The reason for "abnormal" is that youth is a bizarre practice.

Miss C every time after catching the last subway home, will always feel a brief happiness for her long legs.

For her, who is used to experiencing the morning and evening rush hours, being able to go home at this time is something she is very willing to do and has no need to deliberately avoid;

She leans against the carriage, her hair a bit messy at this moment, and the makeup that has been washed away by a burst of sweat after running makes her not very eager to touch it up.

The train rushes by with a “whoosh”, accompanied by the constant “squeak” sounds from the gaps in the carriage, she slightly closes her eyes, and as her head and body sway with the rhythm of the carriage, she vaguely feels as if a rough big hand is applying just the right amount of force, going up and down, in and out.

It takes about an hour to go from leaving the office to lying on her bed at home, of course, this is only under the premise that the crowd has dispersed, it is not crowded, and she is rushing home alone at full speed.

When the subway approaches the terminal station, there will be a period of fluctuation that is slightly more intense than usual, and C will wake up at this time; the crowd will not be crowded, and even the stall selling hand-grabbed pancakes at the subway exit is deserted. “If it weren't for rushing back, I would really want to make one for myself.”

In the city where she has lived for six years, the daily commute feels like a zombie searching for breath.

She lowers her head, even if someone suddenly bumps into her hard, she wouldn’t turn her head to look at the other person.

Any matter that once felt so happy will produce a sense of disgust after being repeated for a long time, if the sense of disgust cannot be quickly eliminated, it will be like a gynecological disease getting deeper and deeper.

For five whole years, this is the level of disgust C has for the city; if deepening it is like the freckles on a middle-aged woman's face, then she is now like a hobbit.

But sometimes, after careful thought, she finds it hard to distinguish whether it is disgust for the city or disgust for her current state of being alone.

After six years of graduation and five years of being single, this city has long been regarded as the most familiar place outside her hometown; every morning when she opens the curtains, familiar sunlight always shines in, and at night when she pulls them shut, she avoids all the lights.

After six years of graduation and five years of being single, this city has long been regarded as the most familiar place outside her hometown; every morning when she opens the curtains, familiar sunlight always shines in, and at night when she pulls them shut, she avoids all the lights.

Thus, the only thought left to escape the sense of disgust is to create a home in the city. This idea has long existed in her heart, but it is difficult because she is eager to escape being alone yet does not want to casually establish a relationship with the opposite sex. Therefore, it is hard for urban people who view relationships as fast food to find such patient beings.

Moreover, her strong and picky personality makes her even if there are pretentious, touching seeds fall, it is completely impossible for them to grow there, desolate beyond measure.

Going to work, working, getting off work, going home alone... every day repeats like this. Occasionally, it reminds her of the time when she was just graduated and with her lover. Although it wasn't as lively as school, the two of them could always do many more interesting things together than alone.

The result ended with the boy returning to his hometown, and not long ago, there was news of his marriage. In the end, she is left alone in this city.

C's concept of relationships requires equality, both sides equal, whether in income or in various aspects.

If someone could wait for her to come home every night and cook her supper, she would prefer to eat at an elegant restaurant with someone who lives in a villa and drives a luxury car, but with the premise that she pays, eating food that the other person likes but not what she likes.

C does not think this is a wrong idea because the freedom of choice is a standard of a normal personality. If there is blame, it can only be blamed on social reality, because everyone pursues different things.

Young W has recently been studying the Bible and has some understanding of freedom of choice. A perfect person certainly has the consciousness of freedom of choice, but if one cannot choose correctly, it will be like Adam committing sin.

W is currently starting from scratch to accept a concept called faith; this is also gradually overturning many of his past common views. When he looks back at the past, it gives him a lot of courage.

Living in this city for three years, the advantage of a big city is that it allows lonely young people to have many places to interact with people and space for growth.

W likes the night view of the city, after work he chooses to wear headphones and wait for the bus, because sitting on the bus watching the city night view always makes him forget the fatigue of a day's work, but occasionally he also chooses to take the subway home because he misses the last bus.

Because of W's work and personality, he does not have many social occasions to attend every day, every week, every month, or even every year, and he does not have many friends. The concept of "fate" does not support him in the Bible he reads every day, but he firmly believes that at some point in time, there will be people who appreciate each other. Just like he recently saw a saying: take good photos of old products, set reasonable prices and put them on Xianyu, one day, there will definitely be someone who silently buys this product without saying a word.

