I don’t know why, every birthday, I feel sad. People say “the child’s birthday, the mother’s bitter day.” I have never seen the bitter mother on this day, and I can’t even imagine her appearance. Pulling my grown-up mother with shit and urine, she is now asleep in the ground. The first connection I came to this world and this world turned into dust, and even the dust was gone.
  If I didn’t mention it yesterday, even my husband would have forgotten this day that is related to me every year. The first blessing from a real person I received today was a person whom I met at a dinner a few years ago and only met once. How did he know my 49th birthday? I do not know. But the blessing he sent me, in addition to being surprised, also evoked my sentimentality. I don’t know what other people’s birthdays are like. The flowers and gifts that have been featured the most on TV have never appeared in my life, whether they are young or now. Without the steady company of my husband for so many years, I think I would not even feel as a woman anymore. My friend said that when I saw me, I knew that I could only be a brother. He said that I couldn’t see the pitiful appearance of a little bird in my body at all, and I was just a female man. But who has seen them again, I see Hualuo being sentimental, crying silently early on her birthday?
  No woman is not a woman. It’s just that in the passage of one year and one year, I have seen the truth: a woman’s emotions are just her own, and they are not worth mentioning in anyone’s mind. If you ask, what comes next is the reluctance of others, or a kind of compassionate comfort. A man’s giving is often to get, no matter if he was sincere or fake. Every flower can be a trap, and what is willing to jump down is happiness, and what is reluctant to jump down is trading and troubles. Is it not a relief to cry and write alone?