To My Youth [BL]

[22] Recognition (2/2)

His father may have been speaking to him, but his mind blurred out his surrounding noises and focused on leaving the dinner.

This was a sort of violence where his own words kept hitting himself with his father's judgment and others.

Although there was frustration and anger, there was also a deep sense of inevitable helplessness overlapping those expressions.

"Look at him run his mouth like that. Who taught him to speak so ill-mannerly? Did he learn that from that kid too?"

"Don't you think you are too harsh on him?" His mother asked.

"I am only trying to prevent him from making a mistake in the future. Don't you know how these small issues arising from an early age could take a strong toll on him in the future? Also, how would others see him if they found out he was like this?"

"Why must you be so narrow-minded? There's nothing wrong with him. The world is much more open-minded about these things in this generation now! And let him have fun a little! Let him skip a few classes! Let him be late! Is seeing him like this not enough for you?"

He sighed, "Not you too."

"There are so few chances that we get to eat together, and you just had to ruin it with your lectures."

"Me? Is it purely my fault? For wanting the best for our son?"

"If you wanted the best for him, then why does he only look more suffocated the more we, no, you try? Is it so wrong for him to have fun just a little instead of isolating himself for his entire life?"

"Do you know what happened with that last boy? Was his name He Rong? Look how miserable it made him! What everyone wants now is power. To climb higher. How would you know if that Gu Xiao boy isn't doing the same?"

✎✎✎

Lan Yuning's mother knocked on his bedroom door before walking in. As usual, he sat on his table, studying diligently.

A deep exhale left his mother's mouth as she sat on the edge of his bed, placing down a plate of sliced oranges and a glass of water.

It was the first time his mother saw him so shaken up that she couldn't help but feel an immense amount of guilt.

If only she spent more time at home or paid more attention to Lan Yuning, then maybe he would feel more welcomed in this own home.

She opened her mouth to speak, but when she tilted to head to look at Lan Yuning, her pupils dilated in shock.

His grip on his pencil tightened, and he wasn't actually writing anything at all. His eyelids trembled subtly as he stared down at his papers.

There was so much weight inside his chest. He blinked a few times, but his eyes grew hot, yet no tears welled.

"Lan Yuning..."

Blinking, he continued to restrain his emotions. His mother rubbed his back and the grief that came in waves swallowed her composure.

Watching Lan Yuning grow up was like a glass shard in her guts that never left, though perhaps in time the edges will dull. In this quiet moment, it choked her breath from her body and cut the circuits in her mind.

"I'm sorry for speaking like that," Lan Yuning uttered.

"There is nothing you need to apologise for. It's good that you are speaking your thoughts. Your father is just a bit stubborn and not that well-educated on these things. Here, drink some water," she said and handed him a glass of water.

Occasionally she would rub his back, smiling, as she watched her son drink water and wipe his tears away.

Pieces of paper stacked away in the corner of his table caught her attention and she grabbed them. She looked through the pages of drawings, some were comic strips, while some were just doodles, and her eyes lit up with a sort of joy.

When Lan Yuning saw her looking through his drawings, his hands instantly grew cold and trembled under his table.

She let out a short laughter. "Oh, how cute. I remember you used to always tell me how much you wanted to become a comic artist. You used to always write pages and pages of stories too. I still have a folder of them!"

Lan Yuning didn't dare to look into his mother's eyes. There was a time back in primary school when his father caught him drawing.

During that time, he would stay up late and draw, but because he was so focused on doodling nonsensical things, it affected his grades which induced an inexplicable rage to erupt in his father's head. Like his string of sanity had been cut, his father threw away everything.

His drawings. His pencils. Everything.

And that was when he realised, the moment he expressed himself, his father would ensure it was destroyed and discarded away before it affected his academics or personality.

That was why he refused to ever reveal anything about his personal life to his father, because once he did, Lan Yuning knew they would disappear soon.

"I'm sorry, mother," Lan Yuning repeated.

"What are you being sorry for? You are sometimes very stubborn too. I remember you were always an obedient child. You always knew we had more than what others might have had, and I always told you to never abuse our family background for selfish gains. You were only six, but you understood very well. Even though you knew that others approached you for personal goals, you never made a big deal out of it and maintained a peaceful life."

"When others asked to borrow your things, you always gave it to them without saying anything. I always thought I had raised you well because you never stirred trouble, you always listened, and you didn't look down on others. But I realised I was wrong. I should be the one to apologise. I'm sorry. I didn't realise how much you were struggling with yourself."

With each passing day, she felt as if her and Lan Yuning's footsteps had gradually strayed far away from each other.

If only she offered more signs of caring, affection, or love, instead of allowing that man to pressure him into shaping who he should grow into as an adult, then he would lift off the heavy burden on his shoulder.

Right now, they were still simply children.

"You have grown up to be a wonderful person. I will talk to your father, but I just wanted to tell you that I will support you no matter what."

He silently ate the oranges, though hearing his mother's warm words welled in his mind that a rushing sadness crawled to his consciousness. Indeed, if one thought about it, it was impossible to 'save' others. The only way to help was to love them. Then, one can only pray that their love had saved them, that they had loved them enough. In the end, people only had so much they could offer before they destroyed themselves by sacrificing everything they had left.