Before this person appears, W hopes to work hard to make himself better.

“At my current age, plus the fact that girls mature four to five years earlier than boys of the same age, the partner I am looking for should be at least around 31 years old; among the boys in this age group in my hometown, sixty percent are those who have not married due to introversion, lack of social skills, or psychological issues. Ten percent are divorced, twenty percent are delayed due to high education, requirements, and careers, and ten percent for other reasons…” C murmurs in her mind every day, calculating these very specific standards for her future partner.I feel that the experience of blind dates is similar to when I was a child and had to get an injection at the hospital. I didn't want to go because it hurt, but I was also afraid that if I didn't get the injection, I would catch a cold and it would be hard to recover.

“Every time I encounter a fun place or delicious food, I hope to take you to experience it again in the future, happy Valentine's Day!” W wrote this on social media after going for a stroll with friends in the city center on the recently passed 5.20.

The last relationship ended almost a year ago, and for a long time it made him start to forget the feeling of being in love.

W cannot say whether he has slowly forgotten these two relationships, but he feels very guilty, every time he thinks of this, he has to secretly regret and make promises in his heart.

Once a person starts to self-deny, it often begins with asking others, “What kind of person am I in your eyes?”

If you can't sleep at night, will you appear in someone's dream? A Japanese legend tells us that if a meaningless event occurs, we are actively moving forward in some people's dreams.

: Chapter One

I want the first meeting after many years to be more elegant, so I suggested to a nearby café.

The café is on a new commercial street, I chose the one that just opened at the end of a certain commercial street. In fact, I rarely spend time specifically going to certain restaurants for a cup of coffee or something else; perhaps as I age, I feel more and more that immersing myself in a quiet atmosphere without smoke and alcohol is a luxurious act—it's a waste of time and emotions. Because whenever I want to calm down to think about problems, I inevitably recall memories, and memories are all in the past, irretrievable.

And once there is a slight pull to connect to the present, it becomes the most deadly ; for example, every time I flip through past photos, I see myself with a week’s worth of unshaven beard.

This city is known as a first-tier city in the country, and the crowded traffic and people will not dissipate with time. But no matter how beautiful the city is, as long as you are willing to choose a certain alley to walk deeper, if you reach the end if not a wall, then you will definitely find the most down-to-earth and old residential buildings.

And I live in one of them, a dark, damp place where sunlight never shines, without lights, it feels like a place of night.

The café we chose is located at the end of a newly formed commercial street, it is not a place where many people gather, but it is a place with a lot of foot traffic because there are two subway lines nearby, and most of the people around are constantly rushing to their different destinations, but they all have to pass through this commercial street.

I pushed open the glass door and walked in, my eyes just met hers; she was sitting in a corner against the wall, looking down at her phone. She is still the same as before, always squeezing into the corner; I remember when we first met, we were at the same table, and every time we changed seats, she would always request to sit on the wall side.

The café feels like it’s always night throughout the year—this thought has always existed. The dark main color, the chandelier casts a warm yellow light, plus the thick glass walls all around.

I walked to the table, gently pulled out the chair and sat down, starting to look at her with some fear. Although I could naturally imagine what she looks like now due to occasionally dreaming of her, at this moment, I was a bit nervous and afraid that she would suddenly look up .

After about ten seconds, she started to put down her phone, slightly raised her head to first look outside the glass wall, then slowly turned her head and finally noticed me sitting across from her ; she lowered her head and smiled shyly, the way she smiled was something I never could have imagined.

The indoor heating made her unconsciously pull her scarf down a bit, I started to watch her with a very anxious heart, very directly, not just with my peripheral vision.

After ten years, the flesh on both sides of her cheeks is a bit fuller than before, but the overall shape is still the same; her bangs are the same as ten years ago, neither longer nor shorter, and her face has more freckles that foundation cannot cover, but from a distance, she still looks fair, making it hard to tell that she is a woman approaching thirty, almost the same age as me.

Part 1

A: Still looking? Changed a lot?

B: Oh no, still looks the same.

