By Zhang Li, Japan
I was born into a poor family. In order to pay the school fees of me and my younger brother, my mother managed the household industriously and thriftily and struggled to make money. Years of hard work made my mother, who was in her thirties, looked well over forty. Every time when I saw her grey hair, deep wrinkles, deformed fingers, and her old and withered face, I would make a resolution inwardly: I must treat her with filial respect when I grow up. But, when I tested into college, found a good job after graduation, wore gorgeous and fashionable clothes, I disliked my mother for her provincial air.
