The life of a migrant worker

My mother gave birth to me in middle age.

I was the only child of my parents, and even though my father never said anything about it, I knew he was eager for a son to follow in his footsteps.

So I have been trying to prove that I am no worse than any man since I was a child, and I have practiced my swordsmanship desperately regardless of the gossip about "what kind of swords do women learn" from people around me.

It's a pity that my aptitude is mediocre, my ability is limited, and the gap between expectations and reality is so great that after every competition in the gymnasium, I will always fall into the pain of not being as good as others.

My swordsmanship was not taught by my father.

After the samurai retired from the stage of history, the only function of swordsmanship was to become a tool for cultivating sentiment.

He started a life of leisure and retirement early, either playing shogi in other places, or fishing by some river, and often going out to drink with others at night.

My mother also didn't accept my mediocrity.

She is actually a very beautiful woman, but she is extremely strict with my requirements, and she will be very annoyed if she is not satisfied.So much so that I still think of my mother, and I can't help but think of her cloudy face scolding me.

She thinks I'm ugly, my legs are too thick, not as straight as other girls have bamboo, and at the same time I'm too fat, it's because I have baby fat on my face that can't get rid of.

My manners are not good enough, and I can never respond appropriately in front of others; I am not very good at reading, if I dip chicken feet in ink and sprinkle a handful of rice on paper, it will look better than me.

My father would never ask me if it wasn't necessary, and my mother's competitive spirit always drove me forward.

I long for my mother's approval, and I long for my father's approval.

So I desperately spent a lot of time practicing sword every day and night.

My teacher filled me with chicken soup and blood, told me that hard work always pays off, and heroes are always reborn from blood, so that later on, when I heard words like "hard work" and "endeavor", I was disgusted Nausea.

My talents are limited, and blind efforts have not made much progress in my grades.On the contrary, the hard work made me see the limits of myself clearly, and made me feel that I was constantly spurning myself in the sadness that was born spontaneously.

Because I couldn't do it, I couldn't sleep all night, I lost a lot of hair, and I was so anxious that my skin was festered and sore.

One day I lost the competition because I couldn't concentrate, and it happened that my mother heard other people bragging to her about my outstanding brother who had stayed abroad.

I practiced in the gymnasium until midnight in a low mood, thinking of my mother's contemptuous and belittling tone when describing me to others, and finally broke down emotionally to the point where I kicked over the wooden barrel containing the bamboo knife.

The impotent rage couldn't improve the reality in the slightest, and even made me bend down in despair and honestly pack them up and return them to their original places.

After picking up the last bamboo knife and getting up, I looked up and saw my father standing at the door condescendingly looking down at me.

My father is different from my swordsmanship teacher. He never told me the truth of "you must work hard when you are young", but he would not comment and frown whenever he saw me practicing swordsmanship.

I originally thought that he would always say a few words of reprimand to me at this time, but he just looked at me twice and said to me lightly: "Don't practice anymore".

He told me not to practice anymore.

My mother didn't like me practicing fencing either.She felt that it was unnecessary for girls to waste a lot of energy on this.

This beautiful lady is a very up-to-date personality.She believes that the best way out for young women right now is to study hard, and then get admitted to a university to study in Tokyo.Therefore, I welcome the decision to abandon swordsmanship.

I always thought that if I worked harder, I would get my father's approval. At that time, I finally realized that all my efforts were just boring and meaningless jokes.

Later, because of family changes, I left home.

But the early experiences still left indelible marks on my personality, and it seems that an invisible hand has formed in the dark, constantly intervening in the trajectory of my life.

I can't help but feel compassion for the people in distress I meet on the way, even if I am in danger, I must do my best to lend a helping hand.

So I was always cheated, always cheated by women who were full of lies, and even young children could easily take money from me.

Therefore, my financial situation was always difficult, and it was only a little bit better when I lived in the Butterfly House.After I was rescued by Ms. Kanae and brought home, I never dreamed of those dark and fearful lives again.

As for why I bring up the old story again now, it is because there are many figures outside the room at this moment, and the light of the candlelight shines on the wall, and the elongated shadows are like elongated ghosts.

I heard Xiaoqing's crying, and at the same time, a young girl's childish voice was crying "Sister Kanae" intermittently.

I hid behind the door and put my ear against the door panel and listened for a while, and finally felt that there was no point in going out.

The autumn night seemed to be extraordinarily cold, and the air was more piercing than the stream water I had experienced before. I wrapped myself in a thick quilt and blew out the only lamp in the room.

Pointless.

Nothing makes sense.

Even with Wushuang's sword skills, my life is no happier than when I was weak and weak.

I have little recollection of the past, and I never expect the future to be any better.

I live in the moment only because I can only be in the moment.

Past experience tells me that the purpose of life is to muddle along, as for dreams and beliefs, they can only be nothingness.

I stayed in the room until the day Miss Kanae was buried, and a girl knocked on the door to tell me the news.

The girl named Kanae wore a hairpin that originally belonged to Miss Kanae. I remember this child, she always flipped a coin to decide what she should do next. It is said that this also originated from Miss Kanae’s idea.

She might have been sent by Shinobi to tell me about it, but unfortunately at this time I was so upset that I didn't have any mood to answer her words.

Chanel is an honest child, she tilted her head and looked at me for a long time, tossed the coin in her hand up and down, and finally made a decision and asked me if I wanted to go with her.

Immediately, I lay back on the bed again, buried my head in the quilt, and answered her question with a little impatience.

"No, just tell Shinobu that I know."

Kanao's arrival reminded me of the day when Aoi Kanzaki chased me and told me about the girl's death.Remembering the dead is meaningless. Even if I go to the funeral, Kanae-san will not come back to life immediately.

After the door was closed, I looked at the ceiling boredly like when I was recuperating, and suddenly felt a little ridiculous.

I always look forward to the warm and bright love from other women, so that my soul can be temporarily comforted.

But at the same time I was afraid and in awe of older women, because they always reminded me of my beautiful and unfeeling mother.