Chapter 34 "Light of the Earth" The quilt is the grave of youth

The quilt is the grave of youth (1) Bed is the tomb of youth —— On behalf of postscript When I wrote this topic again after three or four years, I clearly felt a kind of sadness caused by the hypocrisy remaining in my mind.But very real. It's been a while since I first tried serious writing.And those real times are still full of fresh juice, growing naturally in memory.I know they will continue. Let's go back and see what we said when we were sixteen, which I read in your excerpts— It turns out that some things are really complete inadvertently, and some people are really destined beyond imagination. …No matter what kind of body God gave me, I have staged seventeen years of joys and sorrows, some people and some things are so clearly engraved in the scenery along the way.I learned stability, learned to lie, learned to be calm, learned to be silent, and learned to persevere.The joy in tossing and turning was shattered into a piece of glass, and I stood in the wind and swept them into the darkest corner of my heart.It doesn't matter anymore.Smiling to others with such bright eyes and white teeth, the soul is thin and the shadow is hesitant.Only strength is everywhere.

Look, this is the sad spring and autumn when we were sixteen years old. And now, when I look back at my first text, I will keep laughing.I lament that the old-timers who judged this text back then would actually hold back their teeth and temper, and solemnly review and award those texts that are still hypocritical and moaning.Their kindness and understanding brought us the initial surprise and motivation after embarking on the path of writing.I have to be grateful. But if we face it now, the self-deprecating and clear mood in the smile shows that we have not wasted these years.Because we have finally grown.

This is the mood I can finally sum up in the face of the years nineteen years ago. The structure of this book began a long time ago.Later, shortly after starting to write, I was hindered by a powerful embarrassment.There's a big blank period in between that barely touches it at all.Then it went on and on, until at the end it was almost unrecognizable.I don't know why, but day and night while I was writing it, whenever I sat in front of the computer, I started having stomach pains, and every now and then I needed to curl up in pain.However, once I stood up and couldn't see the monitor, the pain went away.I am still puzzled until now.

I turned my nineteen years into these sloppy words, and put them in front of you, so that you can see its beauty and its shortcomings.It wasn't until this process was completely over that I realized how difficult it is for a person to face his past with sincerity and sincerity. Although I admit that it is superficial and naive of me to say such a thing.Because my nineteen years may be just the beginning. When Qu He read the first draft of this book, she said to me—— ... ... When I think of those who have gone far enough, I think of you first.Remember the night before you went to college, I half-jokingly asked you before.Before, I knew there must be many more difficult things besides the part you told me.You always said that you were afraid that I would think you were complaining, but if you didn’t know, I always knew that it was not easy for you to be able to do what you have done today.However, I always have a fantasy in my heart, hoping that one day you can seal them all up and only touch them when you need them occasionally.Over the years, this is what I have asked of myself, so I am sorry, I have just seen so clearly that in fact, I always subconsciously want to give what I think is good to certain people.I thought I could stand by everyone, just like I thought it would be great if we could really lift the weight, at least in terms of expression.

I say you keep coming back, but not the writing, I never thought it was a failure, if it had come from another hand, I would have been delighted, I would have been curious.Yet it comes from you.I can see that you are still sinking, there are too many traces, and you seem to intend to keep sinking like this.I thought writing was a way of saying goodbye, like leaving the heavy to writing and the light to life. ... The quilt is the tomb of youth (2) Writing doesn't empty us.Words replace thinking, and memory is deepened and self-rebuilt while writing and telling.We end up forgetting things as they really are and remembering only the images in words.I remember the pain that was unreal but piercing.

I heard people say before that the Chinese people's reserve is to keep the wonderful things for themselves, that's true, and it's not only that.Expression is a boundary that cannot be easily crossed. ... You have a neurotic sense of responsibility, which is like the thickness of your writing, but is the writing giving you a strong hint?However, I have to admit a cliché that any writing driven by utilitarianism will go against the heart, but there is indeed no such thing as almost no purpose.But the greater the ambition, the more falsification.It would be a clever operation if such tampering could be based on fiction.But if it is based on the truth, while recording, the more we are reluctant to part with, the more indelible will be imprinted on us.

... ... She had other reasons for the occasion of my writing this letter, but when I looked at it, from the fifth sentence onwards, I burst into tears.After reading it later, I couldn't help myself, and covered my face with my hands. I can't remember how many years, I haven't had such a deep feeling in my heart. What I tried my best to hide with careful planning and relatively clumsy tricks was finally seen by others. Yes, we've all grown up.There are more and more things, and the experience is beyond words.I used to think that words could be my salvation, but later I found that it has only gradually become my shackles.Because I don't have enough ability and perseverance to face it honestly—whether it is facing writing or memory itself.

I'm still undecided on how to face it.But the only thing I know is that I will still choose my posture, try my best, and not give in.Because writing, as well as language, both have dignity.Be awe-inspiring and respectful, and do your best. All I can say honestly is try my best.After all, there are some things that nothing can be done about. I have this unexplainable dream again and again. The heart is like the earth.Sparse bright lights stand high in the wilderness.Passers-by can see the illuminated dots of light, but passers-by will never know the darkness between light and light. I have thought it over.This may be a metaphor for my own heart.To some extent, because of deliberately avoiding and despising those so-called signs of adolescence—such as sadness, hypocrisy, world-weariness, tears—I haven’t seriously and honestly reflected on the dark colors stirring in my mind for a long time. s things.However, the existence of shadows will not disappear due to passive avoidance.Because I haven't completely relieved and solved it, those stubborn existences have become more and more corrupted under the cheerful and nonsensical appearance, until they almost reached a kind of division between inside and outside, and double.Just like the land of the heart, the blossoming lights are gorgeous only for others to see.The pieces of darkness in those gaps can only wait to be melted by themselves.

We all know that most people are not who they seem. Perhaps there is no shame in being sad.But we, or just me, need to look at it again and look at it sincerely, and find other more meaningful gains from those precipitated precipitations.Remember these one by one, and forget or forgive the rest.And finally grow up in this process, and be grateful. I am forever dull and powerless in such metamorphosis.But I know I'm always working on it. I am grateful to many old people.They have structured my growth with me, and made those process full of precious and beautiful.They probably never read my articles.Maybe I never knew that the person who wrote these words was me.

But you know, I will always only remember you in my heart. The book now completed is just the beginning.In the process of writing, I used all my thoughts and energy to structure.There are inevitable powerlessness and shortcomings in it.But I still feel that this is a more dedicated account of my efforts.Difficult as it is known - but I still hope it can be a farewell.Just like the sentence just now: It would be great if we could really lift weights, at least in terms of expression.