This is a theme that explores the relationship between mother and daughter. My inspiration comes from an old sweater that my mother knitted for me, and I have many such sweaters in my childhood. On every ordinary afternoon, my mother knits while i wind the yarn, and the ball of yarn that rolls on the ground getting smaller and smaller, this scens was like the most stable triangle. This image runs through my entire childhood and is also a daily part of my mother's life. On the day my mother passed away, I didn't cry until I packed my bags and saw an old sweater with the yarn unraveled. At that moment, I realized that the woman who knitted sweaters for me every day could finally break free from the identity of "mother" and seek her own path. I felt happy for her. In the opening of Albert Camus' "The Stranger," the protagonist also did not cry at his mother's funeral and was labeled "cold-blooded and ruthless" by others. This made me think, is our relationship with our parents supposed to be expressed through seemingly filial expressions based on societal norms, or should it be like parents who are awkward saying "I love you," however, silently weaving love and warmth for us through time and companionship?

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