When I said the words "I matter," there was a shudder behind my neck. I know that I am exposing my forehead under the bow and arrow, and my soul is very easy to be hurt by the criticism of others. For many years, no one dared to say they were "important" in broad daylight. We've been taught from an early age that "I don't matter."
As an ordinary soldier, I was not important compared to brilliant victories.
As a thin individual, I am not important compared to the thick collective.
As a dedicated woman, I'm not important compared to my whole family.
As a part of the people who can be seen everywhere, we are not important compared to precious substances.
Do we—or, to put it simply, each individual "me"—matter or not?
I am made up of the essence of countless stars, sun, moon, grass, trees, mountains and rivers. Just calculate how much grain we eat in our lifetime, how much water we drink, and then condense into a beautiful body, we will be surprised by the sheer number. On weekdays, we still have to cherish a grain of rice and a leaf of vegetables, can we not take the slightest care of the spirit of all things cultivated by hundreds of millions of grains of corn and billions of drops of manna?
When I see peking apes with narrow foreheads and convex kisses in the museum, I am overwhelmed by the roughness of the primitive period of mankind. The stone tools they carefully crafted looked like very simple toys today. Now that very young children are able to manipulate language skillfully, we realize how far we have come on the path of evolution. Our heads are a piece of history, and countless traces of our ancestors' progress are stored in the depths of our minds. We are the latest green leaves on the trunk of a billion-year-old tree, not only for ourselves, but also for the land. The fire of the human spirit is a continuous chain, and as a delicate link, we deny our importance, that is, we shirk a sacred commitment.
Looking back at the process of our birth, the chimerism of the two sets of life genes is full of accidents that people cannot grasp. Each of us is a product of opportunity.
I often think that if it was another man and another woman, I would never have the me I am today...
Even this one man and this one woman, if they fell in love at a different hour, there would be no me at this moment...
Even this one man and this one woman at this hour, due to a small fallen leaf or the crisp bird chirping, there may still be no such me...
A kind of imagination that makes people walk into fear inevitably rise slowly like a fog, blurring our way and going, and making people have to constantly stop their thoughts.
Our lives sit at the top of the pyramid of probability. In the face of nature's ingenuity, do we still have the right and the right to say that I am not important?
For our parents, we will always be an unrepeatable orphan. No matter how many children they have, we are a unique one.
If I did not exist, they would leave a piece of love empty, floating like a spider in the wind.
If I were to be sick, their hearts would crumple into stone, and they would pray to the heavens countless times for my recovery, and even wish that the calamity would come to them with ten times as much intensity in exchange for my peace.
Every drop of my success is like going through a magnifying glass, entering their pupils and ingesting into their hearts.
If we go before them, their gray hair will fall from sunrise to dusk, and their tears will cause the Pacific Ocean to rise. In the face of this unbearable affection, do we dare to say that I am not important?
Our memories, so intertwined with our partner, are like two colors confused in a saucer, inseparable. You were originally yellow, I was originally blue, and our common color was green, green and vibrant, green and green. The man who has lost his wife lacks a life-and-death rib in his chest, and the atrium is bare, dripping blood with every breeze. The woman who has lost her husband is the string that Qi chopped and broken, and each one of them sings itself for a long time on the rainy night... In the face of the same people, can we bear to say that I am not important?
To our children, we are the only one of the Supreme Beings. We are their original universe, we are unfathomable oceans. If we disappear, the child will never lose the love of pure and unparalleled blood, and the sky will fall to the southeast, the earth will sink to the northwest, and all disasters will not be restored. Plates can stick when they break, and childhood is broken and never recovered. The wound was bleeding, and no mother's hand bandaged him. Faced with a choice, without the wisdom of his father to strategize for him... Do we have the guts to say I don't matter in the face of future generations?
Getting along with friends and knowing each other for many years allows us to understand each other's moods with only a slight frown tip and a flutter of eyelashes. If I am gone, it is like a computer losing a file that has not been copied, leaving an unfillable black hole in his memory. In the dead of night, after a few phone keys, my fingers suddenly stopped, and the string of numbers no longer needed to be silently recited. During the New Year's Festival, she wrote down a pile of greeting cards. When it was my turn to address, she closed her eyes... After a long time, she filled out a greeting card with no address but only her name, and incinerated it in the air of no one.
Close friends who have been friends for many years are like ancient pottery in the desert, breaking one piece is one less piece, and you can no longer find the exact same finished product. In the face of such friendship, do we still mean to say that I am not important?
I'm important.
I am indispensable to my work and my career. My ingenious ideas soared in the sky like pigeons, and only I could catch their feathers. My visions were scattered like pearls on the beach, waiting for me to string it up with gold thread. My will stretched forward until the horizon disappeared into the distance... No one can replace me, just as I can't replace someone else. I'm important.
I whispered to myself. I am not yet accustomed to making loud claims, and we have lived too long in the unimportant. I'm important.
I repeated it. The sound amplifies a little. I heard my own heart beating violently in this call. I'm important.
I finally made this announcement to the world out loud. A moment later, I heard echoes from the mountains and the rivers and seas.
Yes, I'm important. Each of us should have the courage to say that. Our status may be humble, our status may be small, but that does not mean that we are unimportant.
Important is not synonymous with greatness, it is the promise of life of the heart.
People often judge whether we are important from the perspective of achieving a career. But I would say that as long as we are working hard at all times and fighting for the light, we are living an incomparably important life.
Let us hold our heads high and proclaim loudly to the countless beings on our beautiful planet—
(Source Internet, only for exchange of Xi, invasion and deletion)
Focus on reading and sleeping, poetic inhabitation
Facing the sea, look for light with black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "giving voice to grassroots poets" as its mission and carries forward the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of the truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, and the spiritual pleasure of poetry. He has published a collection of poems co-authored by poets, "Spring Warm Blossoms of Reading Sleeping Poems" and "Grass Long Warblers Flying in Reading Sleeping Poems".