The boy who loved wearing shirts has grown up. He now has more things on his mind and more responsibilities. The other day, after drinking with colleagues, he was originally in a good mood, but he started crying after getting drunk. Sitting in the car, looking at the streetlights and neon along the way, I knew this is a city of intoxicating luxury. Listening to his whimpering cries, my eyes also became moist. Life is not easy, even though being born and living are easy. I am a very sensitive person. When I see something bad happening to others, I can't help but relate it to myself. This is actually self-inflicted worry, but I can't stop thinking too much. When the slightly cool wind brushed against my face and hair, I suddenly remembered a boy - that skinny, dark-skinned boy who liked wearing white clothes.
I remember how he would hand me tissues from behind when I was crying, teasingly saying, "Stinky, stop crying." I remember how he would secretly give me the snacks other girls bought for him, saying, "Stinky, let's share them." I remember how he would scold the girl bullying me when I was in the right. I remember how he would make funny faces to make me laugh until I couldn't stop. I remember how he lent me money when I had none, and when I tried to pay him back, he said, "Stinky, we don't need to keep track of this." I remember how after I changed seats, he said, "Stinky, come home and visit often!" I remember how when I sat stubbornly in the last row by the window, he said, "Stinky, let me switch places with you. This side will be better."
I remember how sometimes he would change seats to sit behind me. I remember how he imitated my walk, turning it into an ancient palace maid's bow, then telling me, "Stinky, don't walk like that, it's not pretty." I remember how we ran home together after class, crazily playing around until we were caught by the teacher, feeling both scared and awkward. I remember how when I played well with other classmates, he would call them "white face," making me glare angrily at him. I remember how other girls always mentioned to me who he used to chase and how he liked someone else, while I just smiled lightly or pretended not to hear. I remember how when I was furiously drawing graffiti, he would say, "Stinky, are you upset?"
The clear smiles of memory appear in my mind. Recalling them during lonely times warms my heart, unrelated to love. Everyone has someone they think of in an instant, maybe it's love, maybe it's not. Some words were never spoken, but once said, we became strangers. I have been pondering a question: if people who don't know each other meet, get to know each other, become familiar and talk endlessly, there will definitely be some little episodes. But when these little episodes aren't perfect, we become strangers, no longer talking endlessly, no longer laughing freely, even avoiding each other. I know it's complicated, but since we've met, even if we can't compose a perfect little episode together, we are still much closer than strangers. If meeting leads to becoming strangers, talking endlessly leads to having nothing to say, familiarity leads to strangeness, and beauty leads to memories, then perhaps it would be better not to meet at all. Maybe I still can't understand that. Maybe I'm not mature, elegant, or sensible enough!
Now, when I think of you, it's like a warm cup of pearl milk tea in winter, comforting. When we meet again, we will smile silently. I haven't sat in the back rows for a long time, probably because I'm afraid of being overlooked! It's raining, someone says rain is the tears of angels, someone says rain is the soul of snow. I've passed the age of fantasy, I don't have such beautiful imaginations anymore. I only know that when it rains, my mood gets worse, and I feel inexplicable sadness, wanting to stay alone in a dark room thinking about the past and the future. I will also remember many people and events from the past. I know I should look forward, but I can't see the future. I can only look back at the road I've taken and the people and events I've encountered along the way, as an advertisement says, "In life's journey, what matters isn't the destination, but the scenery along the way and the people who appreciate it." Tomorrow is National Day. To all the people who have appeared in my life, whether we know each other or not, I wish you happiness and health. I think I should go out and take a walk. I used to love the prosperity and liveliness of big cities, but now I start liking remote and mysterious places, like Egypt, Lhasa, Mongolia. Riding horses galloping on the grassland should be a very happy and free thing. Visiting the magical Potala Palace, seeing the most beautiful Gesang flowers, if time and money allow, I think I will pack my bags and let my soul travel.
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