Memories of Takagi

 　　Early in the morning, the sky was overcast, and I thought a downpour was imminent, which instantly turned my good mood upside down. But I was wrong; quite the opposite, it was muggy all day.

　　Yes, I had planned to go to the city last night to visit an old friend and classmate—it had been so long, I missed him dearly. Before the Lunar New Year, I went to the city several times, but those were always on official business, to put it bluntly, to run errands. Normally, I don't wander around unless I have a specific reason, let alone go to Gaocheng, because I'm a thoroughly quiet person, both internally and externally. It's not that I'm introverted, it's just my personality ingrained over the years. But this time was different; I was purely having fun. After being so repressed for so long, I wanted to let loose and indulge myself. It had been so long since I'd had a day like that!

　　For some reason, the closer the car got, the more nervous I became, and no matter how much I tried to calm myself down, I couldn't. Perhaps it wasn't nervousness, but excitement, like surging waves, one after another pushing my emotions to their peak. I understand, I didn't come here to indulge; I came here to torture myself. I never let myself off the hook, not even for the slightest chance.

　　Gaocheng, in my heart, has always been a small city. Like most small cities, it's not particularly beautiful, it's a bit backward, but its history can be traced back a long time. In the eyes of the world, it's insignificant. It develops and grows peacefully and quietly. Yet, I've settled here for many years. The happiest time of my life is buried here. It carries all the imprints of my youth, whether painful or joyful. I think no matter what price I pay, that lost youth can never be recovered.

　　Sometimes, the higher the excitement, the greater the disappointment. I'm a prime example of this. I rushed to a friend's door, called him, only to find out he was at his sister's house. Helpless, I had to leave. What else could I do? This reminds me of a famous writer's essay, "Visiting a Friend in the Mountains," but the irony is that the situations are completely different.

　　It's already noon, but there aren't many people. It's only early spring, but it feels like summer, so hot and humid—the kind of weather is unbearable.

　　I've been wandering aimlessly for hours, strolling through the crowded streets without knowing what I'm looking for. Maybe I just want a good meal, maybe a place to rest, maybe I'm hoping to bump into someone and say, "Hello, what a coincidence!"

　　That's all. Okay! People from back then, things from back then, okay! No need to dwell on the past; it's long gone. Sometimes I think people are just too pathetic. They know some people and some things shouldn't be remembered, but they still do. Like that line from actor Wang Baoqiang: "I can't sleep because I owe money." Those thoughts, like a kaleidoscope, swirl around me. I can't escape it; this is my punishment.

　　I've felt like I don't belong in this city for a while, but I still feel its presence—its tranquility amidst the hustle and bustle, its warmth. Every blade of grass, every tree, whether it's the ancient streets or the well-dressed people, makes me feel like I still belong here, like I've never left.

　　I never imagined it was just a hallucination, or perhaps not even that.

　　I no longer have the right to criticize this city. I am a complete failure, defeated not only by the past but also by the present.

　　Life is a protracted tug-of-war, and I continue to persevere, enduring relentlessly.

　　Every day at home, I try to overcome loneliness, to stop showcasing my life to gain applause on social media, to stop trying to force conversations and steer the conversation towards myself, to stop sharing my emotions when I have nothing else to share, to stop whining to myself, to stop fantasizing that others are just backup options, to stop excessively focusing on other people's lives. Even being alone, with just a shadow, is a cheap form of companionship.

　　Time flies by, and before I know it, it's dusk. Standing on the riverbank, I gaze at the rows of houses in the distance. I let the evening breeze stir my thoughts. I didn't see the sunset, nor did I encounter any acquaintances. I think that encounters only exist in ideals; in reality, most of the people we meet are strangers we pass by. I didn't intend to continue, even though this city held countless unforgettable memories for me.

　　I guess I really came here to suffer; I've been immersed in this mood for the entire day. Although I'm no longer the young man who "doesn't know the taste of sorrow, yet forces myself to write poems about it," sometimes it's inevitable to feel melancholic.

　　Back home, it was as quiet as ever, but before I even got inside, before the car had even come to a complete stop, my nephew jumped out and sweetly called out, "Uncle, did you buy me some cookies?" Hehe! That was probably the most beautiful and pleasant sound I heard all day.