That Forgotten Morning Exercise

     Recently, my company organized a sports meet, and I signed up for the men's 200-meter race. At the awards ceremony, like most others, I received an encouragement award and a prize. In any competition, survival of the fittest is a natural law. I can accept this; those who place receive the big prizes, and I can remain calm and unenvious. It's perfectly reasonable for others to receive such honors due to their hard work and extra effort.

    However, the exclusive enjoyment of such honors dates back many years. Back then, I was in junior high school and loved long-distance running. For the annual sports meet, I would consistently run five kilometers every morning for a month or two beforehand. If time allowed, I would run forty or fifty laps around the 200-meter track in the evening. As a result, I won the school's 1500-meter race every year, and the certificate was displayed in my home every year. Back then, classmates from all three grades knew who the champion was as soon as they saw me on the track. That confidence and glory ultimately had a good ending. Because I defeated nearly twenty teams and hundreds of athletes in the county-wide junior high school sports meet, I won the men's 1500-meter championship again.

    Later, this hobby ended with the passing of high school life. Perhaps it was due to the increased pressure of studying, perhaps it was due to being further away from home, perhaps it was because I lost the perseverance and tenacity of my youth, or perhaps it was due to my increasing laziness. In short, those days are gone forever.

    From high school until now, I have never done morning exercises. I spend my time either studying in the classroom, working in the office, or busy commuting even when I don't need to. It seems that life lacks a passion, a transformation that can extend from struggle, which has led to my sudden appearance of a potbelly. Exhaustion seems to be depleted during work hours,

    and my energy can only be partially restored during holidays, allowing me to sleep day and night. I know no one likes such days, but such days often belong to many people. I miss the past, not because I am old, or because it is too long ago. It is because those were carefree days, because those were passionate and spirited days. I miss the past because it validated my efforts. I miss the past because today's version of myself has lost to that past self. I miss the past because the boy full of rural charm is gone, leaving behind a weary middle-aged man. I miss the past because my strong muscles have become bloated with the laziness of time!

    Perhaps this passion can only be found when I meet with nature, for it has long been obscured by my weary journey. Some say my tenacity and passion are still there, just not in the realm of sports and fitness, but transferred to my writing. I've lost the joy of the past, but gained the interests of today. Some say this is a transition to maturity. But I'm not happy, because I was at least happy before, but not now. I don't see my writing style in the complex world. Some say I'm not carefree or frank enough, and I admit I'm not ideal in that respect. Because no one's life is a smooth journey; hardship is the true meaning of life.

    How many people's lives are filled with constant changes in people and events, how many people's lives are filled with changing careers amidst the unpredictability of life. How many people spend their lives constantly adjusting their direction and ideals? And how many spend their entire lives without realizing their long-cherished dreams? I am but a part of this world, possessing neither extraordinary talent nor any external support to pave the way for my material life. Everything depends on myself, and everything originates from myself. My ordinariness is my starting point, my efforts are my motivation, and my goals are my direction.

    Like the company sports meet, others' honors and rewards are the result of their hard work. We don't need to envy or be jealous. What we can and should do is reflect. No matter what you were in the past, or what you have achieved, at least you are nothing now. Because your past glory cannot prove anything to the present. If you need to prove something, show others the strength that surpasses your past glory—that is crucial.

    Think about it, what I have lost is passion, fighting spirit, goals, and habits. All I possess is confusion, decadence, despondency, and poor health. Perhaps all of this should be attributed to that forgotten morning exercise!

Rainy Night Musings

     The pattering rain caressed the loneliness of spring. I love the feeling of spring rain, because I always feel it can wash away all sorrow. Listening to the patter of the rain, I just want to immerse myself in the world of rain, to calm myself down, to be even calmer.

    Undoubtedly, I love the rain; perhaps that love is innate. Rainy days are also when I most easily let my mind wander. When it rains, time and space are colorful; the scent of earth mingles with the fragrance of roses, and the moist air soothes a restless heart.

    Everyone has their own little thoughts on this rainy night. But once the window is closed, all thoughts are immediately imprisoned. So I begin to imagine, to imagine that freedom, to imagine the true nature of humanity.

    Summer rain arrives with thunder and lightning, so breathtaking; autumn rain always carries a touch of coolness in the chilly autumn wind; winter rain, needless to say, freezes into ice blocks before it even hits the ground, striking your forehead directly. Spring rain, however, is different. It's so delicate, so soft, so gentle on the spring leaves, and reddening the summer flowers. Spring rain has a spirit; it can sense the breath of every life, and then kiss the forehead of every life with its lips. So, even the vibrant roses shyly lower their heads, and the clover in the garden vie for spring's embrace, as if waiting for the baptism of life, welcoming the next rebirth.

