It must be those hard times that have made us

The colleague asked me what time it was to cry. I thought about it for a while. I can think of it twice.

One time was to stop returning to Qingdao during the Mid-Autumn Festival holiday. The train was delayed all the way. It was supposed to arrive at 8:00 but it was dragged to the 10:30. Too much baggage was too heavy to get on the bus, and there was no bus stop sign that went straight to the door of the house. It took a long time to get on another bus in the desolate night, and it took half an hour to get home after getting off the bus. There was no one on the road, the palms were hurt and the whole body was sweating. Both hands are carrying the instruments, so that when the sky suddenly drops, there is no way to fight the umbrella. Dad sent a text message asking me if I arrived. I stopped the round-trip newsletter: "I have already arrived, I have had dinner."

The rented house is on the fifth floor, and the lights in the corridor are flickering. After lying on my familiar sheets, after the hair that was wet by the rain found the pillow, I finally burst into tears - the long road that was darkened for the journey, the bleak starlight on the road. . In the few minutes of crying, I actually let go of the people who have always been entangled in love, and silently said to myself: "From this second, I have to love myself so that I can stand alone. The wandering migration." And those that I had stubbornly paid for but had nothing to gain in the early years, and let them all follow the wind.

Another cry was on the weekend. The deadline for the draft is approaching. Because of the one-week business trip, I have to put the manuscript to be modified into the flash drive and take it on the road. The workload of the week was soaring, not only the old manuscript was revised, but also a new article of more than 10,000 words. I stopped going home on a business trip on the weekend. I hadn't had time to copy the contents of the flash drive to my computer. After the shopping came back, I was invented, and the flash drive and the wallet all the way!

I returned along the road, making sure that I couldn’t find it again, sitting on the side of the chair and crying, ignoring my image. After crying, still go home, take a hot bath, and then write the more than 10,000 words from the new memory.

You see that we have given the softest heart to the most turbulent future. It is a thunder on a sunny day, and you can hear that some part of your heart has been burnt by "Zila". It was a blast of wind and a flame of jumping was instantly extinguished. When a lamp goes out, the heart is dark.

I asked the colleague about the experience of crying once. She talked about an old thing several years ago.

At that time, she had just been working for a long time. Because her performance was soaring, she did not expect her colleagues who had been regarded as good associates to be angry. Once in a meeting, she sat next to her colleague as usual. Still not sitting still, but I saw my colleague slammed the folder on the table and changed to the rest of the position. Other colleagues around me looked at it strangely, only her smile was still on her face.

She is not angry, she only thinks sad. In the past, she was newly hired, and she taught her to use the company's software. And in this conference room, she was embarrassed by her in public, and secretly ridiculed and ironic, it was a small person. After several years, she moved to a bigger company, and sometimes the old shop owner could see the colleague. She is still doing her original job, busy and smiling, and it seems to be the same as it was a few years ago.

The accomplices breathed out and exhaled deeply. Old things are already floating, and people are always going forward. On the eve of the university's graduation, I, H, and another girl in the class chatted in the dormitory. I haven't worked at the time. I have always listened to the girl's hardships about going to work, and I feel that she is worthless for her. Later she left, and I said to H: "You see her working hard."

H smiled faintly: "Who didn't have a hard time?" She practiced in a clothing company during her summer vacation. She just joined the summer of Guangdong, and she kept stocks in the warehouse for three weeks. . After she graduated, she changed jobs and went to a real estate company in Beijing. At that time, I sent a text message to ask her, how is the work, and life is still used to it. She said it was quite good. But I often received her back newsletter in the early hours of the morning, and I also saw her dark basement photos.

In the strange nights, in the dark nights, the experience of wandering and drifting can always change us quietly. Most of your heart has become hard and cruel, and the soft parts are getting less and less. Or maybe because there are fewer and fewer, I want to work hard to defend that little bit of warmth and reluctance. And those who are meaningless, no longer want to empty, and then do not want to burn a cup of blood only for a cold rice wreck.

We can always learn how to fix the toilet, and tremble to the shelf to change the light bulb. After the entertainment, I can still hold a cup of yogurt and hangover.

But still thanks to those difficult moments in youth, the wanderings of other places, those days when they talked to themselves in the dark night, they must be the ones that made us today, so that we can be hard enough. The body is to defend the tenderness and beauty of those who are ruined, and the warm heart is to embrace the compassion and understanding that will come.

In those most difficult moments, I just walked all the way, waiting for those stars that were everywhere in the mountains to glow like fireworks.