I'm always trying to remember, trying to remember when I was one of the billions of tadpoles. Pen %Fun %Pavilion www.biquge.info What kind of belief did I rely on to break out of the encirclement at that time? What kind of dreams and aspirations did I have at that time, and was I always firm at that time, or was I also wavering and hesitating?

I don't know if I believed in the opportunity to bond with my eggs at that time, so I tried my best to fight for it. My birth certificate is a testament to my success at that time, or "half" of my success at that time. And now, as a new me conceived by the union of sperm and egg, how can I prove the value of my existence?

I want to be for myself, not how others want me to be.

In the past 19 years and 9 months, I have lived the same life as hundreds of millions of people in the world, like a swarm of busy worker ants on the yellow earth, living to raise fat "queens", but exploiting myself to the bone.

In today's era, people have rendered an illusion of a happy era, this era has lost too much beauty, and young people have long been blinded by worldly materials. I guess if I had a choice, I would be one of them. Desperately showing off the glitz, desperately among the glamorous, squandering desires, and selling the few souls left.

Before, I had never thought about it. My mind was also washed by the lies of the exploiters, and I never felt like I was in the drums of being blinded.

Children of my age are very confused, and few see the road ahead, but most of them are shrouded in fog, and listen to the pedantic opinions of those who like to point fingers at their age.

We are already too frightened by their threatening words to explore, even when children sometimes want to walk in the fog in a different direction than they are pointing.

If nothing had happened, I think I would be one of them, like the children who were intimidated, to walk with them on the crowded road, to become an unrecognizable worker ant.

The sudden bad news made me think and start to search for the meaning of my existence, and those thoughts that I had never had before came one after another.

I felt something else in my body, he had a faint breath of presence, but it was real, and he called my name in a slight but audible voice.

"Hello?" Looking at my phone, which showed my mother's call, I pressed the connect button.

"Sen, your aunt, is dead." On the other end of the line, my mother's familiar voice came from the other end. But the content of the voice made my whole body freeze for a short time, and all expressions were washed away by the rain outside the window. I was stunned in my seat in the Internet café, not knowing how to react for a moment.

Death is far away and close to us.

I'm twenty years old three months away, living with my parents, and every day I face countless trivial words, very few meaningful words, and I can't squeeze a few drops with the best juicer.

There was a gap between me and my father, and since I was a child, I thought he was a dark cloud over my head and a messenger of bad luck in my life. He shrouded my childhood in black clouds of thunder and lightning, tangled and sticky, and refused to disperse in my dreams.

Thanks to him, at the age of eleven or twelve, I had seen too much despicability of human nature and all kinds of people's faces.

When I grew up, I subconsciously distanced myself from all relationships.

Today is a day as usual, and I wake up on the same day as I always have and listen to the words that have always been spoken from the mouths of the people as before.

"You just do what we said, we will pay your mother's friend to find a relationship and let you become a traffic assistant policeman. At such a young age, what's the difference between messing around like you all day long and being a cripple? My father spoke, trying to arrange my worthless life in his eyes.

I'm not a person who would rather eat and wait for death, I am already irritable with school life when I should have gone to school, I can't accept the same indoctrination, I want to be free to absorb what I like. When I left the campus, I realized that even when I left the room where my steps were imprisoned, the society I entered was nothing more than a cage in which my body was imprisoned.

From the moment I left campus, I didn't have time to think, I didn't have time to plan my life. My parents told me that from the moment I left school, I had to take on the burden of surviving on my own, and that I had changed many jobs, all of which were for a small salary. Repeating the same steps every day, the same life is very boring to me, if you live like this, it is better to go to Somalia and be a pirate, if you are lucky, you can squander a big one for a few days, and if you are unlucky, you will die from a bullet that pierces your chest.

It's a pity that Somali pirates don't speak Chinese.

I'm tired of living for the sake of survival every moment, and I want to stop and think about what I can do and support myself, and that's it.

My current situation, which I can't refute my father's accusations, feels like a fishbone stuck in my throat. I can't maintain my dignity and let it be trampled on.

I put on my T-shirt and went out, and I didn't want to refute it in words, which would only exacerbate the conflict.

Raindrops kept falling from the sky, trying to wash away the dirt that stuck to people's hearts. But it wasn't big, just thicker than a drizzle, so no one took it seriously, not even to the point of holding an umbrella. It was in such a situation like mine, and I thought it was so slighted and humiliated.

With a pair of blue flip-flops on my feet, I was wandering through the streets, playing with the raindrops, or at least it liked me! I thought to myself.

It was the end of October, and people in the north had already worn their pants, and the south was wearing jackets. The place where I am is is also south, but it is too south, so south that there are no seasons, and there is never snow in the south, it is an island, and it is the place where I have lived for the longest time.

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