A: But you, you haven't shaved your beard; (she stirs her coffee with a spoon and continues) B: It's really not easy to find you; it's been ten years, how have you been?

B: It's really not easy to find you; so, it's been ten years, how have you been?

A: Pretty good, no desires.

B: Still single?

: Still for now (my eyes scanned around, finally landing on a corner of the smooth and tidy wooden table)

: “Why not find someone?”

: I'm used to being alone;

: You're still like this, always finding an excuse for your loneliness. (She said with a hint of teasing tone;)

: Is work okay? Which company are you developing in now?

: “Working as a handyman in a private machinery factory”;

(This time she finally raised her head to look at me, her eyes seemed a bit dim, then slowly sank again, and then she started to ask:)

: “Are you kidding, such a bustling area has heavy industry?”

: No, it's in the suburbs far from here, about a twenty-minute drive; every city has its prosperous areas and suburbs .

: Quite disappointing, I always thought you would become someone I could be proud of.

: Well, I'm really sorry to disappoint you; actually, I'm a very ordinary person, nothing special.

: Maybe I was wrong about you in the past.

: Are you married? — I am married. (We both almost said it at the same time)

B: Almost five years now, graduated from college, then got married two years later, we started in college, and after graduation, we both had satisfactory jobs, so we hardly lived the kind of struggling life like you.

Do you remember I sent you an invitation through every way I could contact you? Didn't you see it?

A: I shrugged and replied maybe I didn't see it; actually, I did see it, but since that year, I haven't planned to go back home again, so I could only say that.

B: Yes, in recent years it feels like you have disappeared. My current husband is the first and also the last after leaving you. In a sense, maybe it was only after leaving you that I learned to be satisfied and cherish (he spoke slowly as if he wanted to make every word clear and serious).

A: Then you must be very happy now; your husband should love you very much. (I didn't know what to say next, so I just said this to brush it off)

: Pretty good, just got promoted to be the director of the unit, he's a surgeon. In middle age, he has gained weight.

A: This should be the life you always mentioned wanting, right?

B: It used to be, but not anymore. To be precise, I don't even know if it still is; I feel like I've experienced all of this too early; so now I always feel that life is missing something. But I can never say what exactly is missing?

part 2

I sat in silence for a while...

: First of all, I'm really happy that the blow actually had such a big impact on you, but at this point, I especially want to say sorry to you, sincerely.

: At that time, I just felt you were very selfish, only caring about your own feelings.

: But I never felt I owed anyone, at most I was just very casual, doing what I liked, loving whom I wanted to love, saying what I wanted to say.

I leaned back deeply against the chair, wanting to take a cigarette out of my pocket and light it, but in the end, I thought better of it and held back.

B: My mother often said similar things when she was alive, and my response at that time was: “I don't care what others say or think, I only care about my own heart, as if I must be sincere to others.”

But being good to others and others being good to me is often not equal; this is what my mother taught me is the most meaningful thing.

A: I'm sorry to bring up your pain.

B: Oh no, Steve Jobs said that death is the most meaningful creation in the river of life, and this has been what I have been enlightening my mother about in the following years.

A: So you always feel that death is the best relief for your mother?

B: I guess so.

A: Are you afraid of death?

B: I've dreamed of dying several times on many depressed nights, so I feel that I have a genuine fear of death like most people.

A: Then how can you still enlighten your mother?

B: People like to talk big, especially about things they can't do; the deeper the words, the easier they are to come from someone who is not deep.

A: Sometimes I often wonder how you have endured these five years; you are not good at expressing your inner pain. You like to bottle it up.

We fell silent for a moment, as if we were trying hard to find some common topics .

part 3

: Is the story you wrote before still continuing?

: No, I haven't picked up a pen or opened a computer for more than three years.

: Can you tell me what you have specifically done in these three years besides working?

: I specifically forgot, usually it’s a life of working from eight in the morning to eight in the evening. After work, I would take a bottle of wine, a pack of cigarettes, and drive to a certain big tree in the suburbs . The grassland is thirty minutes away , sometimes after I finish smoking and drinking, I can just fall asleep by the edge of the grass, and the next day drive back to work. Sometimes after drinking, I would slowly walk back alone, leaving the car there. The next afternoon, I would return to that place and conveniently drive the car back.

