11/01/2023
That’s my memory of winter before middle school.
I always went to the unique public bathhouse in the north after coming home from school every Friday. Carrying a bag of bathing supplies alone, I would always deliberately step on all the snow that could wet the uppers of my shoes. The smell of damp wood was emitted in the sauna, and the water vapor was also of quality.
I liked to eat fruits at such times; apples, grapefruits, or sugar oranges that have been floating in the bathtub for a long time. The cold plant juice that slipped from between my fingers would mix with the hot water and flow through the skin on my chest, causing a slight shiver.
The bathhouse was always lively, filled with middle-aged women chatting loudly and children making noises, but my corner was quiet. I always quietly immersed myself in my imagination at such moments. Who wants me to see the sunshine coming in from that extremely high window? Who can embrace me in this water vapor? Who will watch my figure walking alone through the snow and capture the fragments of my existence?
When I was still young at that time, at any similar noisy moment, I felt that the corner I was in was private, because the corner of my thoughts only belonged to me.
Every sound, every smell, every sensation, they want me to feel. I close my eyes. They want me to feel.
09/16/2023
I had two cups of wine on my ANA flight home. It was the kind of wine that tasted really awful. Just like the low-quality alcohol you could drink at a wedding banquet in a small town during childhood, it was the kind of astringency and bitterness that can make your tongue instinctively remember, but the alcohol content is very high. So after drinking one cup, I pretended completely sober, and asked the flight attendant for a second cup calmly.
I am someone who likes to write nonsense words that only I can understand. I like to play word games with myself, I like to trap myself. All my existence is not about me, but my words are only about me.
It’s just like once I posted a moment on my Douban account a long time ago, “Why the fuck are you writing? Stream of consciousness is a fucking harm for fucking humans”.
11/01/2022
I have always had a feeling since I was little, maybe an illusion, but I can realize the moments in my blood that resonate with those connections. Often when I do a common action in daily life, I can’t help but wonder if there’s another person who’s doing the same action as me, in this world, at this moment. Maybe at 12 o’clock on one day in 2008, maybe at the same moment in countless different spaces, there are countless versions of me with different looks, different genders, and different ages, all tightened hard on the transparent fishing line at one end of my neck, but before the last moment came, we all calmly let it go as if nothing happened, and then turned around and went to our different destinations.
In fact, I am a repressed me. Repressed emotions, repressed desires, and repressed dark side. I longed for myself, killing myself, replacing myself. I long to use the dark side of everyone in the world, the dark side of the person I love, to destroy me, breathing me out like a sigh. I have been living below the surface of the lake. In front of everyone, I am just my reflection reflected through the surface of the lake. What is the real me like? What am I like when I have no restraint and no scruples? At that time, the fishing line may have broken through my neck, and peeled off my skin. I was the only one among the lives in the matrix that was programmed with the same details that deviated from the program. Because at that moment, the fishing line had broken in my heart. Therefore I have long ceased to be life.
I am me, I am no longer me.
10/18/2020
I remember that two years ago, I took a midnight bus to the Bund to see the Huangpu River at three in the morning, even though I had actually been there many times during the day. That may be the least crowded moment, but there were still sporadic people jogging.
The station of the transfer bus was very cold and only designated drivers still showed up at that time, pulling the folding scooter and waiting beside me in silence.
A cat looked at me from a distance for a long while and finally ran away.
I watched the floor-to-ceiling windows of the closed shopping mall reflect it running away. It was probably warm enough inside, but I don’t know where it ran to spend the winter that day.
I went to Lawson and bought two hazelnut chocolates, which seemed to be the only thing I could eat in a day and a half.
I lost my way on South Tibet Road, and then stopped at South Henan Road. On the way, I saw young people talking and laughing together in twos and threes at the entrance of nightclubs.
I don’t know what I went to see that day, or where I wanted to go.
Probably, I just wanted to see the lights above the Huangpu River, and there was no one above the lights.
01/21/2017
Life is so cruel. I don’t know what is fascinating at this moment, maybe it’s the dusk falling at the end of the railway, maybe it’s the silk blossom falling on your hair at that time, maybe it’s just you, all the unknown, the last grand death.