Written on the disorganized third anniversary
Love you, love yourself.
you have to remember this day, because once the rain stops tonight, it means we have known each other for three years.
people say that it's a seven-year itch, so I speculate with you readers, otherwise I would have quit. Because writing is really boring, it will not only make you suffer from anxiety about what will happen tomorrow, but also completely insulate you from the hot water in your dorm, the last bus on a rainy night, and your girlfriend's bedtime advice.
so sometimes I feel like the loneliest person in the world, because the raindrops at night always pull me back from my cell phone to reality.
when I looked up, I remembered that I had nothing but the so-called ideal.
cars on the roadside always drive past me unscrupulously, and some even go so far as to turn on the headlights and shout at me as if they were shouting to me, "you still have this free time to get caught in the rain, so don't go back and work hard."
so I unconsciously quicken my pace, but my brain turns more slowly.
I think of a Didi ride before. After getting on the bus, the driver chatted with me all the way. In those 30 minutes, I had countless impulses to say to him, "can you turn on the air conditioner?" but because of his questions one after another, I couldn't find a gap to interrupt.
when he said he was tired, I found that he was only five minutes away from my destination, so I gave up.
just then, the driver asked me, "are you local?"
"Yes." I answered.
"locals are good, otherwise they can't afford to live there."
I know that the "there" he said is my neighborhood, and I hate it when people use "locals" to ignore all my previous efforts, as if my rent is growing on the ground.
seeing that I didn't respond, he added: "is it comfortable to live there?" I want to buy a house there for my son. "
the property price in Dongguan is very strange. Although the rent of the place where I live is cheap, it will cost 20,000 yuan per square meter if I really want to buy it.
I deliberately sour the driver: "Wow, then you have to have more money than many locals to afford it."
he said, "I don't have any money. I'm going to sell my present house and change it for a better one for my son."
then in the remaining three minutes, the driver told me the history of his struggle, how he ran out of the countryside, the bad boss he met in the factory, and finally his fruit stall in the city, and his son.
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he said, "well, when my son was admitted to a secondary college, he asked me if I could go on with my studies. I refused, because in that year, we bought our first apartment in Dongguan. "
I thought to myself: how clever it is. Compared with three universities, the Dongguan house at that time is indeed more worthy of investment.
"then I asked my son," he said to himself, "did you hurt him if you didn't read to him? he said to me, 'how come, I failed in the exam myself'. But as far as I know, he said that out of pity. "
I saw the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror. He was staring ahead, but I thought he was thinking about something.
"is your son living a poor life now?" I asked.
"it's not bad, but it's not bad." The driver answered.
I tried to comfort the driver: "Fengshui turns in turn, there is nothing to be afraid of in such a long life."
he didn't answer me, and it wasn't long before the car stopped at the gate of my neighborhood.
I tried to say something more to the driver, but except for the "Thank you", I kept it all to myself.
because I know that this story should end so hastily. If I ask any more questions, I will change from a "listener" to a "proponent". Advice is to interfere in other people's lives.
so no matter whether the driver's "pitiful" is his son's intention or not, I don't have to go any further. Because from my point of view, what I see is a father's guilt that cannot be made up for.
it's just that after getting off the bus that day, in the middle of going upstairs, I quickly typed the words "driver, father, poor" on Wechat.
because I know that one day I will write down this story as I do at this moment, and then tell you what I have seen and heard.
then let you remember it, understand it, and finally tell the next listener. Finally, as long as one person is listening, all the father's sorrow and love will not die with the passage of time, and its meaning can be cherished.
in fact, I don't know why I typed these words on the night of the third anniversary of chaos.
I should have written some ambitious statements and set great ambitions at the same time, moving a large number of college students who were as confused as I am. Or maybe I should write down the hardships of the past year to make you feel that this year has been very hard and that we have lived up to your expectations.
but in the end, I wrote down such meaningless words and briefly recorded several conversations that night. As far as I know, it won't work, it has no commercial value, it can bring neither glory to me nor exposure to the company.
but I wrote it anyway.
because I know that you must be as hard as I was when you were illuminated by the "high beam", so I want to tell you through that story: no matter how muggy it is, there is no meaningless night in life. That verbose driver may be able to change your view of the world.
so, your happiness will not be another manifestation of decadence, and your sadness will not push you to the edge of the cliff, you will be likeAs I was three years ago, I had a good time, then went through all kinds of hardships in life, and finally found my own direction from life, cut through difficulties and forge ahead.
Happy third anniversary, disorganized.