: Aren't you afraid someone will steal your car? To be honest, this ghost place has hardly seen anyone for three years.

: It sounds like a magical place; what kind of place is it? Can you take me to see it later?

: It's a graveyard; I’m afraid it might scare you.

: Then I said, but I found that it seems that wherever there are graves, the surrounding trees grow faster and more lush than in other places.

: That might be because when people die, their souls and bodies merge into the land and then are entrusted to the trees. Do you believe your mother is watching you from a certain tree?

: Thank you for letting me know that there is such a saying.

: On Sundays, I usually sleep all day; such days are without desires, the salary is enough to spend, there is a place to live, and I won't go hungry, so I haven't thought about pursuing anything else. Why bother to spend effort pursuing other things?

: What about your family? Have you thought about them?

: Three years ago, I stopped thinking about having any family.

: Have you walked out of the shadow now?

: Much better.

Part 4

: By the way, my second uncle has opened a fairly large company in Xiamen and wants to introduce you to it,

: Oh no, thank you.

: My uncle graduated from the Chinese Department of Peking University and is the editor-in-chief of a well-known magazine, wants to...

: No, thank you.

: Why? Didn't you always want to keep writing?

: I want to, but I took a deep breath. But it seems like you have always liked to showcase the various connections of your family and friends since high school; do you feel particularly proud of this? Or do you feel a sense of superiority?

At this moment, she looked at me somewhat blankly, a bit dazed, while I kept my head turned towards the window, trying to express my dissatisfaction. She didn’t show much expression, just kept stirring her coffee with a spoon. After nearly five minutes, when I turned back to the table, the coffee still had steam rising, slowly drifting to the glass window on my right, forming a thin mist, and then disappearing. In the end, I broke this silence; my anger towards her never lasts long, and I always think about being forgiving.

: How did you suddenly come to this city?

: Nothing much, just felt too stuffy at home and wanted to come out for a walk.

: You mean, your husband and child don’t know you left?

: Hmm,

: You are still so selfish; they will be very worried. (I was a bit shocked and wanted to ask why)

: Just kidding, I’m just visiting a friend here for a few days.

: Oh.

: You look pretty much the same as many years ago; I used to always complain about your old, stinky face.

: Feeling down? Or?

: A bit depressed; I just found out a few days ago that I’m pregnant with my second child, so I wanted to come out and relax a bit.

: You look very happy,

: I guess so; for many women, I am happy, but only I know that the further I go, the less I know what the meaning of life is.

: Why bother to care so much about meaning? Most people don’t understand meaning, yet they still live happier than you.

: That’s true; recently I watched “Before Sunset” and always feel that a certain scene is very similar to us.

: You also like those three movies?

: I saw this in one of your shares when you were twenty, and I actually agree with the line in the movie: imagine ten years later, you no longer love your husband, and you don’t think back to the men you’ve met in your life.

But leaving you is not a wrong decision; at that time, I felt your artistic aura was particularly strong, not that you were arrogant or anything, you were very restrained, whether it was towards talent or your own ideals... but no matter what, I don’t regret it at all (then she fell silent for a moment, and an awkward atmosphere enveloped us again).

: Did you come just to say these things to me?

: Not entirely, but to be honest, I feel that being with you back then was particularly boring, because the silence when we were together was more than at any other time, and it was clear that every time you brought up some utterly meaningless topics.

: If it was because of this, if this was the reason for our breakup, looking back now, it’s really quite ridiculous. You always tried to force all the plotlines of idol dramas onto a boy.

But girls were like that back then, weren't they?

You still stutter a bit when you're nervous.

Yes.

Later, I gradually realized that you belong to that type of person who appears aloof on the outside but is passionate on the inside, while I am the opposite of you. This is the reason we could never be together...

At twenty-nine, just two months shy of thirty, I was driving an old Jeep along a road lined with poplar trees, the night was dim, and the streetlights were yellow and indistinct...

In late autumn transitioning to early winter, outside the car window, the streetlights were spaced two to three hundred meters apart, and the rest were dense shadows of trees.

The dry cold wind blew in through the half-open window, and I closed it because my eyes felt uncomfortable. The quietness inside the car made me unconsciously turn on some soft, bland music.

