I came back last night and went back to my own nest, only my own.
It's reassuring. When I got home and packed my things, the phrase "my heart is my hometown" suddenly popped up in my mind.
According to my previous understanding, I would have thought that my hometown meant my hometown, that is, the home where I stayed with my parents.
This year, I would think that my hometown refers to the room I rent now.
As long as I come back here, I will have peace of mind and a place for my heart to go.
It's nice to go home, to go back to the home where mom and dad are.
I can eat the fragrant meals made by my mother every day, and I can sit in the yard and get enough sunlight every day.
There was plenty of time to sit on the stone pier at the door and watch the scenery in a daze.
However, this good life must not last long, otherwise my heart will feel awkward.
How to describe it?
I don't think I got a space that really belongs to me.
From time to time, I would receive shouts from my mother, including but not limited to going to get two eggs, going to bring leftovers from the fridge, sounding the horn of "It's time to eat", and shouting for what to eat at noon.
My dad is older, a little behind his ears, and he can hear it clearly when he sees ** loud sound two miles away.
Of course, I'm not condemning them, but we're in an environment where we have to deal with it.
Even if it's okay one afternoon, sitting in the bed in the house, I don't want to do something seriously, just boring back and forth looking at all kinds of short **.
So at this time I will feel a sense of guilt again.
I squandered my time.
But I really don't have the mood to do something that can calm me down at home.
So many times I choose to go to bed early.
How early? Let's go at ** o'clock in the evening.
I may be a little eccentric.
Do whatever you want, and what place and occasion you want, hypocrisy!
I can't. I'm a person who needs to be quiet and alone to watch quietly even on my phone.
My need for privacy was so high that I was torn between wanting to spend more time with my parents and desperately returning to living alone.
My mom asked me before, don't you work there every day, won't you be bored?
I only replied to my mom and said, not boring.
I didn't say anything more.
Because my mother's life is very simple, eating, sleeping, playing mahjong, and going to work in the fields when the farm is busy, she is a simple and simple person.
As for her daughter, it doesn't matter if she eats and dresses on the surface, but her spirit must be free.
So the topics I talk to my parents about at home are all short and trivial things in the parents.
At this age, there is no need to compete for anything high and low, right or wrong, what you can do is to try not to be absent when you can accompany you.
The year has passed, and I will continue to live a good life in my hometown.