Chapter 22 typhoon

I used to sleep until the afternoon every day, but recently, it was only ten o'clock, and I was already enjoying the autumn coolness on the stone bench downstairs, and even had two meals.In the novel, when his girlfriend Catherine's life was dying, Henry kept going to restaurants to eat-excessive appetite is one of the signs of being at a loss, and probably I am the same.I'm always outside these mornings, dreaming.Occasionally, I'm uplifted by the smell of freshly cut lawn, and more often I'm just an idler, doing nothing and thinking nothing.Once I saw an old lady wearing a gray men's shirt, sitting hunched over by the trash can, and I suddenly felt apprehensive. If one day my mother was as lonely and helpless as her, what would I do?More often, I just sit, sit.The autumn light is so bright, I remember seeing airplanes when I was bored when I was a child, so once, I really saw it again.A small bright plane flew over the still green branches of the ginkgo tree, bringing a burst of buzzing, which seemed to lengthen the years.I tried my best to cry out silently in this void of life.

Not long ago, I started to reflect on my life.This is the first time in over a decade.I began to see major parts of my life as tragedies.I also asked myself, is this hypocrisy, or middle-class emptiness?But the answer is, no. Clearly someone is in an emotional depression cycle - I try to see this as someone else's inevitable trouble, not my own.Things happened very naturally. In the summer, there was no opportunity, and suddenly there was a "ding", and I clearly saw that my life was wrong.It's like a fish jumping out of a tank and seeing itself.I found my life was suffocating.I am neither very happy nor unhappy, neither happy nor miserable.Years of swimming in a small space and feeling at ease simply because I knew exactly where the glass walls were.I think this is the boredom of being institutionalized, that is, the institutionalization of "you have a job, a family, that's all" prevents you from thinking about what you really desire.

What is it that I long for?Just the kind of stuff that gets ridiculed as genteel, but only because it feels out of reach: passion, the thrill of life, or anything that lifts one from a stifling life.Or, something like a lemon. When I come back from a walk downstairs, I usually drink a cup of Coke in a vulgar way.I would slice a lemon and drink it from a china mug with four ice cubes.Actually what I really want to taste is the taste of lemon, it is really fragrant and pleasant.The best moment is when the foam in the quilt bursts and the smell of lemon rushes into your nostrils.But seeing this as a pleasure is a bit sad after all.It dawned on me that if I lived like this all the time, the smell of lemons might be the thing I miss most after I die.

Lemons were also in the song my wife sang the night I met, and I remember her singing, and I looked up and down, and I looked around again and again, but all I saw was a yellow lemon tree.The rhythm is very simple, even if I play this song on the DJMAX in the arcade room, I probably can't go wrong too much.It has nothing to do with me liking lemons.It was a night long ago. These mornings, I remembered many things from the past.I remember making my own peach soda as a kid.I bought a bag of soda powder, diluted it with cold water, and surprisingly, it tasted exactly like the ones sold in the store!It was a bright, soft May day, and my sister, my sister, and our dog had a drink, and it felt like a holiday, and the real beauty was that it was just the three of us.To a certain extent, I resist the adult world, even with a vague hatred.My sister and the dog are my forced allies.In the future, whenever I read sauce soda somewhere, I would think of the homemade soda back then. The taste of the peach was strong and fake, sweet, and it was particularly strong stimulated by the smell of bleach in the tap water.Two years later, the dog died.In life it had always wrestled with bicycles, and whenever I rode deliberately fast, it roared and charged with some deep rage.Life at that time was endless grievances and endless festivals.One winter, the snow in Shenyang was very heavy. In the morning, I went to school along the waist-deep snow path on the street, trembling slightly with excitement. It felt like walking into a pure white world that had just been created.

Today, I am 37 years old.Writing down that number was really tough.I would literally give anything to be 26 again.You don't understand why your life is like a vegetable caught by an instant noodle factory, which is ridiculously dehydrated and put into a small bag. I longed for something out of the ordinary and for a while found nothing.In these bewildered mornings, I searched for something that could bring comfort to the essence of life.Later, there was no more "ding", and I very slowly figured out what it was.One day I realized it was a storm I had watched with childish awe the summer I was nine years old.The day before, the radio forecast said there was a typhoon, but no one cared. How could there be a typhoon in the northeast?But that morning, the typhoon came.I pressed my face against the glass window, and saw that the sky was as dark as midnight, and the rain was crazy, as if there was an ocean pouring down from the sky, and the trees were seized by a violent force and beat the ground repeatedly.It got me hooked.I walked out the door like I was in the front row watching a God show.Now, I realize that this rainstorm has been extraordinarily long, and I never left.