If you're not afraid of death, what else do you have to fear?

     Recently, I heard heartbreaking news: a teacher jumped to her death. She was eight months pregnant. Hearing this, I couldn't sleep. Perhaps you think I'd sympathize with this woman, but you'd be wrong. I sympathize even more with her parents and husband. The dead don't suffer, but the living will forever carry a heavy burden of grief, forever heartbroken.

    Living is difficult nowadays; dying is indeed easier. One can choose any way to end their life. In recent years, we've frequently heard of suicides: three high school students committed suicide because of love; a university professor committed suicide because of a promotion; my classmate committed suicide because of her husband's infidelity. We can't say those who commit suicide are cowards, because death is something most people fear deeply, yet they weren't even afraid of death. They had the courage to die but not the courage to live. If death is a momentary impulse, isn't the price paid for such an impulse too high? A selfless and responsible person will not evade reality. No matter how many hardships they experience, no matter how much wind and rain they encounter, they will face them with strength, because living is not just for their own happiness, but for all those who love us and those we deeply love.

    Let me tell you a true story, perhaps you can understand the meaning of life from this story.

    A girl, two months old, had her head broken by her older brother with an iron object. Her parents were both working away from home, and the child almost died. Because there were too many children in the family, her parents gave her away to a local family. This family had no children of their own and doted on her, treating her even better than their own child. She had everything that other children didn't have. In the 1970s, how rare it was to wear little leather shoes and a little dress! These great parents raised this child with great difficulty. I heard from the elders that the father often got up in the middle of the night to queue up to buy milk, because if he was late, the child would not have any milk to drink. This girl was very sensible and knew how to be filial to her parents from a young age. When she was 7 years old and started school, her classmates laughed at her, discriminated against her, and said that she was an unwanted child. She never spoke, nor did she argue with them. She knew it didn't matter who her biological parents were, because her current parents were the ones who loved and raised her. She never asked her parents who her biological parents were, afraid of hurting them. Even though many classmates bullied her, she never fought back, because she was afraid her parents would know she fought because her classmates discriminated against her, calling her an unwanted child. In her parents' eyes, she was a cheerful child who never cried. Actually, she cried a lot, but she didn't want to cry in front of her parents and worry them. When she was in fifth grade, her father lost his job, and her mother also quit to take care of her. Her family suddenly faced great hardship, sometimes going a year without seeing fruit. One day, a classmate gave her a large green tangerine. She didn't eat it herself, but gave it to her parents when she got home, saying her classmate gave her two, and she ate one and had one left. Her parents were clever; they knew she was lying because she never looked people in the eye when she lied. Her parents were deeply moved. The next day, they bought five oranges, which they ate for five days, each orange shared among the three of them. She was so happy then. To avoid burdening her parents too much, she enrolled in a teacher's college, a vocational school. Her tuition was paid for with the money her parents earned from their hard work. Knowing their hardships, she was very frugal. In 1993, she graduated and found a job as a primary school teacher at a farm school. She studied Chinese literature at a junior college while saving money for her parents. She remembers buying her mother a gold ring on her mother's birthday. Her mother excitedly asked, "Why did you think of buying a ring?" She smiled and said, "Mom, have you forgotten? You used to complain that Dad never bought you jewelry. You said other women had it. Mom and Dad gave me all their money, so I'm fulfilling your wish for Dad." Her parents cried that day, and she cried too, but those were tears of happiness.

    In her life, everything seemed to be going smoothly. Just when she felt very lucky, disaster struck. Her husband had an affair and even brought his mistress home, which she witnessed. She only said one sentence: "Please let her leave my home," and then went to work, even playing a volleyball match. You might think she didn't care about her husband, but you'd be wrong. She was devastated, but she didn't know why she didn't collapse; perhaps the pain had numbed her. From that day on, tears became her friend, accompanying her every day. To hide it from her colleagues, she would apply cold water to her eyes every morning around 4 a.m. to reduce the swelling. Her husband eventually chose divorce; they divorced in the dead of January. Because her mother's house was a single-story building, and the empty room was very cold in winter, she asked her husband to allow her and the child to stay until May, but he refused, demanding she leave within three days. And so, she left that home with immense pain, regret, and exhaustion, returning to her parents' home with my daughter. That day, Mom cried, Dad sighed, and the child cried too. Only I, only I smiled. I cooked delicious meals for my parents, offering them my most relaxed smiles, but it was all in vain; everyone's hearts were heavy. Just when I was about to give up, it got dark. Finally, it got dark. I lay in bed and cried my heart out, tears streaming down my face, no sound. Soon, I felt like my chest was going to explode. I remembered every little thing about our life together, all the grievances we'd had. I remembered his heartlessness, and my heart ached. The night of the divorce, I went to his mother's house to comfort my mother-in-law, giving her some heart medicine. I told her, "Children and grandchildren have their own lives. As long as your son is happy, that's all that matters. Since he thinks another woman can bring him happiness, you don't need to be sad. I support him. I only want him to be happy." But at the same time, he called and told me not to go to his mother's. When he found out I was there, he drove me home. Once home, he told my parents three things I did wrong and then left without looking back. Is this what men are like? Can a man be this terrifying when he's heartless? I don't dare think about it anymore; just thinking about it sends chills down my spine. I don't think I've done anything wrong. I'm a primary school teacher, and I had a good family education. I'm filial to my mother-in-law, respect my brothers, and love my nieces and nephews. She was a devoted woman, devoted to her family and career, a truly outstanding woman. But why did he treat me this way? I didn't understand, I couldn't fathom it. Finally, one day, I couldn't bear the torment any longer. It was March. My family faced hardship, my job changed, and the pressure was unbearable. I took a rope and went up the mountain. The mountain was covered in snow. On the way up, my mind was blank, seemingly light. I draped the rope over a tree branch, but a gust of wind blew it away. I stared at the rope, laughing loudly, shouting, "Heavens, how long will you torment me?" Dejected, I sat on the snow, accidentally landing on a tree branch. The branch whipped my head, and I suddenly remembered my father, 70 years old, still going up the mountain to gather firewood. I couldn't die, I really couldn't die. I had heavy responsibilities, elderly parents, and children. I couldn't be so selfish. So I went down the mountain, and from then on, there were no more tears.

    She felt no pain, because she had been reborn after death. She, strong and resilient, no longer sighed or shed tears, for there are many other kinds of love in this world, friendship and family love that can bring her joy. Her children are her hope, her parents her support. As a daughter and a mother, she must live strong and happy. For whom? For all those who love her and those she loves!

    Friends, do you understand the meaning of life? If you are not even afraid of death, then you should have even more courage to face all hardships and difficulties. Finally, I offer you a short poem:

    Having been drunk, one knows the strength of wine; having suffered,

    one knows the depth of feeling.

    A rainbow shines brightly when the sky clears;

    flowers bloom even more vibrantly after winter.