Once upon a time, I was such an arrogant young girl. I always considered myself as a caged bird. I had wings to fly but could not break free from the cage my parents built for me. I often fantasized about how wonderful and exciting the outside world must be. As time passed quietly, I became a wife and a mother, finally able to choose my own path. By chance, I heard a friend say that Japan had particularly advanced technology, enchanting landscapes, and people with impeccable manners... This sparked my curiosity, and thus, I joined the ranks of those competing to go to Japan. My parents' firm opposition, my husband's earnest persuasion, and my child's innocent eyes did not deter my determination to go to Japan. In the spring of 2009, when everything on earth was quietly budding, I left behind my one-year-old child, started training, completed the necessary procedures, and arrived in Japan in June of the same year. At that moment, I was so excited because I had finally escaped the cage set by my parents. Everything in Japan went smoothly at first. The only unbearable aspect of life was the high cost of living, which taught me frugality. I walked along mountain paths every day to get to the supermarket or the hundred-yen store, even in the rain, just to pick up some bargains. But I still felt happy and fulfilled in life. Of course, troubles were also inevitable in life. On the third day after my arrival, my daughter was hospitalized, and I felt heartbroken for the first time. Later, I learned from my sister that my mother fell ill due to missing me. At that moment, I wished more than anything to be by my mother's side to take care of her. That moment made me cry, and it was the first time in my life I cried for my mother. I began to regret my impulsiveness and ignorance. Time passed slowly, and it was Mid-Autumn Festival. When I heard over the phone that the whole family was reunited, when my child repeatedly called out "mom" on the phone, and when my parents said they missed me with trembling voices, I realized how lonely I was and what I lacked. I cried again that night and couldn't sleep. I started to miss home, realizing for the first time what homesickness felt like. Ha ha, wasn't I silly? Troubles came one after another, tempering my will. On New Year's Eve of 2009, while every family was celebrating together, filled with laughter, my family endured another kind of pain - my younger brother had a car accident. When I called home, my mom answered, her voice sounding off. After pressing her, I learned that my brother had been hit by a car driven by someone from the same village, who happened to be my classmate. He was thrown into a ditch by the roadside, resulting in a fractured thigh. The moment my mom told me this, I almost collapsed. It felt like everything around me turned pitch black, and I lost my breath. After a few minutes, I calmed down and started comforting my mom, saying, "It's okay, with advanced technology, my brother will be fine soon." However, despite my efforts, I broke down in tears. After consoling my mom for a long time and hanging up the phone, I started crying uncontrollably all night, thinking about many things. I realized how naive and ignorant I was. My parents were getting old, and what they needed most was their children by their side. Just seeing them every day would be enough. The next day, I called again, and this time my dad answered. As soon as I said, "Dad," he burst into tears on the other end of the phone. He asked me, "What are we supposed to do? Isn't this going to kill us old folks?" I tried hard to hold back my tears and said, "Dad, it's okay. My brother is young and will recover quickly. With today's advanced technology, we're already lucky. At least our brother is still alive. He can stand up again and return to his former self. Compared to those who are vegetative, aren't we lucky?" Afterwards, my dad stopped crying. Yes, compared to others, aren't we lucky? It has been one and a half years since I came to Japan. I have met many people, learned a lot, and understood even more. I no longer love to act cute, nor do I cry easily, and I don't argue over trivial matters anymore... Only because I have grown up. Hardships have told me: "You're not allowed to cry anymore because you're no longer a child but a mother; you're not allowed to act cute anymore because your parents are getting old, and it's time for you to cheer them up..." Life in Japan has taught me to be strong and how to be a better person. Article source: Doudouxi Emotional Website, Emotional World, Emotional Articles, Emotional Stories (http://www.doudouc.com). This article is referenced from: http://www.szreading.com Relevant thematic articles: 1. After arguing with my wife, the 24-hour meridian chart of the human body -喷码机 www.szreading.com