Jiujiu daughter hong

When I heard this old song, I was sitting in the car with a backache and a smoking throat.

After the jingle overture, there came the clear voice of the male singer:

Shake up the awning boat and sail with the wind.

Your 18-year-old face is as red as a lotus. ...

When I close my eyes, I always see a picture of a house with black tiles and white walls, a girl in red, shiny braids, red lips and white teeth, and a pair of eyes full of things. When the silhouette is facing, my eyes have been staring at the distance, as if expecting something. Considerate. When facing the camera, I am a little shy, evasive and afraid. Their eyes can always attract you to pay attention to her, walk into her and feel sorry for her. I sympathize with you.

At that time, how I envied the girls' faces-white faces, fashionable clothes, bright red lips and bright red sweaters, which stood out even on TV screens full of Xue Huadian. I don't know if they are a flame in the hearts of young people in rural areas. Anyway, at that time, I was black, thin, weak, with rough skin and black and yellow. The body is like dried vegetables, without a trace of moisture and fullness. Such a healthy and nutritious woman is definitely the goddess in my heart.

What impressed me the most was the scene of lifting the red veil. There are red candles swaying, light and shadow falling, blurred and confused eyes, confused hearts and confused feelings. The complex and heavy atmosphere is destined to breed tenderness and acacia, love and heartbeat. This picture entered the dreams of many boys and girls.

I really appreciate the gift of that era, which made me feel this way about music. At that time, I didn't know which family in the village spent a lot of money to buy a karaoke stereo. Later, in order not to fall behind, other families followed suit. Finally, almost everyone has a set of audio equipment. Busy with farm work on weekdays, the sound is like an empty nester, and no one cares. It was not until the Spring Festival that people remembered its existence again, so they wiped off the thick dust with a wet rag, covered it with a brand-new towel, and stuffed it into pirated CDs bought in the market to start the annual K-song performance. In those few days of the Chinese New Year, every household will hear the horror of ghosts crying and wolves howling, which is comparable to the scene of a car accident. As for me, I can always look for beautiful things in those vague pictures while enduring the singing of tearing my throat, such as those girls with collagen face and pudding skin. For example, they are born with straight breasts and round hips that violate the law of gravity. For example, they occasionally change the props they play with, such as the shape of eyebrows and the color of lipstick. ...

I'm afraid these songs in the disc are influenced by one of the few music besides the clarinet popular in primary school. I remember that there was a time when Huo Feng's "The Big Sedan" was popular in the streets, and I could recite the lyrics of the song even if I didn't know love. I watched the singer with a long beard, a chubby figure and a smooth face in the MV, yelling at his inner hormones naked like a overbearing president: hug that hug and hug my sister in the sedan chair. Then, I naively fantasized that I also hope to meet such a man with a body as wide as two doors in the future. He can shelter me from the wind and rain. He is very practical. Yes, at that time, I thought weight was synonymous with security. How I wish I were a little woman beside my brother. The truth is, now I am a big brother in a little woman's heart. It's really a broken dream and a broken heart. It's another move.

Looking back now, the love songs at that time were always direct, frank and simple, and there was no confusion now. How clear! Praise when you are in love, pour out when you like, admit your sadness when you are lovelorn, and vent your pain when you break up. Everything good and bad is carefree. Singing is like having a strong arm, grabbing you, sitting opposite it and telling you sincerely. It talks like the tattered man in the movie shouting loudly with a megaphone: An Hong, I miss you so much that I can't sleep. Yes, it's so grounded, and that feeling is deeply rooted, deeply rooted in the ground, and it's really a mess. Unlike the current feelings hanging in the air, erratic, haunted, I do not know when it will disperse.

On such a cold winter day, Daughter Red reminds me of the past. I am searching again, trying to find the fragments of sound and light from my memory, and then slowly piece them together. Those are traces of time and my mental journey.

I couldn't bear to interrupt this memory, so I played this song in a loop and listened. There are no more pictures of women in front of me. What emerges is my own appearance. In my thirties, I have fine lines around my eyes, bulging bags under my eyes, and my chest is drooping, as if rice were squatting and kissing the grateful earth. So what? So ... It's all experience Stories are written in experience. I don't seem to dislike myself that much. It's really beautiful.