    I don't know if this rain can still be considered spring rain, because the fleeting time tells us that summer began just a few days ago. Time always flies by so quickly. This time last year, I was still sitting behind a desk piled high with exam papers, writing furiously! This time last year, I probably didn't even know this city! This time last year, I was still living a life of ease, with everything handed to me! But in the blink of an eye, a train ticket has brought me to this brand new city. Everything before has become a luxury only enjoyed during holidays, some even forever lost.

    Time marches on, but some memories are truly gone forever. Like things washed clean by spring rain, they are refreshed when the sun comes out. Yesterday's dust is just smoke and clouds; the past is frozen in time, forever called the past. If photographs could help us remember the past, I would love to use a camera to record every little detail of life. But life is fluid; a still photograph can never keep up with our flowing footsteps and swirling thoughts. Fortunately, there is a word called "experience." Because we have experienced, we understand that we don't need to record it; we know it's the reason for our actions.

    Sometimes we blame society for being too realistic, but perhaps our fantasies are too beautiful! Like wishing this drizzle would never stop, continuing aimlessly forever. Undoubtedly, that's impossible. Yes, nothing is more beautiful than a fleeting moment. Indeed, a fleeting moment is the most beautiful word of time; even the most beautiful things will eventually disappear. We have no right to demand that the world change for us, nor any reason to. The only thing we can do is to make ourselves better and stronger!

    Every night, I am alone in contemplation. I reflect on the past and dream about the not-too-distant future. Then I compose myself and wait for the next dawn.

    The sound of rain outside the window is extremely faint; perhaps the glass absorbs it. But listening to the rain on such a quiet night, and then capturing that sound in words, isn't it a pleasure in itself? I'm grateful for every rainy night that allows me to quiet down and reflect on the day's events.

    The rain is misty, the rain is pattering; I wonder what you are doing in every corner of the world right now, whether you are listening to the spring rain like me?

    This is a fast-paced era, but we should slow down from time to time, give our hearts a break, like now, quietly savor life, and then regroup and head to the next stop… Are you     also listening to the rain

    on this misty night

    in a corner of the world     …

Like floating dust

     When the small town of Weibei was shrouded in thick fog after several days of continuous rain, I rushed back from Xi'an because my mother needed surgery. I spent three days in the county Red Cross Hospital, which had been relocated.

    During those three days, I witnessed countless seriously ill patients being wheeled into the emergency room, weary caregivers sitting on benches in the corridors, and the rural children these caregivers brought with them. These children ran and played in the corridors, weaving under the beds. The caregivers, either as ignorant as the children or too preoccupied to care for their own children, let these children, who saw the world as their playground, frolic in this germ-infested hospital. And the embarrassment and helplessness of them, driven by nurses or doctors, sweating profusely as they went to register here and pay there, only to be refused by the hospital cashiers because they didn't have enough money, are deeply etched in my heart. After everything was settled, one of them carried a cup thickly stained with tea stains, the other held a leftover cold fried dough stick from the morning's meal. They drank plain water, ate the cold dough stick, watched their child running around freely, and waited to be called to the ward at any moment. Perhaps they didn't realize that their diet at that moment was actually eroding their health. And perhaps they, like my parents, defined "health" as simply the absence of immediate discomfort. Little did they know how many illnesses already existed beneath this apparent comfort, simply because they lacked the money or time for checkups. Thus, a small oversight can lead to a serious illness, just like that cold fried dough stick and that cup of plain water. If, for the caregiver, they had successfully cared for the patient but then, through their own diet, became a patient themselves, it would be a great misfortune. Of course, I'm not cursing anyone; I'm merely an observer with sympathy, because I am also a caregiver

    for a patient. No one wants to go to the hospital willingly, except perhaps doctors and pregnant women nearing delivery. (They suffer for new life, for the joyful anticipation.) As for the others, they are all helplessly passive. Life is sometimes like this: some things you don't want to do, but the die is cast. Some things you want to do, and try your best to do, but are just a step away. Looking at those wards, those rows of wards, those lives tormented by illness, those lives struggling between care and support, now lying in wards, those lives where minor illnesses have accumulated into major ones, and whose families are pleading with the hospital for more time to raise the medical expenses. Life, at this moment, becomes the first thing people pursue, whether the rich in luxurious rooms or the poor in ordinary rooms.

