During my adolescence, I replicated the same rebelliousness as others, especially when I discovered my sexuality, I was immersed in my own world, and I imagined that the whole world headed by my father was against me, and there was a strong explosion with my friends. The passion of my life, catalyzed by drugs, became my weapon against the world and the whole meaning of my existence. I understand how childish my rebellion is in the eyes of adults, I just don't understand why they are so hostile, why they face me with a mocking attitude even though they have experienced it.
It was not until many years later, when I, as a writer, wrote about my own experiences with a pen, that I faced these fire scars again, as if I could see the true face of things. Father's rigid love is the only possibility left to him by his past, and the softness and restraint he lacks will disappear forever in this home with my dead mother. My stepmother uses all her wisdom and courage to create a joyful warmth. However, due to the irritability of family members, they fail repeatedly. My brother received the baptism of rebellion before me, and perhaps because of this, my father's patience was lost to me. My father and I have never been able to communicate properly and effectively through words or behavior. Finally, I had a younger sister, so, almost inevitably, my younger sister received almost all the love and attention of my parents. My brother has left home as an adult. It seems that I should leave home earlier to bring complete peace and joy to this family. In this way, when I was fifteen years old, I left my home, my hometown, my family and my lover.
After leaving my hometown, I seem to really fly. I have achieved success in my career, found a lover and established a family. My life is finally flying in the direction I like, and I have left my hometown far behind. Every one or two years, I get news from my hometown, my brother got married, and then had a child, my father died, my sister went to middle school, and this news came to me every one or two years, telling me that my hometown was still there. , that family is also there.
Now, I'm terminally ill, time is running out, I'm going back to my home at the end of the world, and see how I became who I am, I'm going to pull the world in my head into reality, and see what time brings us change, perhaps unchanged.
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