For a long time, I have been troubled by certain questions in life, such as about the value of life, about the truth in the world, and so on. The space of my mind is full of the indifference of the walls isolated by the buildings, and my heart, which has been enriched by this age, is like a narcissus gradually withering up in the desert.

One afternoon, an unknown American song was playing on campus, and a few of my classmates and I were standing in the corner of a building chatting, with cardboard boxes on the table in front of us to raise money for children in the disaster area. To attract the attention of passers-by, we pasted a series of enlarged black-and-white photographs on a long red cloth of the children sitting in a tented classroom, looking innocently and wistfully ahead.

Not far from us, on the side of the road in front of the school's Xisan cafeteria, there were several overloaded garbage bins, and every time I passed by with my lunch box to cover my nose, I always saw an old man intently churning something with a shovel or hand. Over time, with a strong disdain, he became familiar with this poor old man with a half-pinch of white beard.

I didn't care about the arrival of this old garbage picker. As he walked past me with his dirty nylon bag on his back, he suddenly stopped, stood still in front of the red cloth, squinted at the group of photographs, and moved from one to the other for a long time. I couldn't help but laugh dumbly, and Weizi on the side dragged me: "Be careful, don't be careless and let him collect the donated clothes as garbage!" ”

I smiled and looked down to clean up the donations big and small, new and old. Suddenly I felt something shaking in front of me, and I looked up in surprise, and the old man had come to me at some point, and a hand as black as the bark of an old pine tree trembled and handed over to pick up the yuan.

I was so amazed that I didn't know what to do, and when I came back to my senses, he had put the money on the table, waved his hand, and left with his head held high as if he had completed a great mission.

I still stood dumbfounded, looking at his back as he walked away, and an inexplicable respect slowly flowed through my heart. This life, which was once small and humble in my eyes, deeply shocked me with its simple power.

In the era when his true feelings were a little emaciated, this old man, who may have been forgotten by people because of poverty, used the blood of simple love flowing in his life to fulfill a little responsibility that many people indifferently consider to be obligations.

All kinds of propositions in our hearts suddenly have answers - when we only know how to cry out love with gorgeous words and gradually get lost, how many truly precious things are discarded by ourselves with disdain. Is it just the garbage we discarded?

Has anyone* seen it?