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Apologize

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    There was an accident at home some time ago. My grandfather passed away in a car accident. The update has been delayed. I'm sorry to everyone. It may still be delayed in the next few days.  Sorry for not notifying everyone at the first time.  Because at first I just got the news that my grandfather was seriously ill with IU, so I rushed back to my hometown.  I couldn't imagine this would be the last time.  From the moment he fell into a severe coma, he watched his condition worsen and finally passed away.  My grandfather is a veteran cadre, but my family is very ordinary. Can you imagine that the child of a veteran cadre would be a laid-off worker?  Few, very few.  I admire my grandfather's character very much. He hates relationships. When he was young, he was too strong-willed and was unhappy with his superiors.  He is a stubborn old man with a tough temper. I like people who are persistent. Maybe it is for this reason that there are many cute and stubborn old men in my works.  I like the ordinary, I like all the people who live in the ordinary, because only in the ordinary can there be truth, can we share weal and woe, and can we have many of the most beautiful things in human nature.  My grandfather is an ordinary old man in his eighties. He gets up at six o'clock every morning for a walk, and then buys breakfast for his grandma to eat. When he meets acquaintances on the road, he will smile and show off to them.  Sometimes he suddenly gets the urge to travel and sketch.  He loves painting and is self-taught. A famous contemporary painter once wanted to accept him as his disciple, because art also emphasizes the importance of mentoring. Without mentoring, you cannot become a master.  But he was rejected unreasonably by this stubborn old man.  The reason is that I am self-taught, so I cannot lie to others or say that I was taught by you.  So he lost his only chance to truly become a famous painter.  So people often come to my door and trick this old man into opening a painting exhibition.  Why do you say it's a lie?  Because you have to pay for it yourself, and you have to carry the painting on your back to other places.  The old man was not a smart man, so he often worked hard by himself to hold art exhibitions. Of course, he was not the one who made the profit in the end. Therefore, people who promoted him loved to look for him, and he could trick him into buying a bunch of weird things with just a few words, which made grandma very angry for a time.  She was so angry that she couldn't bear to throw away the laundry water. How could she tolerate spending money randomly? Yes, my grandfather was never a smart man.  If he was smart, he might be able to be in a high position, he might be able to become a famous painter, he might be able to let all his children enter public institutions, and maybe Mo Mo's life would change as a result, and he would never have the chance to write novels. Unfortunately, he never was  A smart man.  But this kind of character may be the most lacking and precious thing in this era.  The sad thing is that if I didn't tell him, and his relatives and friends didn't tell him, no one in this world would know what this stubborn old man had done in his life.  He passed away peacefully, just like his paintings and his life. This may be the only thing worth celebrating.  He often told me during his lifetime: Your ancestors starved to death in those years. Those years were too hard and too poor, so people of your generation should cherish them.  The thing he is most proud of is that he thinks I am a "writer" but in fact I can only be regarded as an online writer. The old man cannot distinguish these things.  He would ask me what I had written, and he wanted to read it. At this time, I would feel as if I was facing a powerful enemy, and I would be so frightened that this stubborn old man would read "The Demon" and my skin would be peeled off.  He wanted me to get a driver's license and drive him around China. As soon as the car stopped, he would sketch and I would write novels, eat and sleep in the open air, and enjoy life. I said okay, okay. After a while, when my waist no longer hurts, I would go learn it and take you around.  But in fact, I was just perfunctory. Life is not about poetry and distance. It has to be peaceful. I thought so, but now I regret it.  I once found a painting from my childhood in my grandfather's painting folder. It was the "proud painting" I drew for my grandfather on his birthday one year. Looking at it with my eyes when I was in elementary school, the painting was simply perfect. It was Kakarot.  The vivid image of the Great Demon King Piccolo is displayed on the paper.  But looking at it with my adult eyes, I am quite speechless, because even if the characters are ugly, there are actually seven or eight muscles drawn on the arms of the two characters. I am even more convinced that I will never have the talent for painting in my life.  .  But these two paintings were carefully collected by my grandfather and placed together with his painstaking paintings.  I bet he doesn't even know who these two characters are or what he's writing, it's a bit messy.  When Mo Mo's mood calms down and he has a status, he will work hard to update and compensate everyone.  Apologize again.
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