In my memory, the village was always bustling with activity. The villagers always worked together in the fields, gathered to cultivate the land, and then celebrated together. It was an incredibly harmonious era. That golden age in my heart disappeared more than a decade ago, and it's gone forever. I don't know if it will ever return. We all miss it, we all long for it, but perhaps it doesn't know.
Ten years have passed. For ten years, we haven't sat together and talked like this. Although the night is cold, so cold that tears freeze, it still brings a touch of warmth compared to that lost harmony and beauty. Even though he passed away in his prime, it's only because we're keeping vigil for him that we have this gathering.
Many people are here, and many are gone, but that doesn't stop us from chatting. Topics are the resources that rural people are best at extracting—from someone getting rich to a mouse hiding in a hole. Anything that happens immediately becomes a hot topic in the village. This is the biggest characteristic of rural people—the truth can never be hidden. In stark contrast to this characteristic are city dwellers, who are indifferent and unperturbed by even the biggest events. However, there is one thing that city dwellers and rural people have in common: making money. Making money seems to be the most scientifically innovative thing in the world. In this era, it's easier to ascend to heaven than to descend to earth; who has ever thought that anything could lead to death more easily than making money? As the saying goes, "Man dies for wealth, birds die for food." When people die, they must be buried; isn't burial simply going to the earth? This makes people truly pitiful, lamentable, and tragic.
And so, everyone gathered together, discussing the topic of burial. They said that this generation of young people is dying too early and too quickly. In recent years, the elderly have lived healthy lives, and several people in their prime have passed away one after another, without any warning, without any pain, just a fleeting moment. They lamented the meaninglessness of life, how the toil of day and night ends without knowing when it will quietly pass away, without even a moment's rest, let alone enjoyment. Perhaps this is human destiny—don't think about when to enjoy life, because there may never be time to enjoy it, and besides, living a tiring life without hard work is meaningless. Even so, the helplessness of separation and death is still incredibly painful.
Like those young people who have left the village in such a hurry these past few years, no one knows what the world will throw at them at that moment, because they left without even realizing it. Besides the goods they bought, what did they leave behind for the world?
Cherish the time you have together, because no one knows what will happen next. Life has no high or low status, being busy is fine too; goodbye may be goodbye forever.
I envy my internship days; compared to today's era where it's easy to lose your normal life routine, I think that was the happiest time. Early to bed and early to rise is good for your health, but many people rise early these days, not everyone goes to bed early. And that early rising is probably done in secret. Is the loss of a normal life the cause of some illnesses? Illness is the most destructive thing for a person's body. At 42, a strong, healthy, and spirited man was suddenly turned to a skeleton and a dried-up corpse by a sudden illness.
These past few days, I've been fortunate enough to find my internship rhythm again, truly waking up early and going to bed early, and truly working and resting on time. These days are the days of my sister's house renovation and housewarming. Housewarming day should have been an incredibly lively and joyful occasion, but too many wandering eyes ultimately couldn't hold onto the fleeting arrivals and departures. They say fate brings people together even from a thousand miles away, but fate, once it arrives, is hard to define. The hard-won reunion couldn't overcome the pressure of the journey. Ten years ago, gatherings were hampered by a lack of food; ten years later, the problem is leftovers, so much so that even the family dog won't eat them. Ten years ago, gatherings with relatives and friends were filled with long, leisurely conversations, sharing beds and enjoying themselves without end; ten years later, in large buildings, no one wants to linger.
It's raining, and she carries her one-year-old child, trudging through the mud for miles along mountain paths to prepare fireworks for the housewarming, because the host is her dear older sister. Her sister says, "Why bother? The rain has made the roads slippery, and with a child on your back, what if you fall or bump into something?" She asked where her sisters were. At that moment, I felt selfish and heartbroken, because I didn't know if there was anything else behind her actions besides family ties. Wouldn't it have been better to just sit down and chat happily? Had this become meaningless or difficult? Perhaps this is the suffering of being human, a suffering that seems to overstep the bounds of life.
