About ten years ago, Chow Yun-fat starred in a movie titled "God of Gamblers." There is a scene that remains vivid in my memory: during a fight, the character played by "Chow Yun-fat" loses his legs and is forced into a wheelchair. He had been constantly trying to avoid the woman he loved. One day, she unexpectedly arrived at his residence and stood before him. He froze for a moment, then immediately spun his wheelchair around to face away from her. Moments later, he swiftly turned back to face her, a smile spreading across his face—a smile as warm and charming as late autumn sunshine. Did the woman weep? I don't recall. But if it were me, I would certainly have been moved to tears at that moment—moved by that brief interplay of strength and vulnerability.
Life is much the same. Sometimes, all we need is a turn, just a few minutes to catch our breath, a tiny adjustment, or a momentary pause, so that we can calmly transform the sorrow in our hearts into a smile on our faces.
I once read an essay by a female writer titled "Not Helping." She described a rainy day when she saw a well-dressed woman trip on the street. She chose not to help, fearing it might cause the woman embarrassment or make her feel even more awkward. Much like that "turn" in the movie, in just a few seconds, the woman was able to stand up composedly and continue her journey.
Yet, many times, well-meaning people refuse to grant us the time and freedom to turn away. They insist on probing into everything, leaving us nowhere to hide. Consequently, we are forced to let our tears flow openly and expose our vulnerability and unworthiness to others—which, ironically, only intensifies our pain.
Sometimes, a person truly needs a turn, to grieve alone without being disturbed.
