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墨書 Inktalez
Father is known as the kind-hearted person in our small town, and his kindness seems boundless, especially towards those so-called "Drinking Buddies." Whenever they approach him with a bit of drunkenness or seemingly sincere words, he feels a great sense of pride.
When they ask to borrow money, he always agrees without hesitation, even when our family is struggling financially, and my tuition fees are at stake.
He often says, "Face is something that must be given; as for the essentials, we can always tighten our belts to get by."
This stubborn persistence often leads my mother to sigh silently in the quiet of the night, surrounded by our humble living conditions.
I remember those years when Father, filled with hope, partnered with others to start a nursery business, aiming to improve our financial situation and make life a bit easier for the whole family. It was a vibrant endeavor, involving relatives and neighbors working together enthusiastically.
Everyone invested their money and poured months of hard work into it.
However, as should have been anticipated, that unscrupulous partner quietly took off with all the capital and profits after selling the goods, disappearing for years or even decades.
The whole family worked tirelessly to repay the debts. In the end, we gained "face" but lost everything else repeatedly.
Whenever this matter is brought up, his eyes still reflect a sense of unwillingness, but more so a recognition of his own stubbornness, as if saying, "Everyone makes mistakes sometimes."
Until one day, that "black-hearted dog" reappeared.
Father told us about it after returning from drinking with him.
He said, "That man is terminally ill and has little time left; let’s just write off the debts."
At first hearing this, everyone thought they had misheard and confirmed that his words were indeed as stated.
At that moment, everyone's expression became extraordinarily complex—there was shock, anger, but more than anything, an indescribable sadness. As a member of the family, I found it even harder to understand my father's decision.
Why? Does he not have any awareness of how our family is doing? He pinches every penny and thinks our expenses are too high, yet he just brushes off giving someone else twenty thousand yuan with a single sentence? That was twenty thousand yuan in the nineties! Does he think he's some kind of wealthy benefactor? Does he really have the ability to save others from their suffering? Moreover, that amount includes hard-earned money borrowed from relatives and friends!
That unscrupulous person has no shame; now he comes seeking sympathy after reaping what he sowed?
What’s there to pity? Isn’t this exactly what he deserves? He should be suffering the consequences!
How could we be made to pay for his sins?
In that moment, I deeply felt my father's hypocrisy—his boundless tolerance for outsiders while being harsh on his own family left me disappointed once again.
As time passed, even though I had married and started my own family, my father's overly accommodating nature remained unchanged.
He still lent money to others, only to end up unable to recover it and having to dig into his own pockets to fill the gaps. My mother had long since become accustomed to this; she often said, "Since I married into your family, I've been in a cycle of borrowing money, repaying it, and then borrowing again. There’s never a moment of peace."
This statement felt like a heavy stone pressing down on my heart, making it even harder for me to come to terms with my father's actions.
As for the fact that my father had slept in other beds outside our home, it wasn't until one day after I graduated from high school that my mother candidly informed me about it, citing that I was now an adult.
Oh, is that so?
So that's how it is?
Oh, haha.
If he really had money, our family would surely have added quite a few dramatic stories, right?
My father's kindness might be his belief, a way of treating the world with gentleness. But this kindness has, in an invisible way, harmed our family, causing my mother and me to bear too many burdens that we should not have had to endure.
The autumn when my grandmother passed away, the sky was always covered with a layer of light gray, and soon after, my mother was diagnosed with cancer.
After a series of complex tests and biopsies, the doctor solemnly informed us that it was a rare hereditary variant of cancer. This meant that not only my mother but also her siblings, our generation, and even our children faced a significant risk of illness. This news felt like an invisible net tightly binding us, making us resent fate more than ever.
My mother and her siblings gathered together, tears welling in everyone's eyes, yet no one knew who to blame for this situation.
At the same time, my father's health was not good either. Years of excessive drinking and smoking had already taken a toll on his body. Several instances of unexplained fainting served as constant reminders that he was just a few steps away from serious illness.
Yet he stubbornly refused to listen to advice and showed no intention of changing his habits.
Under such immense pressure from all sides, I thought I would completely break down, but unexpectedly, I felt a strange sense of calm.
I suddenly didn't want to cry anymore because heaven had never been on our side. Perhaps when the children grow up a little more, I will be able to find complete relief.
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