Home is indeed a solid dojo, like atoms colliding.
Dad got up early to do math papers, which were homework assignments for students, and insisted on doing one a day.
I think when I was in junior high school in algebraic geometry, the abstract three-dimensional brain turned slowly, but it was love to write, neat and tidy, and my father did not pick me less, haha.
Eating oil cake has become a routine every time I go home, and yesterday my mother made good noodles early, and she knew my thoughts, so she took this bite.
Making breakfast, I witnessed the "opponent play" of the old couple, going back and forth like a table tennis ball, for decades, still unchanged.
When I was young, I would quarrel with them, be unhappy, and even blame myself for being powerless, because I couldn't do anything, as if I was a useless person and inferior.
Now, seeing, bumping into each other, this is the way they cooperate, one willing to fight, one willing to suffer, need each other.
Fighting and making trouble, and caring for each other, I don't know when to "start a war" again, colorful, this is the taste of home.
And I, too, grew up softly and felt lucky.
Oil cake, so delicious!
Love you guys ❤️
After many years of growing up, now, looking at my first intimate relationship, I have a different perspective.
What about you? How is your first intimate relationship (with your parents of origin) now?
