The traditional Chinese New Year is like a kite string tugging at us kids who are away from home for school.
The wind has flown for a year stopping at this time of the year, so it's time for the kite to go home. Miki and I were the two kites that were retrieved right next to each other at the same time.
Over the course of the year, Moki and I flew together, looking at the landscape of the earth, chasing the setting sun, leaping up and falling down together.
I will say that Moki is a very important person in my life. It's not just because Miki buried his head in my soaked hair one rainy night and nibbled on my ear with warm lips and said, "From this day on, we're flying together." More than anything else, it was because whenever I dropped from my original altitude, Moki would hold me just in time for a pull-up that thrilled me.
I could clearly see the arc of our drifting flight beyond the sky, in which Kimi and I were more like two conjoined birds. I flew with my left wing, and Moki flew with his right. In fact, Miki and I were originally one-armed birds. Mumu lost his mom when he was 11 years old, and I suffered the loss of my dad when I was 6 years old. I've always felt that these two misfortunes were an opportunity for the two of us to fall in love.
I've rarely cried since I've been with Kimi. The school's career was also flourishing. Mumu's friends all said, "Mumu, you wa lucky to die, made a smart and happy elf-like girlfriend." But on my birthday three months ago, I cried my eyes out. Because Mumu wrote on my birthday card: I often think you are a sad blue kite, when we fly too high, you and the sky mixed with one color, I feel afraid for not seeing you, I think that lonely you are not also sad? I don't know where Miki gets such sad thoughts from, but I've often had them. I often think of the "Fei Zheng Zhuan" in the forever blue fly past the forest, I feel like Fei like a footless bird, it flies, flies, flies, flies tired, sleeps in the wind, this kind of bird can only go down to the ground once in a life time, that is, it is the time to die.
Could it be that my melancholy is affecting the happy Mumu? Moki, I would fly with you, but never want to see you become a legless bird too.
Later, Mumu told me with an excited face before the vacation, "I want to go home with you this Spring Festival." Mumu added, "I want to go to your hometown to pick the kind of henna dyeing you mentioned, and I want to dye this blue kite of yours pink pink pink, like a Barbie doll." A pink kite, which reminds me of a pink-cased journal I have. It held all my secrets from back home. The damning thing was that Kimi knew nothing about it. I'm sure Miki didn't realize that the pink-covered journal had the most melancholy blue title page. I even thought I had to go home for the very purpose of taking it with me, the pink diary with the blue title page.
Despite the fact that going home to me was like the feathers of a footless bird fluttering before it hits the ground, each one representing death. I still agreed to Miki's request, I didn't want to disappoint and break Miki's heart, because I love Miki. In fact, from the stormy night when Moki hugged me a year ago, I knew I couldn't escape him, just like I couldn't escape my past.
Mumu has been exuberant during the journey, and my hometown in the south has given Mumu, who grew up in the north, a lot of wonderful novelty, while I have been worrying about my pink diary and the obscure youth on the diary. Obscure youth, my obscure youth that Miki doesn't know, it's a thunderbolt that I can't explode inside me, and I hurt my tentacles and retinas to try to forget it. Now that I'm about to touch it with my beloved Miki, to gaze upon it, my heart is pounding, waiting for something to happen, and I've always had an uneasy feeling that the pink diary is missing. Lost somewhere where I couldn't find it, secretly watching for its owner to return.
The all-encompassing highway journey came to a quick end, and both happiness and worry were now transformed into relief at the end of the journey. The moment I put down my traveling bag and looked around, I actually had a strange feeling. "Is this still the place I grew up in?" I asked the question over and over in my head, while my feet felt like they were on a specific string.
The way home is never the same, no matter how far it is.
Mumu hummed along the way, curiously surveying the sparrow's nest of state-run factories, devoid of the hustle and bustle of the city or the closeness of the countryside. It's an ideal place to grow up that exudes the flavor of ordinary life," Miki said.
