Dark Savages Come To the United States - ~ April owes and rewards and thanks

The first is to report arrears.

A total of 129,000 words were updated in January…

Remove the 180,000 words guaranteed to be updated in December, and add 51,000 new words, which are counted as 25.5 chapters.

The monthly increase in January is 163, which count as 2 chapters.

The total reward in January is 15.02 yuan, not enough for a chapter to add more...

Continue to sincerely thank JETYGUO, thank you!

At the end of January, it was set to be 843, and 8 chapters were added according to the long-term update rule.

Added new chapter 35.5 of the due diligence...

After the debt is repaid, the new debt is added and there are still 382 chapters of debt, 764,000 words.

Thank you readers for your support, thank you very much.

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Next, give thanks:

Thanks to the reader, JETYGUO, for the reward of 1500 points.

Thank you, the reader, for the 2 points rewarded by 123 for cherishing words like gold.

Thank you so much! !

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Hmm... things have been going badly lately...

My elderly parents had a fight over New Year's greetings...

The conflict between the two of them has existed since I was a half-year-old child until today, and it has been seventeen or eighteen years since the very serious full-scale outbreak.

During this period, old things will be brought up again and again. Of course, most of the time they will avoid turning over old accounts, but in fact they are still arguing about the cracks in the past.

Forgive me for not going to say more about the specific situation, but this kind of thing has a great impact on me...

It's my PTSD...

I can't stand the sudden sound of human voices, the kind that will make my spirits jump up in fright...

I still can't understand why they have to go on "for" me when they are at their worst...

Come to think of it, most of these words were said by my mother who made the choice to give up everything, which is a bit ironic...

(Of course, my mother didn't succeed, but that was because my father broke the glass and cut his hands, and because he wanted to wash his hands and waited for a long time to wait for the door to open, he forced the locked door of the bathroom without success...)

(I actually fought my parents for a long time about writing the book...

By the year I graduated from college, I had actually found a job in the city where the college was located.

At that time, a series of issues such as salary and treatment had been negotiated, and only the final signing of the contract was left.

Then... at my parents' request I went home...

Thinking about it now, it should have been rejected at the time.

Going home is not a good thing for me...I didn't like going home much since I was in school.

It's just that I had nowhere to go...so I had to go back to "home".

Well, I have to put quotes around "home".

My parents were workers. Some days before and after the incident, I left the factory, which was not very prosperous. I remember buying out my seniority. (It's a little longer, and I can't remember it clearly. As for the factory where they worked, it disappeared more than ten years ago. Now it has been completely demolished and built into a new residential area.)

I say this because I lived in a "shop" most of the time when I was growing up.

It's normal for laid-off workers to find jobs again.

It's just that the living environment is not very good.

When the first store opened, a family of three lived in a space of fifty or sixty square meters.

Business was fine back then...at least it was fine when my mother took me in the shop during my parents' cold war.

Then my father finally came after making a fuss once...

So business went downhill... My father was not a very easy person to deal with.

At least not one for business.

During that time, my father succeeded in making many "big" clients stop coming to my "home"...

By the way, I also managed to screw up the neighborhood relationship... Now that I think about it, I'm a bit gnashing my teeth...

There is also a basement of about ten square meters in the store, and this basement is my bedroom and kitchen...

The only thing I can remember now is probably the dim light and the perpetually damp bedding, and the camp bed...

And a big pack of matches bought to light a cigarette without hearing the sound of the lighter...

Well, of course they know that I smoke... After all, how can I not smell smoke when I can smell a fart in such a small place?

Terrible, I should say bad enough... It's worse than sleeping in the basement hallway of someone else's unit while I was working...

(I'm a bachelor's degree...I have completed my studies successfully, so I don't have to worry about me for this...)

In the basement of someone else's unit at least I don't hear a quarrel...

And you won't hear the clutter from the window in the basement where you can't even stretch an arm out...

It's quite sad, at that time, almost all the goodwill was tightly grasped.

Even the pity of others is regarded as the light of life... I still feel ridiculous when I think about it now, but it is unforgettable...

Although I have said a lot of the tragic experiences of the year... But I still have to say that my parents are competent in treating me, and I have grown up without food and clothing...

They are also "caring" me in their own way,

I am equally grateful for the love of my parents, and I am determined to give my best to support my parents.

But I still have to say that my ability to act ethically is not influenced by my parents...

After all, the conflict between them was triggered by the immorality of one party...

Just what can I say?

Talking about what happened back then?

That was too cruel, not only for me, but also for my parents...

I have to thank my teachers in my junior high school... Maybe all the good fortune I had when I was young went into meeting those teachers.

Of course I'm not the kind of kid with good grades, maybe someone can study hard in a situation where they can't even take a bath and have to be hated because of the smell...

but I am not…

Fortunately, we were all pure at that time... I also had good friends.

Even now, they are still good friends. Although they don't meet several times a year, they are affected by objective factors...

I can't study hard in that situation, but it's probably understandable... At least I'm still a kind child, not crooked...

Thank you to the teachers I met...

(Except for the third class teacher in high school! There was a class teacher in high school, and the second class teacher was very responsible. If she hadn’t taught at my school, she might have had a better life.

But she didn't get the love of the students... It's a pity. In order to maintain the majesty of her head teacher, she is too far away from the students.

