I often give up on defining myself. Because every definition is like a self-deception.
Some people say that being afraid of difficulties and yearning for the end is a coward. But when the end requires great courage, who do I choose to endure it all? This seems like an unsolvable paradox, and I can't find my place in it.
I watched the noise of the world with cold eyes. People are like a group of hedgehogs, hurting each other with their sharp thorns, while greedily squeezing together to absorb the pitiful warmth. I thought I would be different, but when the cold authority really fell into my hands, what I felt was not resistance, but an uneasy... Familiarity. This discovery made me shudder.
I may also be a collection of contradictions. I would stop for the wild cats on the roadside and lend a helping hand to the old people scavenging, but in the face of the joys and sorrows carefully choreographed on the screen, there was only an indifferent wasteland left in my heart. So much so that I was almost convinced by the accusations made by my close relatives - look, this is indeed a cold-blooded person at heart.
So, what about playing a "normal person"? I once looked in the mirror and practiced the curve of my mouth over and over again, imagining myself integrating into that grand masquerade called "life". But in the end, the reflection in the mirror only gave me a deeper mockery.
It turns out that I have always been an audience off the stage, watching the tragedies and comedies of my classmates and the tangled drama of my parents. Destiny is like a bad chess player, and we are all passive pawns moved by its fingertips. The most terrifying thing is that I clearly saw my mother's shadow resurrecting on my body inch by inch. What is this? A fluttering "God's will tricks people" is all the answers.
My growth is a silent sacrifice. In the suffocating control, I was told over and over again that this was tempering and a gift. The absence of the other person is not so much a sign of resentment as a void of nothingness, even mentioning it seems redundant.
The above is my entire analysis of this chaos. Fortunately, there is still a thin line between me and that ultimate peace.
Concept: The story of the heroine's growth