I have a special fondness for a certain type of pure music, such as "The Taste of Wind," "Day and Night," "First Snow," "The Promise"... They are like alcohol to an excited patient for me; every night I have to loop this kind of music to fall asleep peacefully. I can always fall asleep suddenly when a piece of music accurately loops for the fifth time, but if other music suddenly interrupts in between, I wake up as if I had a cruel nightmare, followed by endless insomnia.

I have loved piano pieces like this since my youth, and perhaps it is these piano pieces that have kept my youthful sadness alive, not diminishing but increasing. These two types of sadness are not entirely the same; the current sadness manifests in prolonged periods of depression and silence, and I constantly rely on alcohol and cigarettes to alleviate it.

A forty-minute drive allows me to listen to seven or eight pieces of music. When it loops to "Love in April Snow," the gentle melody leaves me somewhat bewildered, and sometimes, when the emotions run deep, a tear or two may fall. Looking up through the glass window at the dark night sky, a glimmer of light dazzles my eyes.

"It's dark, and the road is still not halfway."

The road from my hometown to school was just built when I was seventeen. Every time I walked this road, I would fantasize about driving on it one day under the moonlight, and I imagined how wonderful it would be if a beloved girl could sit in the passenger seat. It took eight years for this wish to come true; it may seem long, but it wasn't too long. The city took seven hours of continuous driving to reach my hometown, and the scene along this road was very similar to now, but it was already deep winter, seven days away from the Spring Festival, and the moonlight illuminated the ground as if it were daytime. I slowed down, rolled down the window, and the cold air rushed into the car, but my heart felt particularly warm. I remember arriving at the foot of a mountain in my hometown at midnight, and in a daze, I often forget which time it was when my mother was also waiting for me to come home with a flashlight in such a time and environment on that hillside.

Half an hour later, I arrived at my residence. The wide open-air parking lot was about a five-minute walk to the rental house. The temporary house I stayed in had eight floors, and I lived on the third floor. I rented a one-bedroom apartment with a balcony, and all the rooms were arranged similarly to a two-star hotel. The hallway and the door were very tidy, and there was a surveillance camera in front of the elevator. The rent in the city was not too cheap, so living expenses took up a large part of my current salary, plus gas money and car maintenance every few months, leaving just enough for me to spend.

The eighth floor had a rooftop, and on nights when I didn't have to work, I would go there. The big city is like my face; the buildings and streets are the features, all jumbled together with no appreciation to be found. So much so that every time I look up at them, it feels like looking at myself in the bathroom mirror late at night. Sometimes I can't even explain why I stay in such a city, just like I know I have a plain face but still can't help but look in the mirror.

Three years ago, one night, I drove all the way here, and then it has been three whole years. Loneliness often comes, but friends are few, and no one is willing to treat me as a friend, with no relatives nearby. I visited my father two years ago and my sister a year ago, and a few months ago, I returned to my hometown.

It takes six hours to drive to my father's workplace. Two years ago, when I arrived there, he was still renting a one-bedroom apartment with a living room; it had a balcony, and the living room had a set of sofas, and the bed in the room was a bit large, with a cabinet beside the pillow. I accidentally opened the first drawer and found a box of condoms inside. I quickly pretended not to see it and pushed it back in, while my father was washing vegetables on the left side of the balcony.

His personality has become much gentler than before.

“What work are you doing?” she asked at that time;

“I’m doing odd jobs at a machinery factory,” I replied;

He paused while holding the vegetables and then said nothing; until I left, he didn't even bother to say "take care of yourself." That's how we father and son are; whatever we say feels like a formality, at least that's how I think, so even now, I rarely keep this father in my heart. Even when I was around twenty, I harbored a deep resentment, but as I grew older, some of that resentment gradually faded, especially at this age, there are not many people left to hate.

My sister moved to the county town of our hometown, and a year ago, I visited her with the feeling of it being the last time we would meet. So at that time, the emotions felt particularly complicated, and when she saw me for the first time, she looked very shocked, followed by confusion, yes, that kind of expression that says, "I thought you were dead."

My nephew was ten years old that year, and both his speech and clothing resembled those of city kids, lacking the foolishness we had in our childhood. On the wall of the room hung the guitar I gave him three years ago, which cost me a month's salary back then, but I didn't feel any reluctance because, in my heart, his importance could surpass that of his mother. Ten years ago, when I was in high school, I even fantasized about what kind of future to give him, thinking about giving him a piano during his childhood. At that time, my self-esteem made me envy those who played the piano in suits at school parties.

