Coming to this strange south, the only real feeling is loneliness. It can be said that the meaning of these two words has made me use my mood to interpret it incisively and vividly. The unspeakable heat makes people's thinking simple and instinctive. Yes, every day is instinctively alive. Even my aesthetic cells, which have always been active, are in a state of serious fatigue as people often say. I have no view in my eyes. Eyes become empty, and the mood may become pale because of long-term soaking in sweat. My life seems to be lifeless. There is a word that keeps jumping around in my mind, and that is loneliness.

Walking on the two-point line from dormitory to office at a constant pace every day, people often use the three-point line to describe the monotony and boredom of life. I'm not sure others are mostly from my point of view. What exactly does it mean, toilet or canteen? I don't understand. But my life is really simple to only these two points. Because I will stay in the dormitory except for work, I don't want to go anywhere else, fearing that I will be melted or even evaporated by the high temperature. That may be really fragile and boneless. But I don't want to.

Just on the two-point line where my space is less than 100 meter, there is always an old woman who just came into my sight when I didn't want to see her (the old woman is called an old woman here). The old lady wears the same short underwear with poor texture and turbid color almost every day, and always wears the same pair of slippers on her feet (the most common dress of the old lady here). What puzzles me most is how an old woman can wear an eye-catching red rope on her head, which should be no different from the red rope in White-haired Girl. The sallow criss-crossing faces have played an excellent role in setting off this red rope. Very comic combination, quite creative. I once guessed the meaning of this red rope. Nothing more than avoiding evil spirits or luck. Most people here are superstitious. Grandma always carries a little boy on her back, sometimes with a bamboo basket and sometimes with a large piece of cloth, which should be quite comfortable. The little boy looks really small, only showing a little head looking around. His white and pink face is inlaid with two big bright eyes. These eyes can't help but make people move, no matter how lonely your heart is. I don't know what words to use to describe these eyes, black gems, black agates or ripe grapes. Because I have never been so attracted by a pair of other people's children's eyes, and I am attracted by it. What I don't understand again is, how can such an eye as clear as a lake use such an old, yellow or even rough picture as the background? Grandma really likes puzzling. I also feel that harmony, harmony in life, is sometimes harder to find than a black-haired polar bear. But in any case, this pair of contrasting combinations has become a point on my unchangeable straight line, a swimming point. I don't know if it brought me some joy, but because the lake is clear, I can accept it frankly. In other people's talk, I know that grandma is a housewife of an employee in the unit and a Hakka.

Later, a casual incident brought me close to my grandmother, and also brought her close to me until she got close to my heart.

I have seen grandma picking up cans, cartons and other rubbish in the dustbin with her children on her back several times. I have also seen grandma and her old man go out to sell waste together in the morning. Those wastes are packed in clean plastic bags and piled up in wheelbarrows like hills. The rickshaw puller turned out to be an old woman, who was already very short. She had to bend down to pull the rickshaw, and a car was piled up in garbage, almost burying her. Occasionally, I can see her red rope flashing. His old man walked behind the car with a straight back and a clear conscience. Holding two bags in his hand. What a discordant picture this is! I really don't understand, is grandma just appearing to interpret disharmony? I don't understand, deeply. Besides, grandma's house is not difficult. Why pick these? Perhaps this is the portrayal of Hakka women's excellent moral character. I just don't understand it yet. However, I can already greet my grandmother with my eyes, on my unchanging straight line. One weekend, I cleaned my dormitory thoroughly on a whim. In fact, this feat is also a reflection of my loneliness. There are no extra items in the dormitory. I moved around, wiped them off, and finally thought of throwing something out. I put the coke bottle in a plastic bag on the balcony. Oh, it's really a lot, and it's full of bags Coke is my favorite summer drink. Then I clean up some unnecessary newspapers, magazines and expired books and put them in bags. I resolutely took it downstairs and threw it away. I happened to meet my grandmother on the side of the road and still took Wanghu Lake. I subconsciously thought, don't give these rubbish to my grandmother, so she won't rummage around in the trash can? First, I smiled at my grandmother. This is the first time I greet my grandmother with an expression. Maybe this is a surprise for grandma. She just made a gesture to me. Then I actively and enthusiastically said to my grandmother, "Grandma, if you don't dislike these things, I will give them to you." Grandma doesn't seem to understand my Mandarin, but she seems to have guessed my meaning from my mouth and movements. She nodded again and again, took my things and said a few words of Hakka that I didn't understand. I guess the general meaning is thank you. I'm not sure if I'm right, but I understand grandma's eyes and smile. It's a satisfaction, just like taking a handful of candy from my mother when I was a child. Moreover, I actually felt a trace of harmony with the lake on my grandmother's back in her smile and that moment's smile. I am happy with my discovery for no reason, but I am very satisfied.

A few days later, after work at night, when I took out my key and tried to unlock the door in an extremely accustomed lazy posture, I made an unexpected discovery. A bundle of green vegetables was neatly tied and hung on the handle at my door. The rope tied with vegetables is as green as weeds. I don't know, I'm not familiar with, and I can't remember the strange names of southern vegetables like their dialects. But I smell the thick fragrance of green vegetables, a delicious smell with soil. My brain is running fast in a short distance, and I don't think hard about the delivery person. It's grandma! It must be grandma! Only the old lady who grows vegetables in this yard knows me, and we have a little contact. The green vegetables have just been picked from the ground, and the broken end of the stem still looks like white juice is about to drip. I brought vegetables at this time. My grandmother must want me to cook these vegetables for dinner. This is really a fresh and pure vegetable, which I have never seen before. I gently take these vegetables away. I don't want to break any leaves, even the juice on the stems, because I like vegetables and care more about them. I put the vegetables under my nose and sniffed deeply. It smells really good. This fragrance seems to have penetrated into my blood from my nostrils, which makes me feel refreshed. That night, because there was a touch of oil green on the dining table, my gloomy mood was much more active. I even felt a smell in my mouth all night, but it was more unique than green arrow gum. I can't help laughing at myself in my heart. I have always been free from vulgarity, and the feeling of happiness is so primitive, even naive.

In the following days, I often hang a neatly tied green vegetable on the door, with different kinds, but I can't name it. Just like I don't know grandma's name now. Another thing is that my grandmother has delivered meals many times, and I have never seen her once, whether it's getting off work on time or coming back early temporarily, including occasionally coming back late. I just keep tasting fresh vegetables, different flavors, but the same fragrance and pleasant. I even stubbornly believe that I am tasting them at the same time as my grandmother, but my cooking is too poor to compare with my grandmother. My long-lost heart has become warm and soft in countless nights with the fragrance on the dining table and the afterglow of the sunset through the broken window. Grandma's dishes are realistic and ethereal, simple and romantic in my opinion. I am happy for my own happiness and satisfied for my own satisfaction.

I really want to find an opportunity to tell my grandmother in person that the food she sent is really delicious, but I wonder if my grandmother can understand my Mandarin.