In recent years, there have been more and more competitive TV programs in China, and more and more actors and guests are shedding tears. This isn't the important thing; what's important is that the tears are becoming more and more genuine. This gives me a bad impression of these programs: sentimentality is their hallmark. I always feel that some things should be said, so why shed tears and whine? If that's the case, it's best not to say anything. Often, tears only bring temporary sympathy from others, which seems to carry a sense of pleading. Begging for pity only makes one appear weak. Any difficulty can only be faced alone, and overcoming it mainly depends on oneself. Others can't even offer any help. Even if you cry secretly, isn't that better? At least you're showing others your strongest side. All of this made me suddenly hate myself at that moment, just like I couldn't stand those who publicly revealed their sad stories and wept uncontrollably on stage. I seemed to realize that some things are beyond my control. It seems that some things I see and hear are best kept quietly in my heart. Whether they are true or not, perhaps one day I will understand. This way, there will be less confusion and unnecessary arguments, and my heart will be calm and open.
I was busy at my desk as usual. This was the busiest I had been since I started my internship, and it would also be the last time I was so busy. This time, I didn't do my usual afternoon reading with the students because I was rushing to leave them messages. This was my busiest thing. I wasn't busy grading their homework, nor was I busy with my own studies. It would have been better to spend a little more time with them, but I was afraid I wouldn't have time to say goodbye to them, and I was even more afraid that this fleeting moment wouldn't leave us with any memories. Therefore, I could only choose to record the bits and pieces of this time in writing. I had so much to say, but my hands trembled uncontrollably, as if possessed, making it almost impossible to write. Time was running out; the end of these two short classes would mean I was no longer their student teacher—and that would be forever! I was terrified, indescribably terrified, more terrified than I had ever been before. My vision blurred. They came to my office one after another to look at me, but I didn't dare look them in the eye. I didn't hear their usual cheerful laughter when they saw me; this time, there was a heavy silence, even their playful, light footsteps were heavy. I was afraid I would cry, so I told them to wait for me in the classroom. I told them I had to show them one last video, and besides, I hadn't finished writing the students' comments. Teacher Li wouldn't sneak away. They had never been so silent before, never so disobedient. When they looked up inadvertently, their swollen, red eyes filled the room. At this moment, I felt all the reluctance and sorrow welling up inside me, leaving me speechless despite my overflowing emotions. Though I tightly held back my tears, my heart was breaking with anguish.
Even as this overwhelming weight relentlessly tore at my will, I gripped my pen tightly, painstakingly writing each stroke, one by one. I knew my time with them was running out; I had to write until the very last moment. At that moment, I finally understood what regret was: regret was being able to hold onto them tighter in this final moment, except through these silent words. Time was running out; I could only pray that these words would leave behind some memory. I believed I could hold back my tears, the endless words surging within me. I believed I could control the scene of parting. Carrying the memories I had written with them, clutching the notebook I had prepared for them, I dragged my heavy steps toward the classroom.
Whether time flies or not, I think it depends on the context. For example, for someone rushing to catch a flight, being even a second late to the airport feels like an eternity; they'll be annoyed at the potential delay. But for someone about to leave this world, the last minute is an unbearable, even unthinkable, agony. That minute flies by like a shooting star, filled with helplessness, impossible to grasp and even harder to see. In that one minute, I silently moved into the classroom, stood on the podium, and mustered my courage to look at my students. What met my eyes were faces blurred with tears. I had to speak quickly; speaking now might be better than silence in controlling the tears. I glanced at my students, at my pure and sincere younger siblings, and then back at the notebook I was holding up. "Classmates, this notebook is..." In that one minute, my dear younger siblings couldn't control their emotions and burst into tears. Their cries were like rolling waves crashing against my heavy heart. I still had so much to say to them. I couldn't cry; I had to keep talking. But suddenly, I found my throat choked with emotion, unable to utter a word. No matter how hard I tried, my throat offered not even a shred of sympathy. Tears streamed down my face like a bursting flood. We couldn't grasp or see clearly this one minute; everything passed too quickly and came too fast. Besides being unable to grasp or see clearly, this one minute couldn't express the helplessness and longing of parting. Perhaps it was impossible to express it at all. Perhaps the greatest pain in the world is this moment of impending separation—a chaotic and discordant tapestry of helplessness and despair.
Although sometimes the arguments were annoying, saying goodbye might mean never seeing each other again, never seeing each other again in this lifetime. If we meet again, where will we be? Will he be able to say my name? He said everything will change.
Occasionally, looking at those gifts engraved with reluctance and longing, opening those pure and sincere, youthful words, I still blush silently, more or less, sometimes outwardly, sometimes inwardly.
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