My Son Obsesses Over Me

Mother,

The chilly winter wind seems to be subsiding, and the warm sunlight is about to descend. March is also the season of tender sprouts blooming in spring.

While others may love this season of blooming flowers, your son can only feel bitter. You always preferred the winter when tangerines and oranges were plentiful.

Like you, I sincerely love the lonely season of winter, so it’s inevitable that my heart feels sorrowful. They say children resemble their parents, after all.

Even though many years have passed, I still vividly remember. It speaks of the gentle care of the red-haired woman who delicately peeled cold tangerine skins, carefully placed the fruit into the little boy’s mouth, and her considerate kindness.

I miss those days of my childhood. At that time, I was much smaller than you, Mother.

If I were to return this time, would you allow me into your embrace as you did back then? Your jokes about experiencing a man’s past life, the warm fireplace. If I could hear your gentle voice one last time while peeling a mandarin, I couldn’t ask for more happiness.

Haha, anyway, Mother, unnecessary chatter has gone on for too long. Rarely having sent letters, I seem to have become quite excited without realizing it.

It’s not like I have something specific to say. Just like when I was young, talking nonsense to you is all I can do, so even if you simply read this disorderly and clumsy letter, I would be grateful.

As you know, I am fundamentally an uneducated person. Oh, of course, it’s not that your education was wrong. I just preferred wandering outside rather than studying.

That’s why scribbling with a nimble pen feels more natural to me than swinging a heavy axe thousands of times. No matter how much of a writer I may be, I am still the offspring of the barbarians of the north, right? Therefore, it seems you will have to bear reading the immature contents of this letter.

By the time you read this letter, I will have already arrived at one of the Bayorun territories. It means there isn’t much time left to return to the castle. What wonderful news.

Somehow my steps feel light. If Mother hears what I’ve been up to, I can imagine her surprised expression, which makes me burst into laughter. I want to share these proud achievements as soon as possible. My hand holding the pen is restless, but I will endure. I want to receive praise after meeting face to face.

For now, I hope you understand only the clear fact that I have cut down the trash aiming for Mother with Bayorun’s axe. Even the noble ones with high noses act like mere beggars when they meet their end. It was quite an enjoyable time.

The stories I will tell are full of things that Mother will appreciate. It was a fitting end for the worms who dared to covet the flowers on the unreachable cliffs.