Music can bring great cultivation and temperament to people, and during my three years in high school, I admired such people. But for me three years ago, a good piano would cost me a year's savings, so instead, I got a medium-quality guitar. But now it hangs in the corner like a decoration, and when I gently touch it, there's still dust on it.

I have nothing to say about my brother-in-law and his family; I even regard them as the ones who took away my sister's beautiful youth. Yes, she got married a year after graduating from high school and then had a child in the same year. Then she began her life as a mother, and my mother initially strongly opposed it but shed tears on the day she got married. My siblings are completely different people, both in personality and thoughts. So sometimes I feel that rather than siblings, we are more like friends who are related by blood and accommodating each other.

This spring, I took a ten-day vacation to return to my hometown, carrying deep emotions to pay tribute to my mother.

Even now, three years after my mother's sudden passing, it is still hard to fully accept. The wallpaper on my phone is still a picture of me with her, and I occasionally find myself dialing her number on a dim night, just to hear her voice. The pendant in front of my car is also a pearl shrimp my mother made for my sister and me when we were kids. If I were to compare my heart to a container, my love and guilt for my mother could fill two equal layers. I don't know what adjectives to use to describe her that would be more appropriate, just like if I were Forrest Gump, she would be the mother who "always knows how to explain everything clearly to you."

In the thirty years that are neither long nor short, the time I truly lived with my mother was less than ten years. Since I was born, she went out to work, returning once during the Spring Festival, until I went out to work, leaving her at home.

It wasn't until I started middle school at thirteen that this kind of life ended. After graduating from middle school, I switched to another kind of life; I went to the county town to study, and I could only return home once a month. My mother stayed at home alone, hoping that this meeting would allow her to make me a pork and corn soup. I am very grateful for this kindness, and I even had the idea of going to work in the same place as her and my father. What I didn't expect was that after I graduated, her health deteriorated, and to avoid burdening us, she voluntarily stayed at home alone. After a few years, she started using a wheelchair, and then three years ago, she suddenly passed away. And I have been drifting, and even now, nothing has changed, so for the past three years, I have not dared to come here to visit my mother.

Three years ago, we buried her on a low cliff, right above the highway. I still remember the day of the burial; the sound of dozens of firecrackers tied together was no match for the sound of speeding cars. Many wildflowers grew on my mother's grave, and wild grass covered the grave, making it hard to recognize it as a grave. It has been three years, and I don't know if anyone has come here to clean it. The messy grave looks just like my mother did before she passed away. I sometimes look at the grave, sometimes at the sky, and sometimes at the shining asphalt road...

(2)

That day, I sat in front of my mother's grave from noon until evening. I held incense candles, burning three and then lighting three more. The smoke made my eyes a bit red, but I held back my tears and just stared blankly at the cars that kept coming and going, fast like these thirty years that have passed. The distant sky looked particularly gloomy, and the breeze swayed the wildflowers on the mound a bit. Looking up at the village, it felt like watching a landscape painting go from clear to blurry and then back to clear.

But some deeply memorable landscapes are like deeply memorable dreams; even after a long time, the moment I see a trace of them, I can immediately recall them.

Like this road in front of me occupies a large part of my beautiful memories from my youth.

I love the road. When I was a child, I had no hobbies; I just liked to walk along the road, because it was the cleanest place I had ever encountered, vast and shiny black. The wildflowers and small trees along the way never disappeared, but I generally didn't dare to walk too far. I would climb over the barbed wire on the road, and then ahead was the forest of our village.

Our village is not very big; it has many mountains and trees, and all the mountains are almost connected. Once I entered the woods, no matter how I walked, as long as I kept circling, I could always find my way home. Of course, during most of the time walking, I was not alone; there was a large group of friends with me. Even if I can remember some of them now, it is still difficult to give a correct description of their childhood characteristics.

We often went to a small lake filled with water and covered with water plants. The lake was surrounded by trees, forming an almost enclosed square space, with four corners as exits. Except for the water, the rest was all grass, which was very tender and fragrant.

