When I was young, I was very close to my grandmother. I was dissatisfied with the wrinkled face. Every wrinkle made me feel the warmth and nostalgia of love. Her slender hands, babbling words and every food she loves will forever remain in my heart. Even every old woman as old as her I saw would look away with a sour nose and think of her face. I think this is love. my love for her. Although she is also ugly and ugly, to me, she is perfect and has nothing to do with others. I remember when my grandfather was hospitalized on his 65th birthday, my grandmother came bumpy with small feet. She stubbornly wanted to live with him in the hospital because I had never been separated from him. after marriage. Their marriage was separated by war. She has always been by his side, all the way north, all the way hard. My mother said that in Qinghai, once my grandmother stood on a stool with a mosquito net, she was so heavy that she fell and broke her arm, and the blood flowed for a long time. This incident, every time I think about it in the years to come, my grandmother's expression emerges. But in my heart, in the deepest part, I always thought that she was a very poor woman. When he sent him away from the army, he gave birth to twin sons, and he kept quarreling with his most beloved son and daughter-in-law, but his daughter, whom he did not like, sincerely healed her cataracts. Until she died, I knew secretly that she always looked at the world in her own way. So, some people get hurt and some people feel disappointed. I love my grandma very much. Because the pain is so deep. I don't want to think about it, just like I don't want to think about all the secrets I don't want to reveal.
Because I have such a grandmother. So I have such a mother.
My mother was a little Bolshevik, at least I thought so. She is sensitive, irritable, and has a strong and romantic little heart. She is kind, soft but opinionless. She is delicate, fragile, and fragile enough to never take a serious look at the truth of the world. More often, we cannot communicate. Because in her opinion, I am a non-mainstream girl, and in my opinion, she is so favored by the world that she even ignores the cruel truth of the world. But I love her as much as I love my grandmother. I am so grateful for everything she gave me during those important times. Light or tingling. In comparison, my love for my mother was more genuine and real than the posturing and fear-breeding emotion I had for my father.
I remember when I was 16, I read some books and knew some things. I said to myself, I will never live like my mother and grandmother. If you read my text often, you must have read it countless times. But, really, I keep saying to myself, shouting, screaming, yelling, yelling, you must never live like that.
So I got married and had kids when I was 33.
So in my son's youngest time, my heart was more sad than love.
I thought everything about me was so imperfect.
I thought I was the source of imperfection.
But what is perfect?
Suffering is perfect. Maybe.
View more about
Grace of Monaco reviews
