On the wall of my living room there is a painting with countless straight or curved pen lines intertwined on a blank sheet of paper, the title of this painting is called, OurWorld. I came across this painting in the corner of a small gallery, the price was not expensive, the artist was unknown, and no one cared about it. At that time, I ran into walls everywhere for work, and looking at the composition above, it was in line with my mood, so I bought it and hung it in a conspicuous position in the living room. My initial understanding of the painting was that the world was so bad and that life was a mess. Later, with the passage of time, there was a different interpretation. I think what the painter wants to express may be that each of us is a line on the paper, dragging the pen and dragging the trajectory forward, and thousands of independent and connected lines make up the world we exist.

On a windless and rainless night in April 1990, like most babies in this world, my life fell gently on the intricate drawing paper.

Due to my father's gentle personality, I haven't officially named myself a month after I was born. When I was a guest on the full moon, my grandfather, who was first a feng shui gentleman and then a cook, thought that I was short of water in my life, so he simply and rudely named me, Zhou Miao.

For as long as I can remember, my father has been an idle worker in the idle office of the municipal compound, and my mother works in a trading company in the development zone, and the two of them are busy at the same time.

It was still gray early in the morning, and my mother was tinkling with pots and pans. While the pot was hot, my mother first went back to the room to wake up my father, and then went to my room. Mom's lion roar didn't work for me, so she grabbed me by the neck and dragged me out of bed. I slept in separate beds with my parents very early, and my self-care skills were stronger than those of ordinary children. My mother was only responsible for waking me up, and I always did it myself.

While my dad was watering his flowers and plants in the yard with a toothbrush and a watering can, I squatted on the edge of the stone ridge and spit toothpaste bubbles in a daze. In fact, there is no need to wake me up early in the morning, my parents are going out to work, and I don't have to go out, waking me up just to let me have breakfast. Mom's breakfast is the same, every day is like chewing waxy frozen steamed buns and smelly freshly milked milk. Mom didn't think these things were hard to swallow, so she went back to her room to put on makeup after eating. She used to comb her hair neatly to the back of her head in the shape of a ponytail, allowing it to hang straight down to her waist. Her makeup is not as strong as other women, just faint, as if carefully groomed, and as if natural, that is, the nude makeup that is popular among girls today. Mom doesn't have a lot of clothes in her closet, just a few sets over and over again, but each one is neatly hung. If it weren't for the fading color, it would be like a brand new one in the window.

I bit the steamed bun with my eyes half-open and half-closed, and I choked in panic and poured two sips of milk. My dad sat across from me, steamed bun in his hand, his eyes fixed on the newspaper, and he took a bite to chew for a long time, as if he were enjoying a juicy pork chop. My dad habitually smacked his mouth every time he took a sip of milk, which made me think that his cup was filled with sweet and sour joy. I secretly tasted it while he turned his head to read the newspaper, and it was equally unpleasant.

Before going out, my mother dragged me to finish chatting every day, and then went out with my father who was pushing a bicycle. Seeing my parents walk out of the courtyard gate, I couldn't wait to close the door and run back to my room, kicked off my shoes, took off my clothes, shook off the quilt, and jumped straight onto the bed. Afraid that my parents would kill me, I got out of bed again and felt the window with my bare feet and pulled the curtain open. I saw my father driving my mother towards the old street, and I kept saying hello to the neighbors during the period, so I was completely relieved to get into the bed.

This summer, I just celebrated my fifth birthday. When my parents went to work, they entrusted me to Aunt Liu, who was in the same hospital, to take care of me. Aunt Liu has been married to us here from a rural area in another province for two years, and her lover works in a state-owned forging factory. Because she is not educated, Aunt Liu helps people make mops and weave bamboo baskets at home on weekdays to subsidize the family, and by the way, she also brings children to her neighbors.

Our courtyard sits west to east, the courtyard gate is next to the old street, the old-fashioned blue brick and gray tile house, and there are three families living in the courtyard. My family lives in three rooms in the front yard, Aunt Liu's family lives in the middle courtyard and two rooms are slightly smaller, and Sun Yiqing's family lives in the largest three rooms in the backyard. The children brought by Aunt Liu also include Sun Yiqing.

Speaking of Yiqing, I have to talk about the relationship between the two families.

Yiqing's father, Uncle Sun, is my father's iron buddy who wears a pair of pants when he is a child, and Yiqing's mother, Aunt Dong, is a good friend of my mother's classmate. Their generation was just in time for the last train of the intellectuals to go to the countryside, and the four of them were assigned to the same intellectuals farm at that time, and it was at that time that they formed a deep revolutionary friendship. Later, after staying on the farm for two years, my father responded to the call to join the army, Uncle Sun and Aunt Dong were recruited by the local art troupe at the same time, and my mother stayed in the farm supply and marketing cooperative. In the mid-80s, my mother first returned to the city to work, and then Uncle Sun and Aunt Dong were transferred back to the city art troupe, and it was not until the late 80s that my father returned to the city after retiring from the army, and the four of them got together again. The friendship in those years was comparable to diamonds, and the four of them agreed to get married together on an auspicious day and put on a wedding banquet, and lived in the same courtyard after marriage. Coincidentally, even giving birth to a child was only a few days before and after, and Yiqing was born a few days earlier than me. Although the two families are not blood relatives, they are better than blood relatives, I call Uncle Sun my godfather, Aunt Dong is called my godmother, and my father and mother recognize Yiqing as their goddaughter. It stands to reason that I would have to call Yiqing cousin or cousin, but I was extremely reluctant to call her that.