    Life is a state; a body without a soul is just a living body, a body without life is just a corpse waiting to be buried. Life may be a speck of dust in the world, drifting between birth and death. When life comes, it rises silently; when life ends, it settles back to the earth.

Immersed in the charm of "ancient tea"

     A gentle sound, like drifting clouds, is it a dulcimer? Interspersed with the sound of a mountain spring; a mountain spring? Interspersed with the sound of a dulcimer. The melodious and crisp sounds create the true essence of "ancient tea," and in this space, the words "ancient tea" float in.

    The half-full tray of tea, the few green bamboo branches, the vibrant green, the bubbling of the brown teapot—the aroma of the tea seems almost tangible, its delicate fragrance almost palpable. The ancient words "ancient tea" vanish in this illusion, while the swirling steam of the tea clearly creates a hazy history, bringing forth traces of the past.

    A desolate ancient road, withered trees battered by frost, endless yellow sand, a distant grandeur—it's as if I see the might of Qin, the majesty of Han, the grandeur of Tang, and the splendor of Song. I clearly hear the majestic lines of Emperor Gaozu striking the zither, "The wind rises, the clouds fly; where are the brave warriors to guard the four directions?" I also clearly see Genghis Khan—that proud son of heaven emerging from the dust!

    A thousand years of solitude, dried into a handful of ancient tea… In the rhythm of the song, it's as if I hear the vigor of ancient China and see the origin of modern China. That historical essence is the spirit of my yesterday; that spirit of yesterday is the root of my today.

    The song, lingering and resonant, rises powerfully, its overlapping notes bringing the evolution of history back to life. The large character for "tea" at the beginning, the accompanying dragon totem, clearly immerses me in the profound and ancient culture of tea in my nation.

    As I savored the tea, the ancient charm of music, chess, calligraphy, and painting gradually emerged in gentle harmony, immersing me in its beauty: How wonderful this picture is! How delightful this feeling! How profound this sentiment! How enchanting this scene!

    A light, ethereal sound, like drifting clouds—is it a dulcimer? And there's also the sound of a mountain spring—is it a mountain spring? And there's also the sound of a dulcimer. The melodious and crisp sounds stirred my endless thoughts, and then, with a touch of melancholy, my thoughts drifted away with the ancient melody…

About life

     I've always wanted to write about my insights into life, but in this bustling world, I always feel that I'm not good at reflecting on or understanding such philosophical truths.

    What is life really like? Perhaps we can understand and comprehend it in a moment, or perhaps it takes a lifetime to see through it. Living in this world, we inevitably endure the disturbances of worldly affairs.

    Have we ever complained about all the unfairness? So what? Survival of the fittest, a universal and profound truth. In a society driven by material interests, the relationship between people is tainted with the stench of money.

    I don't understand life. I only understand living without regrets. Sometimes we should see the true nature of this world and people; only then will we understand how to protect ourselves in this dog-eat-dog world.

    Perhaps you have wasted your time in a daze. Should we pursue something? And how should we pursue it?

    The scroll of time unfolds beneath our feet; how should we wield the pen of life well? Perhaps in old age, we will sigh at the passing years like a song. Everyone has dreams, but dreams always lag behind reality.

    Life is full of sorrow, seemingly futile. Every time I wake from a dream, I feel a profound sense of loss. What is that? It's a sadness about life. I have nothing now, what can I fight for?

    "Youthful sorrow intoxicates life, do not enter the lonely, empty heart." About youth, about those things of youth.

    "Life's road is long, sorrow follows youthful days." Old age always comes quickly.

    In a daze, I went from an ignorant youth to this melting pot of life's answers.

    I don't ask for great achievements, I only hope that I can be without regrets in my old age.

    "What is life? A mystery? No, it's like a passionate evening performance." I still don't understand. I don't understand this profoundly meaningful society. Walk this path well, stay true to your course, even in storms, never stray from my course…

    “A song,

    half a cup of tea,

    countless thoughts,

    inextinguishable melancholy,

    the lamp extinguished

    , the wind silent,

    life's half-open window,

    I stand before the window

    , the wind rises,

    the wind blows,

    the rice paper flutters,

    the ink stains remain, the memories of this time,

    broken hairs

    gather into a silver ocean,

    no memories

    , only a longing from my heart,

    deep pupils

    gather into the color of loneliness,

    turning back,

    the pen tip breaks on the fold of life.”