On weekends, we would take the cow to the grassland, afraid it would eat all the grass. The water in the lake gradually deepened from the surrounding area to the center. As for how I knew this, it was essential for rural kids to play with water secretly. Besides going to a big river in the neighboring village, we could only find such places. The water wasn't very clean, but it wasn't very dirty either. The main thing was that this place was hard to discover, and we could play there for an entire afternoon. However, before the sun set, we would all come ashore, taking advantage of the last bit of sunlight to dry our hair and tan our pale skin a bit.

There was another place in my memory that combined water and grass, located deep in the mountains of the village. I found this place at a certain time when I was bidding farewell to my youth and stepping into maturity. I can't remember exactly which year it was, only that I, at thirty, still miss that version of myself. The personality formed between eighteen and twenty is usually hard to change later. Sometimes I also arrogantly think that there will always be some people who will guide my changes. But I really can't figure out who those people are.

This space of grass and pond is similar to two basketball courts. Its entrance is not as easy to find as the previous place; it has only one entrance, surrounded by mountains. When I reach this entrance, I am often blocked by wildflowers and weeds that reach my chest. I have to walk over the wildflowers and weeds for at least a minute to get inside. In my impression, this place has only one unchanging appearance throughout the seasons: the tall trees around block most of the sunlight, with only a little scattered on the grass. Perhaps due to the long absence of sunlight, the grass appears a bit moist, whether in the morning, noon, or evening. The only place where sunlight directly shines is the center of the water, forming a circle with a radius of about two meters. Occasionally, I can see a few bubbles rising. Perhaps due to the underground water flow, this pond is very clear. However, there are many fallen leaves floating on the surface.

After paying tribute to my mother on the first day, I drove to the front of the house where I used to live. After three years of being unoccupied, the house was no different from three years ago, except that a osmanthus tree in front had extended its branches into the yard, the black paint on the iron gate had peeled off significantly, and the lock hole was a bit rusty. It took me a lot of effort to open it. The house had peacefully stood here for eleven years, but because my mother had lived alone for a long time, it didn't seem too old. At that time, the family was still very poor; most of the money for tiles and cement was borrowed, and a small part was earned by my father. So it took three years from the first brick to moving in. The house, decoration, and furniture were all done step by step. Later, my father and I also spent several years paying off the debt. The color and design of the tiles in the house mostly came from me; at eighteen, I loved blue. So I made blue the main color of the house, placing the living room and family rooms on the first floor, while the second floor had a suite that belonged only to me. This made me seem a bit selfish; the family was already small, and my sister had married and rarely returned, so my parents indulged me.

The second floor has two rooms, mine is the innermost. Walking in feels like being isolated from the world on the first floor. Behind the house is a high mountain, so I set up a large balcony in my room on the second floor, adding a table, which became my place for reading and writing.

(3)

My room is not very big, with a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk with a bookshelf attached; this is also my habit of decorating rooms that I still love to this day: there can be nothing but the bed, but there must be a desk, because only when I see it do I feel a bit at ease. I should be afraid of missing every moment I want to record. In my more than ten years of work, I have spent a few short periods living in collective dormitories, usually in single rooms, which is also why my personality is like this. Another reason is probably that I often change environments, without any familiar feeling towards any place. Of course, all of this is just the heart of a youth who loves to wander, so even at this age, my heart is still wild, but I just don't want to leave.

At twenty-four, my mother's health deteriorated significantly. In the second half of that year, I stayed at home to take care of her. During my free time, I read some books, and I brought out all the literary sentiments I had during high school. The books I read at that time were mainly by Japanese authors, such as Haruki Murakami, Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, and Yukio Mishima. Many of their books are still on my shelf now, like "Spring Snow," "Norwegian Wood," "My Eternal Home"... I have to admit that I once dreamed of becoming a writer. In my late teens and early twenties, I read many books about literature, including "Blood-Red Romance," "One Hundred Years of Solitude," "The Kite Runner," "The Great Gatsby." Every time I thought I finished reading, I felt I was getting closer to that dream. However, after starting to work, my reading frequency gradually changed from one book a month to one book every few months, then to one book a year, and eventually, I stopped reading altogether. If I did read, it was only some books unrelated to literature, like "Sex and the City" and novels, story collections...