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墨書 Inktalez
In middle school, I entered a relatively well-known school, leaving my parents to live independently. At that time, I felt like a molting sparrow, unsure of where the path of life would lead me...
On my journey of learning, I caught my first glimpse of the mysteries of science—the double helix structure of DNA and the genetic code of chromosomes. It was as if I had awakened from a dream: my grandmother's frequent remark about "useless things" was not directed at me, but rather at my father.
I tried to share this understanding with my grandmother, only to receive a cold reprimand of "unfilial child."
At that moment, I realized my position in the family—I was merely a "thing" labeled as such. No matter how hard I tried, it was difficult to break free from that label; it had nothing to do with genes and even less with science.
During those days, the verbal battles within the family continued as usual, coming and going without warning, leaving no place for me to hide.
I grew weary of it all and finally broke down emotionally during an intense conflict, shouting at my grandmother and even engaging in physical confrontation.
After a long silence, my father stepped in, trying to calm the storm, while relatives and friends around us criticized me for not respecting my elders.
Only my mother gently held my hand and led me away from that smoke-filled home to the Provincial Capital in search of a rare moment of peace. Although that half-month was brief, it brought me an unprecedented sense of ease and freedom.
In the quiet of the night, I often found myself dreaming of seeking answers from Buddha, hoping he could tell me why fate arranged things this way and why we had to endure so much pain and hardship.
Buddha remained silent until I found the answer in a book—The Way of Heaven: All beings suffer.
I began to try to understand and accept living with difficulties.
That year, I was thirteen, right in the midst of adolescence.
As time flew by, more than half of my middle school years had passed. Although my homesickness had eased somewhat, it seemed that fate had no intention of letting me go.
A sudden illness ruthlessly invaded my body. Over the course of three years, I became a frequent visitor to the hospital. Those once ordinary foods now felt like distant luxuries, and even the dust in the air made me feel suffocated.
My mother, the woman who always silently bore everything. Her tears would fall quietly when no one was around, yet she never stopped seeking medical help and delivering medicine for me day after day. Her figure stretched long in the dawn and dusk, appearing so fragile yet resilient.
As for my father, he seemed perpetually detached, wearing an indifferent expression. His cold words only reinforced my belief that I was insignificant in his eyes.
His tone when he spoke of not having money mirrored that of my grandmother, leaving me feeling utterly despondent.
On the eve of the college entrance examination, as summer approached, the heat and tension intertwined, making it impossible to smile.
A sudden earthquake pushed this unease to its peak. Tall buildings swayed, the ground shook, trees toppled, and flesh was buried beneath debris.
During those days, I witnessed the fragility of life and the ruthlessness of nature.
People were in a panic, unable to sleep at night, seeking a semblance of safety outdoors while their hearts were filled with fear of the unknown. In the face of this natural disaster, both the brilliance and darkness of human nature were laid bare. Yet even in such an environment, my grandmother's accusations and arguments never ceased.
The rift among family members seemed harder to bridge than the cracks caused by the earthquake.
Finally, in that autumn, I boarded a train heading to a university outside the province.
It is not just a crossing of distances, but also a journey of my soul. I tell myself that no matter what the future holds, I must face it bravely, for I am no longer that plucked sparrow, but an eagle ready to spread its wings and soar high.
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