Chapter 62: Despair (2)

(3) Heartbreak

I don't know if Mr. Hu's color blindness was born or acquired, and I can't tell it from his poems at all. In his novels, too, he never mismatched colors with real objects.

He always quietly watched everyone's gossip, found a poetic eye from it, wrote it down, and passed it on to everyone. Then everyone, you say, I'll write a section, and continue to write.

In the end, a certain gentleman wrote a good sentence that was recognized as good, and exchanged recent works with each other in happy laughter, ending the monthly poetry meeting.

No one knew I was colorblind and tinnitus, and if I had a live interview on the last Sunday of the month, I postponed it until the next weekend. It makes me have to face new challenges again and again.

If I had known that arrogance in my heart would also cause God to be angry, I would never have looked down on men so much. I watched the men who participated in politics and discussion one by one disgraced, and the men of academic authority were old-fashioned one by one!

Especially when a linguist in his seventies came to our remote county town for more than ten hours, his face twitched like Parkinson's and asked me what I would say about the local pronunciation of some everyday words. I had extreme contempt, and I thought to myself: If I were to this age, I would now be shaking a fan and listening to a little song in a tea house near my home in Chengdu, and my disciples and grandchildren will definitely exceed seventy-two, they have studied all the languages of the world, and are committed to promoting Chinese to the world, how can I use the pronunciation of a certain word in Mandarin in our place!

Shortly thereafter, I fell and injured a Mongolian man who fell from a frightened horse. My world has become black and white, and everyone is disgraced, including myself!

No one could see my scars, and they shouted at me to work like a man. My work has been fruitful, but my heart is getting more and more broken.

(4) The red of the flowers

I knew it was wrong, and I remembered that my high school teacher wrote a fairy tale to express repentance after criticizing it.

Write that a little red flower has bloomed, attracting a lot of praise. Little Red Flower was proud, and said something arrogantly. Then the sun took away his rays, and the roots, branches, and leaves ceased to work. At the moment of withering, the little red flower completely repented.

I turned this fairy tale into a radio drama to express my remorse.

I knelt in front of my grandmother's grave and prayed in front of the Bodhisattva. At least let me hear the frequency of my own voice on the airwaves, and the head said that it was as delicate and slow as the female voice of the Kuomintang radio in the movie. If I don't change it, I'm afraid that the youth programs and literary programs that I cooperate with handsome guys and Yashi will have to end classes, and I can only do music programs that play song tapes by myself.

On a moonlit night, the clear glow of the moonlight outlines the soft curves of the overlapping mountains. I was lying on the drying platform of the newly allocated two-bedroom apartment in my unit, and I clearly heard the fairy tale radio drama "Why Are Flowers So Red" narrated by Yashi.

I had no idea how magnetic his voice would be on the airwaves, I saw him gently obliterate the results of the tuner's busy day's labor, and I didn't know how the rows of sound keys would have to be matched to produce such a heart-tugging sound.

It's just that those kids' voices are too contrived, and even if all the characters are imitated by me, the effect is much better than this. It was as if I was still so arrogant that I had forgotten that I had just escaped death.

In the second year of my life, this fairy tale drama won the first prize in the provincial excellent radio and television program competition for its spirit of unity and cooperation. Actually, I just want to tell myself -- guard against arrogance and rashness.

If you fall once in your life, whether you get up or continue to lie down, sometimes the strength of the spirit is more important.

But people who are as strong as me, sleep is equal to conception, eating is equal to refueling, and spinning 24 hours a day will one day have a flat tire.