This is something I only realized after being a teacher for a while a few years ago.

As for why I stopped being a teacher, it was because of too much pressure...

That feeling of not doing enough, no matter how much I do, is tormenting me...

So I quit my job after sending off a class of students...I am still worried that I gave them too little help back then...

And my third class teacher in high school, I still think she's not normal... It's a bit too much to say that, but I really think so...

Moody...pretentious...don't even know what to do as a teacher.

Whose teacher would call the smoking students in the class to take a photo to show off? I have seen one of her!

Simply ridiculous! Simply ridiculous!

As for the fact that she deducted her diploma after graduation and asked the students to come to her house to get it, I am not as angry as the previous incident...

The meaning of what she is doing is not too clear... Isn't it just a "gift" to go to her house to get a diploma...

So I didn't go to get it, I just had this temper... But no matter how I got the admission letter from the university, naturally I didn't need a high school diploma to prove my education...

But what I know is that some classmates have never received their graduation certificates...)

Well, children in junior high school will always have the purest love... Forget it, I will not mention this, and now think about it, there is nothing but regret... Maybe there is still a little pain that I can't ask for Bar…

The teachers I met in junior high school were harsh, but I was always grateful to them.

Because their sternness has nothing to do with tyranny...their sternness is full of love...

It was the kind of loving-kindness I had hoped for countless times in my dreams... well, I didn't grow up without love.

While not all of this love comes from parents…

They showed no mercy to me, but pure love.

They safeguarded my self-esteem as a child just right and protected everything I had as a child just right.

I still can't forget...

(Of course I've been beaten by the teacher...and not lightly...the head teacher's desk still has my name and three half-letters...

Make a mistake and write it down every time you go to the office...

But even if my palms are swollen and I can't hold things, my heart is warm... Although it's a bit strange to say that, it's the truth...)

Seems to be saying too much about my past...

Back to the recent past...

My father has a bad temper, or is very bad...

Very little of his salary has been spent at home over the years, and my mother and I don't know where he goes...

But during the four years I was in college, my expenses and tuition were paid by my father.

As for raising the family, I shouldn't say much, it was between my father and my mother.

This is probably one of the reasons why my mother is dissatisfied with my father...

My father was a man who would take his anger out of someone else's anger.

And the object of his anger is always only his family... I still remember his hideous expression when he lifted a very sturdy square stool and smashed it at me, as if I had ruined his life...

Maybe without me, he and my mother would have other choices in life...

That stool is very sturdy. My grandfather hired a carpenter to make it. That stool is probably older than me... Up to now, the stool is still very sturdy... It can make a person who is 1.82 meters tall and 190 pounds this year stand firmly on it. When the Spring Festival couplets are posted…

But in fact, I was just over an hour late when I got home...

And I just spend time walking slowly down the street because I hate going back to that "home" where I have absolutely no personal space...

This kind of thing doesn't happen after conflicts break out at home...

Even when I was a little younger and interrupted his play, I was occasionally cleaned up...but he still counted at those times...

At least I won't get hurt or anything...

(It's not just my father's side, and my mother's side that is not alone.

But this should be a mistake every parent will make... After all, parents don't need any parental qualification certificate...

I also understand that no one is perfect.

But I really can't forget that square bench crit, and I can't even find a rhetoric that can convince myself to forget...)

I can now understand the pressure in his heart at that time. After all, the affairs of my family at that time were all over the city, and it was considered to be a social death of my father in front of all relatives...

But on this matter understanding is understanding, forgiveness is forgiveness...

I can stop bringing it up, but don't expect forgiveness when I do...

I can understand that my mother resents my father... After all, for pushing a person to the point of making such a choice, no amount of resentment is justified...

As for my father's resentment towards my mother, I don't understand...

Although "home" has come to mean home over the years...but I can't do anything about the conflict between them.

In the face of the conflict between them, I still seem to be the same powerless child who can only stare blankly at the ruins and the pool of blood.

Too scared to cry out loud...

This is probably real PTSD...

My parents succeeded in making me fear marriage...

The reason is simple, because I found that my personality was somewhat similar to that of my father.

And I've personally experienced all the damage this character can bring...

So I probably chose the most stupid way, which is "no beginning, no end"...

In this case, I probably won't have the process of hurting others...

From the beginning to the end, I just hoped that I would not hurt others. It would be better if I could not be hurt by others by the way...

When I look back, the face of the girl who was waiting under the tree is hard to recall.

No one's going to be waiting forever...

But some things can't disappear, maybe they will stay with them until they enter the coffin, and then bury them deeply with themselves...

Ah...because I've been talking a lot about my family affairs recently.

Although I don't think these things should be said at this time to make everyone feel bad...

But this story is more than 3,000 words long, and I am somewhat reluctant to delete it.

Simply send it out for your reference...

The lives of happy people seem to be the same, but the miserable people have their own misery...

If you encounter any unhappy things, please remember that there is still a hapless person like me living hard.

Frustration leaves its mark, and suffering is not praiseworthy.

But after suffering, you have to keep moving forward no matter what.

Maybe one day, if I am unlucky, I can meet another person who can make me courageous to face all difficulties?

Life goes on, breathing has not stopped.

At least look forward to tomorrow.

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Thank you, readers, for your willingness to waste a little time watching me ramble.

Thanks!

The author is looking forward to the south!