Original text of Albizia Julibrissin
When I was ten years old, I won first place in an essay competition. My mother was still young at that time, and she was eager to tell me about herself, saying that her compositions were even better when she was a child, and the teacher didn’t even believe that such good articles could be written by her. The teacher went to the house and asked if the adults at home had helped. I probably wasn't even ten years old at the time.
I was disappointed and smiled deliberately: "Maybe? What do you mean maybe not yet?" She explained. I pretended not to pay any attention to her words anymore and played ping pong against the wall, which made her very angry. But I admit that she is smart and that she is the most beautiful woman in the world. She is making herself a skirt with blue background and white flowers.
At the age of twenty, both of my legs were disabled. In addition to painting Easter eggs for others, I thought I should do something else. I changed my mind several times and finally wanted to learn writing. My mother was no longer young at that time, and because of my legs, she began to have gray hair on her head. The hospital has made it clear that there is currently no way to treat my condition, but my mother is still focused on treating me.
Looking for doctors everywhere, asking for folk remedies, and spending a lot of money. She could always find some weird medicines and let me take them, let me drink them, or wash them, apply them, smoke them, or do moxibustion. "Don't waste time! It's useless!" I said. I only wanted to write novels, as if that thing could save disabled people from difficulties. "Try again. How would you know it won't work if you don't try?" she said, piously holding on to hope every time.
However, as for my legs, I was disappointed as many times as I hoped. In the last time, my crotch was burned by the smoke. The doctor at the hospital said that this is too dangerous for a paralyzed patient. This is almost fatal. I wasn't too scared, thinking that it would be nice to die, and it would be a happy death. My mother was frightened for several months, guarding me day and night.
As soon as the dressing was changed, she said: "Why did it get burned? I was still paying attention!" Fortunately, the wound healed, otherwise she would have gone crazy. Then she found out I was writing a novel. She told me: "Then write it carefully." I could tell that she finally gave up on curing my leg. “Literature was my favorite when I was young,” she said. “When I was about your age, I thought about writing,” she said.
"Didn't you get first place in your composition when you were a child?" she reminded me. We both tried our best to forget about my legs. She went everywhere to borrow books for me, pushed me to watch movies in the rain or snow, and held out hope just like she used to find doctors and folk remedies for me.
Extended information:
"Albizia Julibrissin Tree" is a prose by Shi Tiesheng in memory of his mother's love. The article uses a plain tone and narrates in chronological order an incident that occurred when the author won a prize for his composition when he was ten years old, his mother's treatment of his illness and encouragement to write novels for him when he was twenty, and his feelings for his mother after he was thirty. The kind of longing that is suppressed in my heart and makes me sad and guilty.
This article was selected into the Chinese elective series "Appreciation of Modern Chinese Poetry and Prose", a standard experimental textbook for ordinary high school courses published by the People's Education Press.
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