I really thought that by now, everything that had passed had already come to an end. But even now, after several times, there is still a trace of longing. It is probably because of this that I can escape from such disasters. Recently, I have come to understand that this is just a fantasy. Whether it brings more joy or more melancholy, I can't help but think about the autumn courtyard and the secluded lake that I haven't been to. It has nothing to do with being busy or refined. I used to think it was unique, but now I realize it's just ordinary. People often say that love and romance are nothing special, but they still ponder over it for a long time. Escaping is not as carefree as it seems, and being unable to escape is not as foolish as it seems. Even a wanderer who has traveled the world will eventually lead a simple life in a small courtyard under the setting sun, holding a thin horse. A fool who has written countless sad poems will eventually taste hot porridge and no longer toss and turn in bed. It's not about incense or besieging a city, and it's not difficult to describe being in the dust. Life is just about the rising and setting of the sun, waking and sleeping, and romance is not just about fleeting flowers and sweet words. Two bowls of soy milk and hot porridge in the morning, two cups of Tie Guan Yin at the right time in the morning, accompanied by silence, and gentle words in the evening, perhaps that's the best answer.
In the heart of a young person, how could the world be absent? And the more it comes, the more the wind, sea, and rain between the eyebrows, and the greenness in the heart 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 poetically is just a pastime, but now it has become the act of writing. The expectations of the past have become the persistence of the present, whether it is light or heavy, it is said out loud, and it will inevitably become dull.
Perhaps there have been some changes, but this kind of recognition will inevitably make people 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 desires. 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 did I feel lost" is resolved as "it doesn't matter if I feel melancholy," the purity and bravery in between no longer need any unnecessary words.
Thinking about how destiny can be interpreted, it is also waiting for the most suitable answer. Is it a dream or a good fate? Is it "a curtain of dreams under the moon at night, and 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"? Is it a surprise or a return? Is it "if life is only as it was when we first met, why bother with the sad wind and autumn fan" or "a golden basin pounding kui paper, plum blossoms painted on clothes covered in snow"? It is impossible to escape this calculation. I have experienced waiting at midnight with the eastern window turning white, and I have also passed by silently gazing at the western building with no one around. But now I have less resentment, less hatred, and I am tired of thinking about it. In the end, I have come to accept it. And even though I have accepted it, 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 able to predict destiny, but at least I will bravely move forward, hold on to purity, and it will not be in vain.
I remember very clearly the first time I tasted Tie Guan Yin. 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