In the diary of youth, who hasn’t written about pain? Yet no one wishes to revisit it, for Each page reveals unhealed scars, reminding us of sorrow and suffering. We can choose to forgive, but cannot turn a blind eye…
——Preface
Youth is an obscure diary, carried by time and guided by words, with purple lavender as its essence. We keep spinning in the whirlpool of time, watching it slip through our fingers. We experience joys and sorrows, taste the sweet and bitter, flip through anger and happiness, quietly singing at youth’s farewell feast. In the end, we can only hold onto old diaries, desperately piecing together fragmented memories, seeking those blurry figures, deceiving ourselves into thinking those people and events never really belonged to the past…
Friendship is pure white, offering the greatest support when we feel lost, sad, or helpless. Gradually, we come to rely on it wholeheartedly. When tired, hurt, weary, or weary, someone stands with us. True friends aren’t those who never quarrel, but those who can remain friends despite quarrels. Yet, we cannot give complete trust, always guarding this bond carefully, fearing that one day, even this sole reliance may vanish. Unable to grasp the true meaning of friendship, we cautiously persist, growing tired, seeking our initial support, only to find that warmth has gradually turned cold in our ignorance… We cry, curling up alone in corners, burying our faces, over and over again. Later, we learn to pretend to be strong, to act nonchalant, to hide vulnerability with a smile. We look up at the blue sky, holding back tears, forcing ourselves to ignore the pain, letting our hearts bleed. We begin to close ourselves off, hide our true feelings, wear masks, simply because we fear being hurt again, fear experiencing heartache once more…
Perhaps wearing a mask causes us to miss out, but at least it spares us from severe pain, we deceive ourselves into thinking…
Ultimately, we are timid, afraid of losing, afraid of getting hurt, afraid of separation.