Two people greeted me on the road, saying my name off the top of their heads, their eyes filled with the joy of a long encounter. One of them, a rather mature man, even said that he and I had stolen candy from a food factory when we were kids. I shied away from all these glances and what sounded like legends of the past, and I was getting more and more irritated and restless, and my footsteps were getting faster and faster. Moki followed pathetically, dragging two large travel bags behind him. Looking at him, I suddenly thought of a scene I had seen in a movie: after countless coincidental encounters and misses, Xu Jinglei and Geng Le spent the night of their reunion in a flat in a dozens of high-rise buildings, and when Xu Jinglei went to knock on the door the next morning with a big pot of doughnuts and soya bean milk only to discover that she had gone to the wrong room, she ran back and forth between a dozen high-rise buildings, but could no longer retrieve yesterday's flat, and she could only hope to look up to the She only hoped to look at the distant sky, once again lost their loved ones. Thinking of this I raised my head to look at the sky of my hometown, a group of pigeons in the shape of a jet flying over silently.
Moki said I was a blue kite lost in the sky, so have I lost my home, Moki will eventually be sadly lost to me.
Later I saw Mr. M, who was playing with his wife and children, from a distance in front of the fountain in the newly renovated plaza, and my head kept roaring, and I felt something in my body collapsing, leaving more shocking ruins, and my eyes were exhausted, and I fled as if I were fleeing from there. Moki followed wordlessly, it was a land that Moki wasn't familiar with.
We eventually made it home. Mom showed great surprise and eager enthusiasm for Miki. Moki's response kind of seemed like an extremely knowledgeable boy, and mom kept smiling with relief. But mom was still much older than before. Dad left, suffering from heart disease mom gave her all to me, and I ...... mom is my eternal guilt, about this complex in my head constantly entangled, I really afraid that one day mom will die with death to let me in the guilt also die.
My room is still the same as before, even the curtains and bedsheets are still the solid blue color of the past. Miki said the room was too small and the windows were in the wrong place, he also said the room lacked sunlight and flowers. It was such a room that once became a boarding place for me to escape from everything, a paradise for my lonely soul. How sadly I had loved this room was something that ten thousand Moki's would never understand. In any case, I wouldn't change a thing about it after hearing Moki's lengthy review.
The alarm clock on the wall of the room startled Kimi. It was a quirky alarm clock that went off at a tight clip every hour, and then a little man stepped out of a small door on the alarm clock to say something like, "A great cause awaits you."
"Great cause, great thing ......," Moki grinned broadly.
"It's funny how great things were just one thing to me back then - reading."
"Actually, the great thing would be the alarm clock itself, look, the hour hand that keeps moving ......"
"You're talking about time."
"Yes, it is time, the time of all time, the time of greatness."
"Great time ......" I thought somberly. I tried to use the great time to forget my obscure high school, to forget Mr. M, to forget the night of my dad's accident, but the time joked with me with the "never-ending", and I couldn't hide the fact that I was shocked to see Mr. M again today, and I dared to say that I still had what strength to fight against the great time?
Mumu fiddled with the knick-knacks on my desk one by one, bits and pieces of memories once again breaking time to come at me until my mom came into the room and patted me on the head and said, "Let Mumu sleep here, you're sleeping with mommy." "No, I'm going to sleep in my room." Because I remembered about the pink diary, I knew it was in my room and I was going to find it tonight. Mom couldn't argue with me, so she had to create another cozy looking crib for Mummy, who soon fell asleep in it under Auntie's gentle hospitality.
I also lit the lamp and started to look for my pink diary, and for a long, long time, I never found it.
The night was quiet at home, and I wondered if I was dreaming afterward.
I heard the air hissing and swimming and scratching at something, and I heard sharp, hoarse sobs and shouts coming from the second drawer of my desk. It was the pink-covered journal, its husky, dust-coated, increasingly heavy body crawling out of the drawer and onto the desk, tilting and poking out of the window in front of the desk. I gasped, and it fell headlong. The flying piece of paper wobbled and fell into the vast darkness. I woke up to this cry, drenched in something like sweat or tears, and I turned on the light and saw that the desk window was indeed half open, and I looked down from the fifth-floor window into a black hole as if it were a bottomless abyss, and it seemed to me that I could hear my diary shouting out from that abyss, "Why do you keep trying to throw me away!" I remembered a sentence I had written in my diary, "I'm really afraid to open it, afraid to see a striking scar on myself, afraid to make myself ache. I sometimes think I could burn it and bury it under the sycamore tree that used to be in my grandmother's yard. There used to be a kitten buried there that I loved, and I'd actually prefer it to climb up to the window one night when I'm talking in my sleep and have a wonderful suicide."