One day the clouds will part and the sun will shine.

     Lately, it's been raining constantly here; it feels like ages since I've seen the sun.

    Every day, I frantically search the streets and alleys for a job, but repeated failures and setbacks make me suddenly feel so insignificant. I always pretend not to care while feeling disappointed, telling myself that the misfortune I'm suffering now is equal to the happiness I'll receive in the future. I arrogantly believe that God treats everyone in this world equally.

    Sometimes I feel out of place in this world, not understanding the unspoken rules of survival. Perhaps sometimes a few lies are necessary, sometimes excessive flattery is required. For a job, even a kind and innocent child has to learn to weave lies.

    Suddenly, I truly understand the meaning of "When you can't change the world, you have to learn to change yourself to adapt to it."

    Because we don't want to change ourselves, or rather, because we're stubborn and inflexible, we always miss out on so-called opportunities. Lies

    can often fool others, but they can never fool ourselves—we always firmly believe this.

    So we are forced to search desperately in this city, always clinging to hope, yet constantly suffering disappointment. Often, we feel lost, like standing in a swirling fog, looking left and right before helplessly and cautiously moving forward again…

    Often, sitting on the bus, watching people get on and off, coming and going, busy with their own lives and affairs, I sit like an outsider in a corner unseen by them, observing their diverse lives.

    I envy those busy people, after all, they have things to keep them occupied, living fulfilling lives. And I, watching time slip irrevocably through my fingers like water, feel an indescribable emptiness.

    When this city, neither too big nor too small, is filled with our crooked footprints, we realize that society is not as simple as we thought, and many people may not have had such smooth sailing to success.

    Perhaps it's because we're new to this complex society, but we can still crack jokes and play around in the bustling streets when we fail repeatedly, always using these methods to mask our sadness and resentment. Maybe we've been too optimistic, so we always use escapism to temporarily forget what we don't want to accept.

    Fortunately, we're still young, so these failures will pass quickly, and we have enough patience to face the road ahead. We don't want to give up so easily. Maybe God will doze off, but he'll wake up someday. Hehe, I hope I'll find a job, and so will you, my friends who are also looking for jobs with me.

Fishing Musings

     In this era of rapid modernization, it's truly rare to find a village and pond brimming with pristine rural charm and rustic flavor! Here, the simple, gentle, and sublime spirit of nature shines through.

    A gentle breeze stirs, and the green leaves sway gracefully. The water is as clear as the blue sky, its gentle ripples resembling pure white clouds; the sky is as clear as the water, and the drifting white clouds are like faint ripples carried by the wind. Everything is so warm, natural, tranquil, and harmonious.

    On this mirror-like surface, occasional ripples appear, bringing a touch of life and vibrancy to the serene atmosphere—fish are playing and frolicking underwater.

    This must be my first time fishing! I remember going fishing with adults when I was little, but I'd never fished by myself before. I only remember the adults baiting the wire hooks, gently casting them into the pond, and the surface immediately rippled like flowers. Then they held their long fishing rods motionless, watching, waiting, hoping. I don't know how long they held the line, but suddenly the float sank. The adults nimbly pulled the rod up, and a fish, its mouth caught in the ripples, rolled and struggled in the surging waves, sometimes leaping out of the water, sometimes sinking back to the bottom. The adults strained to lift the rod. Finally, the fish was exhausted, unable to struggle any longer, and was pulled ashore. Then came cheers…

    At that time, I only thought fishing was fun and interesting, never considering the invisible hardships hidden within! In life, there are many things that must be learned and experienced over time to be understood!

    This time, I'm going to fish myself. I won't go into the specifics of my learning process, but it was clearly filled with sweat and frequent thoughts of giving up.

    No matter how tough or difficult it was, I eventually learned, but that's not the whole story, because fishing itself is inherently tough. Life is similar; even if you learn how to live, it's not always smooth sailing, because life itself is full of challenges.

    The reason I say fishing is tough is because "waiting" is truly agonizing. Catching a fish is certainly joyful, but the process itself is unbearable, especially since no one can guarantee a catch every time. However, for the final reward, the final success, you have to pay the price!

    Think about it, fishing and life are remarkably similar. The bait and rod are like the effort, sweat, and patience we put in; and the fish are like our life goals, our pursuits, or rather, the success we yearn for.

    Success brings joy, it's wonderful, and it's something everyone desires. However, the road to success and the path to waiting for success are filled with sweat and tears. It seems that in this life, we are destined to endlessly cycle through pain, disappointment, and joy...