This is an anonymized experience record that has undergone risk screening and language refinement; the original author's identity, location, or identifiable details are not preserved.
The "Poet" on the Construction Site: When Sober, He's a Different Person
At a construction site near Hangzhou Bay, there's a remarkable man nearing fifty. Standing 1.8 meters tall, he speaks with refined elegance, demonstrates considerable knowledge, and treats others with humble generosity, carrying an air of chivalrous integrity. His coworkers say when sober, he appears tall and steady—reliable in work and revealing cultural depth in conversations that draws people to him.
Yet behind this "normalcy" lies a well-kept secret. He goes by the pseudonym Sa Beimin, originally from Northeast China before settling in Sanmenxia, Henan, then leaving home to work at distant construction sites. Years of unresolved family conflicts weigh on him, with all his sorrows buried deep. He admits carrying hundreds of pounds of unspoken bitterness—nowhere to confide, no outlet for release.
A Glass in Hand, a Different Person Emerges
Sa's relationship with alcohol isn't simply about "liking to drink." The moment he picks up a glass, he transforms. He won't stop until physically numb, repeatedly insisting he's not drunk while red-eyed—tears indistinguishable from exhaustion—laughing and crying uncontrollably. Emotions suppressed for years during sobriety erupt when intoxicated. He becomes fierce and impulsive, as if recognizing and trusting no one.
Others criticize his alcoholism and drunken behavior, but few understand the anguish beneath. Hard liquor isn't his preference—it's become this weathered man's sole emotional outlet. A lifetime of stories and grievances finds momentary relief only through solitary drinking, digesting decades of rootless wandering.
"Life Is Just Like This"—The Sigh Hidden in Liquor
When drunk, Sa often turns poetic, repeating one phrase most frequently: "Life is just like this, ah, life is just like this." Detached from worldly affairs, he openly states he's long disregarded life and death—it wouldn't matter if he died unexpectedly while drifting abroad, as "everywhere is home." This "nothing matters" attitude leaves those around him both heartbroken and helpless.
Doctors have warned him to quit drinking, but alcohol's pull extends far beyond physical dependence. It serves as a temporary refuge from life's crushing weight. Yet after each binge, sober remorse and powerlessness return, creating an unbreakable cycle.
The Hardest Part: Not Knowing When the Next Episode Will Strike
For Sa's family, the greatest difficulty isn't the drinking itself—it's the unpredictability of his next breakdown. When sober, everything seems normal; but one sip can shatter all progress instantly. This uncertainty keeps family members in prolonged tension and anxiety.
Sa's story isn't unique. Among migrant workers, many carry similar burdens: unresolved family conflicts, financial pressures, the loneliness of separation from loved ones. When these emotions find no outlet, alcohol becomes the most accessible "remedy"—and the most dangerous trap.
Perhaps we should ask: How much unspoken pain lies behind that frequent drunken lament, "Life is just like this"? Are we willing to spare more time to listen to the stories behind such silence?
Learn how to support family members struggling with alcohol
Behind drinking problems often lie unseen emotional wounds and unrelieved pressure.