Living in this world, we are constantly intertwining with everything around us. Crowds flow incessantly, and thoughts rarely come to a halt. Just like the alternation of day and night, the cycles of parting and reunion, affection and indifference, acceptance and rejection—everything eventually leads to a conclusion: we find peace with the world.
Whenever I stand at a station, the wind blowing against me stirs a desire to fly. Perhaps every departure and every return carries a certain level of longing. Where there are people, there is sound; yet in the depths of a settled heart, one carries only the simplest of luggage. Life on the road is both long and short—long enough that the boundaries of time seem invisible, yet short enough to be defined only by dawn and dusk.
Bell-bottoms have become popular among the crowds again, reminding me of those years when I wore them, played the guitar, and watched "Volleyball Girls." In those days, riding bicycles, with boys whistling nearby, long hair and long skirts, eyes filled with hope. Love and friendship meant everything; we would talk with female friends all night long. One could stand by a bridge or sit on the grass, lost in a book. Many years later, I suddenly find myself not wanting to be alone. Maturity is about blending smoothly into the crowd, though the appreciation for solitude was perhaps even stronger in my youth.
I wonder if the boy who climbed to a high rooftop just to catch a glimpse of his crush will, at some point, miss that raw emotion. Because of youth, we are reckless; even our affection is portrayed with earth-shaking intensity. But as we come to understand, we become more reserved, moving through life quietly and gracefully without making a scene.
An elderly grandmother once said that every time she draws the curtains, she tells herself, "It is another day." In youth, time seems endless; we can be mischievous, make mistakes, and act as if we have infinite chances to start over. In old age, time feels fleeting, slipping through our fingers like the path of aging. We can no longer withstand the storms of life; we can only wait quietly for the stability of the years.
In a flash, ten years have passed. A colleague handed me a note, dated 2007. In truth, they had been by my side even earlier. How many people can stay with us, providing steady support day after day for ten years? Love requires no words between us. Having a few partners to walk through life with is truly the most reassuring warmth in this world.
Too many things cannot be measured by money. Humans are superior to all other things because we possess emotions. A soul that never runs dry is fueled by the awakening of these emotions. Both love and hate deserve respect; as long as we give of ourselves, we do not fret over gains or losses. To dare to give and to love life is the most beautiful emotion.
Moving from one place to another is merely a journey; moving from life to death is merely an experience. When we think of those who warmed our hearts, every detail is worth remembering. Those who once brought warmth to us deserve to be cherished. The more abundant the inner self, the more tranquil the outer appearance becomes. We see, we witness, we understand, we perceive, and eventually, we let go.
April always brings a season of green, transitioning from light to deep shades. Some branches hold tender new leaves, while others bloom amidst lush greenery. The rapeseed flowers that brushed past us a few days ago have now set seed, leaving only scattered yellow blossoms. Spring is deep, and everything is beautiful. In daily life, one hand holds the light of a thousand-year-old lamp, while the other holds a devotion to the written word. In the midst of the mortal world's bustle, the essence of human life remains essential. What is left on the page is often the blooming of flowers, the rising of wind, the brightness of the moon, and the falling of snow.
We are like old vines winding around the branches of time, deeply absorbing nourishment from silent roots. We nurture the complexities of the passing days, moving forward steadily, step by step. Frivolity is washed away through the process of settling down. Even hands carrying vegetables can possess a poetic heart. Life cannot exist without a poetic soul; no matter how busy we are, we must learn to face it with composure.
Yesterday's snow was like flowers; today's flowers are like snow. Mountain cherries are like beauties, though their bloom is fleeting. In mid-April, the cherry blossoms bloom brilliantly, stunning time itself. That posture of blooming without hesitation touches the heart, allowing us to feel the warmth of the spirit. Bloom without hesitation, fall naturally and gracefully; even if brief, be brilliant, and strive to be extraordinary.
In the mountains in April, charcoal fires scent the spring. The wind carries grass seeds, covering the ground in green. Fine rain moistens the moss, leaving crystal droplets on tender leaves. Walking up the steps, one finds freshness everywhere. Mist rises from the water's surface, making the distant green mountains appear hazy. In some homes, fragrant cured meats are being stewed. People gather around tables, some enjoying a small drink, others feasting heartily. Life is a series of connections, sometimes boisterous and sometimes quiet. I love the warmth of this mortal world, and I love the misty beauty upon the water. It is within reach, and a joy to pursue.
April's rain is particularly lingering and soft, bringing a gentle coolness that accompanies the growth of the season. Cities and villages alike silently write the anthem of life amidst the seasonal rains. Someone once said, "I pluck the peach branches, but you praise the purity of the pear blossoms." Indeed, we all have regrets for what we missed, confusion for what we didn't understand, and tears for what we couldn't accept. In the end, these become the background colors of our time.
