This is a work of real scars, just a few hundred thousand words long, and the devastated story tells an ordinary and helpless life.
At the age of thirty-three, looking back at the journey, it is full of vicissitudes of life.
When he was one year and nine months old, his father was killed in a coal mine accident. The mine collapsed and he was buried forever in the dark underground. His mother chose to remarry and abandoned him cruelly. At an ignorant age, he was adopted and taken away by others, and his fate was wandering.
The suffering of fate did not stop there. The little child was changed hands twice, wandering around, experiencing the pain of living in the care of others, and seeing the warmth and warmth of human relationships. After going round and round, after many twists and turns, I finally returned to my family and grew up in the remote and remote areas of the mountains.
The old adobe house, rugged mountain roads, and poor years ran through his entire childhood. Not being protected by his parents, being ignored and criticized, being hungry, aggrieved, and homeless are memories engraved in his bones and blood.
When people reach middle age, they spend half their lives running around. As time settles, those past events that have been buried in the bottom of my heart surge up again. He wrote about this past not to accuse anyone, nor to win sympathy.
It is just a true record of the wandering life of a child who was abandoned by fate. The mountains are speechless, the years are silent, and the sufferings and detours we have gone through all turn into a heavy sigh when we look back in middle age.
This is the memoir of an abandoned child in the mountains, a real life wrapped up in time and destiny.
