Oh flowers, blooming and withering, will bloom again the following year after withering; oh jade trees, merging light and heat, year after year creating new memories; oh four seasons, blooming after being frozen, blooming hundreds of midsummers, billions of dreams. My life, like these flowers, these trees, these seasons, one cycle after another, withering and blooming again, and now I must bid farewell to this cycle.
Discovering Myself
Here, I squeeze out my life’s writing, year after year; here, you let your lifelong learning bloom beautifully, time and again. I, or you, cry out our failures here, denounce the unfairness of fate, and here we celebrate our successes, praising the greatness of love. The praise is not only for maternal love, nor is it solely for the power of life. You observe the bits and pieces of this world carefully, whether good or bad, pouring them out here in my way. I come from contradictions, but where should I go next?
Under the torment and appreciation of fate, hot tears flow down my cheeks, these tears contain my pain and joy, struggling, shouting, crying, and silent, ultimately discovering me. I ask the sages, where should I go? The sages respond with great waters and great mountains. The great waters surge and flow, I step forward to ask, but they flow far away. I shout to the mountains, and the mountains remain silent, not intending to say a word to me.
I trace the flow upstream, with no gentle streams, no tranquil forests, only howling winds and raging waves. I have been blown down by the fierce winds countless times, doubting the sages' answers until I change direction. The winds that once crushed me became my support. I hold a small boat, flowing with the river towards the ocean, those turbulent, overwhelming waters become gentle upon this small boat, nurturing generations of children. This is the sages' "the highest good is like water," and this is also what I have realized: "When the tree desires peace, it harmonizes with the wind."
Having understood the sages' reason for responding to me with great waters, I step into the mountains, seeking the reason for their response. Deep within this silent mountain, this seemingly lifeless forest, there are thousands of animals, tens of thousands of insects, nurturing countless life-saving water sources. Surely this is the sages' reason for responding to me with great mountains, silently loving and nurturing infinite life.
I have finally discovered myself, a self like great waters and great mountains. But new questions arise; I finally understand who I am, but to whom should I show this self?
Facing Family
You are the devil, tormenting me in hell. Looking back at my past self, I have never appreciated or praised you. You have tortured me until I am bruised and battered, and I am powerless to resist, longing to escape this painful hell. I have never been disappointed in you because I have never hoped for you. You wield the long whip of love, striking my body; you use the shackles of love to imprison my soul. I cannot escape; I can only hide in the deep mountains, leap into the waves, seeking a deserted corner to silently wipe away my tears. Family, why is it not my gentle harbor but has become my hell?
I pour everything here; I cry to you, and you listen to my story, bearing all my pain with your thin body. Paper, I tell you bit by bit about my pain in the family with my pen. Can you answer my confusion? Paper is different from the mountains' abundance; it merely presents its pure white body to me. Paper, like the mountains, remains silent, quietly waiting.
You may be waiting for my exploration, but you are not as mysterious as the mountains, nor as turbulent as the waters. You silently present everything to me, laid bare, with nothing left for me to explore. I lean on your body, letting my tears fall drop by drop. The tears soak you; wiping them away, you cannot restore yourself. The colorless tears stain my color, turning into ink, drawing a line across your body. I draw line after line, suddenly transforming into words, reflecting that self like great waters and great mountains. This is your answer.
I write my heart, my soul on your body, presenting you to that devil. The devil also sheds tears; the tears cleanse the devil, revealing his true form, an angel with shining feathers, pure and white. Angel, I once misunderstood you; now I see you clearly, and in the future, I will praise you. I have shown you my true form, and you have finally revealed yourself. You have finally become my harbor. No, you have always been my harbor, sheltering me with great paternal and maternal love, waiting for my wings to shine like yours, then to soar high.
I have finally shown my family who I am, proving myself, and I have also discovered my true self. My once cold heart has finally warmed up, as hot as the sun. To whom should I give this excess warmth?
Moving Towards Society
The cold world kills everyone in despair; the broad world carries every life on its shoulders; the complex world weaves everything into a great net. In such a world, how many people, more tragic than Xianglin's wife, still die in despair? My pure heart cannot bear it and deeply rejects this world.
The tears shed by desperate people soak the earth; my tears pity the poor world. How to save the world, tormenting me, tossing and turning. I ask the sages again, but they do not respond. I turn to paper, which shows itself sparingly. Everything is indifferent, silent.
When all things in the world are silent, my hot heart has not cooled down. I choose to approach this society in my way. Using pen and paper to commemorate life, writing about the insignificant dust, I struggle against the cold society, saving every life I can save. I shine my light, emit my warmth. I have been on this path, and I have also met a group of people with similarly passionate souls. We have all felt pain, and thus we yearn to help more people escape from suffering, like Shi Tiesheng saving countless people with physical disabilities like him, using our light to warm this society. I have finally integrated into this society.
The tears we shed water a flower of fate, drop by drop; our enthusiasm warms a flower of fate, bit by bit. This is my flower of fate, finally blooming under these tears and enthusiasm! It flourishes, showcasing its stunning form to me, to family, to society.
Here, it must come to an end, just like 2023. I have come from contradictions, struggling with myself, family, and society, fighting against fate, and in the end, I have transformed into a blooming flower, a flower that blooms in every season. Fate has finally blossomed for me; the beautiful flower of fate has bloomed.
This article is synchronized and updated to xLog by Mix Space. The original link is https://fmcf.cc/posts/life/My2023