It hurts to wear earrings, it hurts to be beautiful

A girlfriend once told me excitedly that pierced ears are the gateway to a beautiful world. Then she sent me a bunch of earrings that I made myself, including a pair in the shape of a branch.

Why I remember such a word is because I flipped through "Fang Siqi's Paradise of First Love" and found a pair of similar earrings written in it: the white gold branches of the pinky finger are finely engraved with curved lines and rings. Tree knots, little diamonds like snow.

Of course mine is not so luxurious, nor does it have a small diamond like snow, it is just a branch, or it can be regarded as a tree, evergreen. I haven't worn it for long, but I remember the way it wobbled in the mirror.

I have had my ears pierced since I was in the fourth grade of elementary school. My sister who lives on another street took me to the street to play. I don't know what she said to me at the time, so I was tempted to agree to let something cold and ruthless. Through the ears, recklessly and innocently open the door to the beautiful world.

I can still vaguely recall the pain now, but I am also very skeptical that it might actually be the pain I imagined later based on the principle of ear piercing, and then mistaken it for a memory.

But if the memory is true, I looked at my young self at that time, with an ignorant face, and suddenly felt a sudden pain in surprise, probably at the same time as she and I would think: Ah, it hurts! It hurts to wear earrings, it hurts to be beautiful.

So I think, rather than opening the door to the beautiful world, it is better to pierce through and forcibly create a door to the beautiful world.

At that time, when I went home after my ears were pierced, going to my mother was like beheading and then playing. She touched her sister's face first, then my ears, and kept saying, "My little ancestor, what if I get an inflammation?" At that time, my ears were already blood red, and they were hot for a long time. When I heard her say this, I immediately started crying.

My mother took alcohol and cotton swabs, carefully wiped my ears, made me endure the pain, and finally took out the ear stud that had just been pierced.

It can be said that the door to my beautiful world has not been opened for a long time, and it has been closed again. I don't know which one is more cruel than the courage to accept the puncture before.

Later, when I was in my teens, I was in junior high school. One day, my mother suddenly came on a whim and said you come over and let me see if your pierced ears are still there. I was shocked, and felt that an earth-shattering secret was about to be revealed in myself, which was very exciting.

You know the end result, once that door is opened, it will never be closed again.

But I was inexplicably sad because of this at the beginning. I felt that it was not a gate to a beautiful world, but a wound, a trace of regret. Once a body part is tragically stabbed, it can never heal. That's how I pity myself, pity a pair of pierced ears.

On the contrary, my mother, when she discovered this surprising fact, became keen to dress me up. Maybe mothers all over the world are good at this. They regard their daughter as another kind of decent, they can make the best use of everything to wear jewelry for her, or they can wear her as a pair of jewelry, simple and generous, not only highlights The mother's own job, and she quietly showed off her inherited beauty.

Since then, the world of beauty has opened its doors to me. I put on a pair of rose earrings. Whenever I walk through the campus, I only feel that I have to raise my chin a little bit, for fear that I will accidentally destroy this beauty. , I was also secretly worried that no one would see this beauty, so I wanted to show it more and more. The ear studs quietly swayed a little arc with her footsteps, and she didn't dare to be too presumptuous, a young girl's heart was pounding.

The female teacher at that time was no longer young, and perhaps there was no jealousy, she just mechanically imposed the bondage, as the bondage had been imposed on her, and all the students were only slaves of asceticism.

Perhaps there is still a bit of pity, unable to bear to break the new branches and dampen some vigorous courage. The female teacher texted me euphemistically, admonishing me not to wear earrings in school anymore.

I only heard a creak, and the beautiful world closed its door to me again.

Later, when I grew up, I didn’t have to endure any more authority, so for a while I frantically bought earrings for myself, like earrings that I could wear in a lifetime, and the beauty world looked at me with dismay and let me go crazy.

When I put it off and put it on again, choosing one pair after another from the beautiful world, my ears would occasionally protest my rudeness, and I heard a small voice in my heart: wearing earrings hurts, beauty hurts!