train
was very familiar, and I could smell the smell of engine oil mixed with cigarette smoke and the boring and repetitive rhythm across the screen.
I had a similar experience once, with my little brother who was two years younger. At that time, my mother and I both lived at my mother's boyfriend's house at the time. My brother came to Beijing to play with me. Anyway, there was a dispute in the middle of the night. I led my brother to Beijing Railway Station in a fit of anger. ——It was still a slow train. I sat with him on the ground at the connection of the train. The younger brother in junior high school had an unusually calm expression. He never slept. He sat there silently like a mountain, maybe thinking of his newly divorced parents. I was so sleepy that I leaned on his shoulder and slept for a while. When I woke up, he kept the same posture and was silent. At that time, I thought to myself: Oh, this experience will only be once.
But if it wasn't for this movie, I would have forgotten about it.
A large part of the reason my father
wanted to watch this movie was the main line of looking for his father, which was something I didn’t quite understand when I was watching it. Why are two fatherless children so eager for a father, even fantasizing about an individual with whom they can communicate? Those who have owned it can feel the pain of loss, and those who have never seen it have never seen it.
Some time ago, I was drinking with someone. Someone knew that I had an unusually pitiful expression after losing my father since I was a child, and asked me, "Why don't you hate it? Don't you think you lack a lot?"
I have seen this pitiful expression a lot. It’s the first time I’ve heard a straightforward question. To be honest, maybe when I was a child, I didn’t dare to cause trouble because I didn’t have the support of my father. Growing up, resentment and hatred have disappeared before they have time to grow. The image of my father has never been clear, and it will always stay on the literal.
scars
My sister was bullied by the truck driver, struggled and ran away, but it was of no use, she was just a child. After that, she slowly climbed out of the van, her hands were stained with her own blood, and her fingers touched the inside of the carriage, leaving two lines of bloodstains. She was only a child, and she only vaguely knew what she had experienced, except staring at her hands. blood, she couldn't do anything.
The young man on the motorcycle asked his sister to dance, holding her hand and staring into her eyes, but her sister ran away and squatted down to touch the sea-soaked beach. Although she is only a child, those scars are enough for her to learn to be alert, afraid and escape. She squatted down and hugged herself, looking at the fingers brushing the sea and sand, the bloodstains were long gone, what about the soul? But she was just a child, except to wash her hands and silently pretend that nothing happened, and keep walking, she can't do anything.
In the episode of the younger brother's staring at
the interaction between the elder sister and the young man, the younger brother has been standing beside him and looked up quietly. When I was young, I liked to look at people this way, and I clearly demarcated the boundaries between adults and children. I often wondered, "Will I become like this when I grow up?" "Will I forget my current thoughts when I grow up?" "Grow up. Will it become like the adult I hated when I was a child?” At that time, he was clear about good and evil, good and bad behavior, but when he grew up, he was too lazy to think about it. When I was an adult, I was not a bad person, nor was I a very good person. I was a confused person who didn’t do bad things and occasionally did bad things, but I despised it when I was a child.
The scenery in the fog
sister and brother finally got out of the fog and saw the big tree. No matter the death you see on the road or the pain you experience, in the end, you grow up. Those past and scars dissipate in the fog. No matter how painful the memory is, one day will be forgotten, which has become an indescribable growing pain.
View more about Landscape in the Mist reviews
