Since my father's business went bankrupt in the fifth grade of primary school, my identity has changed from the son of a businessman to the son of a farmer. I am no longer the "second young master" that people in the town are used to, no longer have food and clothing, no longer go to the best restaurant in the town with my family every weekend to improve my life, and no longer have my favorite electric toy car.
My ancestors have been rooted in the ravine near Weihe River in the northwest loess plateau for generations. The land here is barren, with Qin Changcheng, Han style, Tang ancient road and Ming tombs. The brand of several generations of farmers has long been branded in the deepest part of my spine, reminding me that I am the son of farmers. My body is overflowing with the fragrance of the yellow land, my blood is overflowing with the unrestrained water of the Yellow River, and my soul is still working on the most sacred land.
At the same time, I am the son of a peasant worker.
In order to fulfill the college dream of Yangliuyiyi Campus, which touched my heart when I was a teenager, I would stay up until midnight with a cup of bitter tea in high school. In order to save money, I ride my bike and ride more than 20 kilometers of mountain roads every weekend to go home in the dark, whether it is the narrowest ghost, the cold winter night or the summer night with few stars, lush green grass and fragrant flowers. The warm waiting in front of my house is always open, and I am welcome to go home.
I am the son of a migrant worker, and the tuition fee for going to college every year almost consumes my parents' efforts for a whole year. This tuition fee is the sweat on my mother's forehead when she works overtime under the ceiling fan to 1 1 half past one every night in that sultry city. It is a cup of bitter tea for my father to stay up late and refresh himself. It is the new white hair on my parents' temples, a Zou Wen on their foreheads, and a heavy link in the chain of life and love. But this tuition is not as shabby as others.
I am the son of a migrant worker. Only when I went to college did I know that Akidas was not an old man's name, and that the nights in foreign cities were also beautiful. I never go to a specialty store to buy clothes on the street. Go out for dinner with my girlfriend, only go to mala Tang outside the school gate. I used to buy instant coffee when I had coffee with her. I found an empty self-study classroom, made a cup with hot water, and then tasted a cup in fragrant coffee. The sour and sweet feeling is also beautiful. But I am not humble, I can still be personable, warm and generous, and I can also write elegant books, beautiful poems and express romantic feelings.
I am the son of a migrant worker. When you are thirsty, you will refrain from drinking water in the dormitory and hesitate to buy a bottle of Sprite Coke. But I'm not stingy. When I go out to eat with my best friend, I will throw money and drink, and I will get drunk and write poems. Every night, after I finish tutoring, I walk in the deserted street tired, but my heart is very heroic. I will dream that I can also do Chinese education and training like my idol Yu, so that the culture of the Millennium country will be fragrant on the land of China.
I am the son of a peasant worker, and I still have romantic feelings. In order to buy my girlfriend her favorite lily on Christmas Eve, I will walk in the cold in the north for more than half an hour, and I will use my savings for a whole holiday to prepare a birthday present for Yu Pei. I wish I was a good son, too. I will beat my chest for my mother after a hard day's holiday, and of course I will lose my temper occasionally. The son of migrant workers is such a true temperament.
Bitterness and cold have sharpened my will and given me a legendary color. I came from the ice and snow, and I firmly believe that I am the seed of a tree, lingering in the winter snow and stretching quietly in the frozen soil. I firmly believe in the brilliance of the sun in my heart. When the ice and snow melt, my life will be heavy and unstoppable.
Maybe my branches are still weak, maybe the cold wind in my life will make me bend over, maybe the birds flying across the sky also dislike my poverty and don't want my branches to rest for a while, and fright night is coming on the distant horizon, but I just need to stick to the principle of truth, goodness and beauty, pursue knowledge tirelessly, treat friendship sincerely and laugh off the love that can be met but not sought. Believe me, one day I will grow into that towering tree on the distant horizon.
Whether others laugh at my humble status or not, whether I am still poor forever, the highest signature of my personality will always be: I am the son of a peasant worker, and I will always be the son of a migrant worker, down-to-earth and ambitious.