After Being Outsourced and Laid Off, She Returned to Northeast China to Work as a Nanny

I walked out of Huadian, holding my undergraduate diploma, thinking I could securely seize the future given to me by my hometown. But the reality is that on the land where I was born and raised, I can't find a place to put that piece of paper. Finally, I put on an apron and became a nanny. And guess what? Every morning, when the first ray of light leaks into the kitchen, the flour wakes up in my hands. I knead it with the techniques taught by my grandma - it is the chewy texture of wheat grown on black soil; the white meat of pickled cabbage I stewed tastes like the water of the Songhua River. The employer's child said: "Sister, the pot roast pork you make can sing." The clicking sound when biting into it is the crunching sound of stepping on the snow in the Northeast winter. Those expectations that had disappeared in the resume suddenly bloomed in the smoke. When I was mixing the sauce, I thought of my mother's words: "Life is like this miso, the more you cover it, the more fragrant it becomes." It turns out that what college taught me was not to escape, but to understand - to understand the landscape hidden in every seasoning, and to understand that a pair of hands that can write a paper can also create a hot life. Now I know that my hometown has never rejected me. It just changed a language, and in the sound of the collision of the frying spoon and the iron pan, and in my reheated chest, it whispered: My child, life is not in the huge world outside, but in this bowl of hot human fireworks that you serve for the one you love.