Colorful years

I sat quietly at the table, savoring the steaming bowl of longevity noodles. Every noodle exuded an enticing aroma, as if it carried endless warmth and love.

The rising steam blurred my vision, but it also made my thoughts drift far away. My parents' doting love for me kept appearing in my mind like scenes from a movie.

Looking back on my childhood, my mother always cared for me meticulously. She insisted on breastfeeding me for three whole years, and that perseverance and hard work still moves me deeply. She took meticulous care of me so that I would be the healthiest among our eight siblings.

During those days, my mother only had eyes for me; it seemed as if my little life was the only thing in her world. Even when life became difficult later, with food scarce and oily, my mother never complained in the slightest.

She always silently bore the heavy burden of life, using her frail shoulders to hold up a sky for me.

Especially after she gave birth to her eldest sister, second sister, and youngest brother, during the special period of postpartum confinement when she needed to replenish her nutrition, my mother would still save a portion of her already limited rice and chicken soup for me.

She always said, "Cong'er, you're growing, you need to eat more so you can grow stronger." Whenever this happened, I would silently accept the food my mother handed me, my heart filled with gratitude and guilt.

I know that these meals are not just food, but also my mother's deep love and expectations for me.

I remember those days when my main food was whole grains. My stomach wasn't used to it, and I often had diarrhea, which led to insufficient nutrient intake.

My mother saw this and felt sorry for me, fearing that I would ruin my health by going hungry. So, she would often secretly cook two eggs for me separately, away from my other siblings, to give me extra nutrition.

Those eggs were usually saved up to exchange for salt at the supply and marketing cooperative, rather than being eaten by hand.

Every time I eat those fragrant eggs, I feel my mother's deep and selfless love.

Besides my mother, my grandparents also doted on me. They would always secretly slip me the sweets and snacks they wouldn't normally eat, and seeing my happy and content smile, their faces would also be filled with happiness.

Those candies and snacks, though insignificant, carried my grandparents' overflowing love and care for me. They always expressed their love and expectations for me silently in this way.

My uncle and aunt treated me like their own child. They always cared about my growth, and whenever they cooked something delicious, they would always invite me to share it. Their love was like a guiding light, illuminating my path and making me feel the warmth and strength of home.

In short, the love from my family is like the warm spring sun, constantly illuminating my path of growth. This love has allowed me to experience the most sincere and selfless emotions in the world. Like streams of warm currents, they converge into an ocean of love, allowing me to soar freely and thrive within it.

My father's love for me was like a blazing flame, intense and unreservedly displaying its warmth and radiance.

He incorporated his high expectations for me into a series of wonderful stories, teaching me in this unique and vivid way how to conduct myself in society and how to strive tirelessly.

Those stories were not just for entertainment and amusement, but also my father's guidance and enlightenment for my life.

He used his experience and wisdom to pave a path to success for me.

Even though life is full of difficulties and hardships, what my father has given me has always been a continuous source of positive energy. Like the warm sunshine in winter, it penetrates through layers of gloom and illuminates my path forward.

Whenever I encounter setbacks and difficulties, I remember my father's encouraging words and firm gaze. They are like powerful forces that propel me forward.

It is no exaggeration to say that my growth process is like a painting interwoven with hardship and love.

Throughout these long years, hardship was like a cold, biting wind that constantly swept over my body; but my father's love was like a thick, soft cotton coat that tightly wrapped me up, protecting me from the cold of the outside world.

They seem contradictory, yet they coexist harmoniously, together forming the rich and colorful life I have lived.

What I find most unforgettable is the wonderful time after slaughtering the annual pig. After all, we rarely eat meat, so our mouths are always craving it.

At night, the family sat around the heated kang (a traditional Chinese bed-stove) to keep warm.

Looking at the pieces of cured pork hanging on the kang (heated brick bed) being smoked, I couldn't resist the urge to eat them. Those cured pork pieces were the fruit of a year's hard work in my family, and also our hope for a better future. Whenever this happened, I would eagerly run to my father and beg him to roast some meat for me.

"Daddy, I want to roast some meat." Whenever this happens, Daddy will put down his work, take a cleaver, carefully select and cut off a piece of lean meat.