In the past I thought the most terrifying thing was that a person couldn't find himself, but when a person really lost the past and couldn't prove himself, things didn't seem that bad.
The sudden fault is like a brand new opportunity. There is a chance to start over again in a fucking life, to know yourself and the world. Regenerate baby's eyes and touch them with soft fingers. The old definition does not matter, who I am does not prevent me from loving, the identity on the document is a shackle, and I am still me without it.
And when men without the past come into society, I don't know where else to sing the song of the homeless. Almost everyone is accepting him unconditionally. The past is irrelevant. What they care about is the living man in front of them, a life that is as cold and hungry as they are, eager to live. Food, shelter, work, this is a fully inclusive environment to help him live again.
Caring everywhere, he asked the neighbors who helped pull the wires what they were getting paid, and what he got was "if I fall into a pond one day, turn me over on my face". Penniless but can walk into restaurants to get food, put on donated coats and work decently, and even if they are blackmailed by the black-hearted police, they can pay quickly through labor.
Individuals may not be able to compete with the wheel of fate, but small individuals can form a group with their companions to keep warm, everyone gathers firewood, and declares war against fate as a group.
Warmth is the last glimmer of light in the cruel world.
Why are we still alive? I think, just for this little warmth, this trip to the world is also worth it.
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