I want to hold your hand, my migrant brother.
There are many such people in this city. They went to the construction site with their helmets on and their hands on the guy. Building after building, they weave life like spiders. Yes, of all the works in the world, I like spider web best. It's really wonderful. Similarly, the building woven by migrant workers is also the most beautiful masterpiece in the world.
I sometimes feel that they are really working miracles.
But our city is made by migrant workers brick by brick, with their blood, with their sweat, with their dexterity and wisdom.
They live in freedom. This city often has a different vision. They seem to be installed in the galaxy, overlooking the migrant workers in pickled clothes. But these migrant workers do not care at all, as if the work clothes covered with plaster are more noble than the disdainful eyes. They came down from the construction site, picked up the guys, entered their temporary work shed, knocked out the rice VAT, and sang like nobody else.
Their songs are not pleasant to hear. Sometimes they are almost howling, and their five tones are incomplete. They transform the good pop songs into different ones, but they sing their own songs. I envy them very much. I envy them that they really live in their own world. Sometimes at night, a gust of wind swept by. A migrant worker was riding a tricycle and yelling at his tuneless songs. I am also a seven foot man. Why do I lack this natural and courageous? I also like humming on the road. It's really humming. It's only in my voice. Only my ears can hear it. How weak, how pitiful, how insignificant it is. A whirlwind is submerged in the ocean of migrant workers' singing.
They are the real original ecology.
There are a group of sculptures in front of the Shanghai Art Museum. I think they are a group of migrant workers. A group of migrant workers, loose and scattered, face the most prosperous Nanjing Road in Shanghai. You may think it's not elegant, but it's the artist's ingenuity. It is the sculptures that make up the most natural life of China in an era.
I have seen such a group of migrant workers living in houses that do not belong to them. They paint the luxurious life of the city that does not belong to them like painting. Their hard work is for "Better City". Sometimes I invite them to my home, ask them to repair the broken shower or toilet, have a meal, drink two cups of wine by the way, if there is anything I don't want to throw away, my wife will generously give it to them, they will be grateful, they will give us some expenses free, they will recognize us as a rare friend in this city, this time I will Public announcement: I am also a migrant worker!
I'm also a migrant worker! Sometimes I walk under the sky of the city in a straight suit, with a high posture, but the blood and skin color can not cover up my migrant workers. You and I are also from the poor countryside. We are familiar with every inch of land, every grass and every crop in the countryside. We can even distinguish the cicadas from the trees. That is to say, a test paper divides us into one side and the other.
It's just an opportunity!
So, I want to hold your hand, my migrant brother! We are brothers. We are born from the same root. How can we distinguish the front and back of a city? Brother!