Five thirty in the morning, a girl was born in a city of South China. She had no name, no experience, and no memory. She was as pure as a white paper which was waiting to be painted by the world, the society, and her family. She could not be more innocent. She was born with high expectations and hopes. She was me.
October is a rainy and windy season in this city. When I was born, it was raining poorly. It seemed that I was not welcomed by this world, sadly. However, I was lucky. I had a great mother who could not wait to see me, to touch my little face, and to give me a sweet kiss. I do remember I asked my mom whether she would be happier if i were a boy. Her answer impressed me. "I would still be grateful to have you even if you are a monster," she told me. In a patriarchal society, a boy is always more welcomed, valued, and preferred in most families because a male represents the continuation of a family generation. Differently, a girl is useless, weak and will be married and gone someday anyways. However, I was lucky. Both my parents and grandparents loved and even preferred girls, which was extremely rare in that period of time when China was still considered as conservative and traditional.
My family was happy to see my birth since I was the first kid. My papa loved girls. He taught me to draw, to dance, and to sing. Of course, I do not remember anything. Photos are the best pathway to the past. I can still feel the love when I look at the photos of my childhood. They kissed me, fed me, and danced with me....I was a lucky one.
I have a great mom and a papa, who were the most important people in my life. However, although both of them left me alone to another world and will never come back. I still love them and know that they love me too.
Because most of my family members are teachers, they all wanted me to become one of them. I thought I was born from the way to be an outstanding teacher. However, I decided to become someone different from them.
When I was born, there was only one person beside me. That was my mom, my great mother. She was the only one took care of me and herself in the hospital. Where was my father when my mom was suffering? I do not know. Maybe because my mother never told me, and I never asked. I guess he probably was somewhere with a random woman or working on his so-called career. I never blame my father. My mother told me not to. According to her, whatever my father did, the fact that he is my father cannot change. So, I never hated him, and I never loved him either. I guess hatred is part of love and takes energy. When I was two, my parents got divorced. When I realized I did not have a completed family, I was already six. I have no idea why my memory started to work so lately. I guess maybe I chose to forget something I did not want to remember.
Since I moved to another city with my mom when I was six, I only saw my dad once a year since then. I did not miss him at all. He seemed a total stranger to me, a person sometimes I even got scared of. I loved my mom. I lived with my mom till she passed away. After she left me, I felt like life is as simple as birth and death. We, human beings, come and go. In my own world, there were only two colors, black and white.
Not too long ago, I had a really nice and frank talk with my dad. I truly realized my dad still loves me, and very much.
Life is so much more complicated than I thought. However, it is also more amazing and interesting than I expected. Let us see what will happen next. I am so excited to start writing blog again.
This is a story. The end!
Love, Life and Fashion---Sa.tisfaction
