I did think that by now, it would have all passed and gone, and with just a few fragments left, it would have allowed me to escape from this disaster. But recently, it has become clear that this is just a fantasy, whether it brings more joy or more melancholy in the autumn courtyard and the secluded lake that I have not yet visited, I can't help but think about it involuntarily, and involuntarily recall what has not yet happened. This has nothing to do with busyness or elegance. I used to think it was unique, but it turns out to be very ordinary. People often say that the wind and moon are nothing special, but it is something that people talk about and think about for a long time. To be able to escape is not as carefree as it seems, and not being able to escape is not as foolish as it seems. The wanderer may roam the ends of the earth, but in the end, they will lead a thin horse into a small courtyard hidden under the sunset. The fool may write countless sad poems and words of sorrow, but in the end, they will taste hot porridge and no longer have trouble sleeping. It's not about incense and besieged cities, and being in the dust is not as difficult to describe. Life is just the rising and setting of the sun, the waking and sleeping, and romance is not just a momentary flower and sweet words. Two bowls of soy milk and hot porridge in the morning, two cups of Tie Guan Yin in the morning, accompanied by silence, evening whispers, perhaps that is the better answer.
In the heart of a young person, how can the rivers and lakes be absent? And the more it comes, the more the wind, sea, and rain between the eyebrows, and the greenness in the arms, are not worn out by firewood and silver. I still think and act the same way as before, but I just don't talk about it as much. Speaking with a poetic tone, but it's just a casual conversation from the past, turned into the strokes of the present, turning past expectations into present perseverance, whether it's light or heavy, it's just saying it, it will inevitably become dull.
Perhaps there have been some changes, but this kind of recognition also makes people inevitably feel emotional again. I have never believed in gods, and I have never thought about destiny before. But as time goes by, I increasingly discover how Zheng Jiaofu felt at that time. The prayers and hopes in my heart naturally turned into expectations and hopes. Love poems and love words no longer feel as gentle and romantic as the heavenly way and destiny. And yet, I feel fortunate. When "this love can be turned into memories" becomes "directly expressing lovesickness is useless", and "only at that time was I desolate" is reconciled as "it doesn't matter if I feel melancholy, it's just a light madness", the purity and bravery in between no longer need any unnecessary words.
Thinking about how destiny can be interpreted, it is also waiting for something that is more suitable. Is it a fantasy or a good fate? Is it "a dream under the moon at night, a gentle feeling in the spring breeze for ten miles" or "standing with you at dusk in leisure time, laughing and asking if the porridge is warm in front of the stove"? Is it a surprise or a return? Is it "if life were only like the first time we met, why bother with the sad wind and autumn painting fan" or "crushing green paper in a golden basin, plum blossoms painted on clothes, snow covering the body"? It is impossible to escape this calculation. I have also experienced waiting at midnight with a white windowpane, and passing by a silent lonely shadow to gaze at the western building. But now, I have less resentment, less hatred, and I am tired of bitter thoughts. I have come to understand. And even though I understand, it doesn't mean I have to correct it. It is still a deep longing, a deep hope. I am not a god, nor am I capable of predicting destiny, but at least I will bravely continue to move forward, and with a sense of purity, I will continue to cherish. It will not be in vain.
I remember very clearly the first time I tasted Tie Guan Yin tea. It was difficult to understand its taste, but now I can't do without it. But who taught me to be like this? It's probably not just me.
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The original link is https://nishikori.tech/posts/prose/2022-12-18