Year 9. "It's not what you should talk about as a kid." My mom said.
I shed my tears.
1997, I was 9.
On the dining table, "You'd better not say that in the future. It's not what you should talk about as a kid." My mom said.
I shed my tears. My thoughts don't deserve to be shared.
"Joining the CCP now seems vulgar" coming out of a kid's mouth sounds like a joke but is too sensitive for them to respond. Obedience is the virtue of a well-behaved kid. The parents only praise the quiet one listening to their bluff with an innocent face.
I am at no place to challenge their authority.
Spoiled care is their disguise to numb my sense of expression. A trap to lock down the free soul that will take me years to destroy.