The next day, at first light, I ran downstairs to look directly in front of the window; it was a white, bare patch of concrete, but there was no piece of paper at all.
I knew that even if everything in my hometown was mute, the pink diary would tell all the secrets. Those secrets mean nothing today, and I'm the only one who still cares about it. I felt cold and wet all over me, like I had fallen into an ice cellar.
I even thought about what it had been taken by; mom, Miki, and Mr. M.
Three
The days leading up to the neighboring Chinese New Year, my facial expressions and smiles belonged to someone else, as relatives sat in the overcrowded, unimaginably crowded space, desperately trying to smoke and drink. Miki and I tried to be as easygoing and pliable as any young couple meeting their elders for the first time, hiding all of our unappealing edges and awkward language so that the elders would think of us as a polite, modest, and shy couple, and then ultimately earning them compliments such as being well-matched. I hated hearing those words, and my mumu didn't like it either.
So the day before the first of the year, three days after my pink journal suicide, Miki and I left my house, and it was from that day on that I heard my journal start talking somewhere.
Moki said he wanted to see my school, and we went, riding my old bike. The campus was as cold as a temple on vacation. The wheels of the old bike pressed against the long-yellowed leaves, and the softness and resilience of the rustle caressed my memory, like a group of boisterous girls falling behind, or like boys clanking away with loud roars of song, and the tracks tried to bring me once and for all to the open windows of the world, to drive away the determination and inferiority complex that had taken over all of my mind at that time, but I hesitated in the end.
I began to complain about the hard road and the stagnant wheels, and threw my old bike to Miki beside me. Miki stepped on and shot off like an arrow, flying leaves and dust swooping up into my face.
I froze there in a trance, looking at the bike that belonged here and the Miki that didn't belong here. Familiarly strange and intimately detached.
As the light blue school building gradually approached, that blue sadness began to bite into the past again in my heart in turn. It was then that my pink notebook began to speak, and the voice in which it spoke seemed to come from the past. It said:
"The face of my high school life is unclear, the image blurred. A period of more than boredom, blank days where I couldn't even find a clue as to what I had done other than destroy insects.
Only one feeling was profound, that of sitting in one of the highest classrooms in the light blue school building every day, which had a piece of spliced glass in the upper right corner of the first window on the left, through which the sunlight became particularly strong, just shining on my desk and on the painful and itchy pimples on my face. I could clearly see the dust and little flying insects floating in it, and I always gently grabbed the little flying insect and placed it on my desk, slowly working it to death.
Today Mr. M called me into the office and told me that I wasn't listening to the class and I was doing weird little things, and he said that the color of the highlighter on my homework was making his nose hurt, but I liked the flashing and the excitement of it.
I kept staring at Mr. M's long, thin fingers when he spoke ......"
The diary suddenly hiccupped as it spoke, or maybe it didn't want to say any more.
"Miki, let's go, this isn't a fun campus."
"I was just looking at the ping pong table in the right corner of your playground. That's a really nice table."
The day I met Mumu, he was sweating on the ping-pong table in the university gymnasium, and a small golden ball drew a wonderful arc and landed at my feet like a shooting star.......
On the way out of my alma mater, I kept thinking about Teacher M. Or rather if it wasn't for Mr. M, I wouldn't have come to this school that made me almost desperate. As I carefully picked up the rubble that had blasted away a few days earlier along the way, my pink diary was helping me, saying that Mr. M's iridescent gaze never left me, and it added, "My pale high school career hung like brussels sprouts in the morning market on Mr. M's nimble, slender fingers that gripped the fountain pen. I watched them act out momentum, power, and it was all like a delicate dance. My friends spoke to me less and less, even my closest friend, Yi, only occasionally, and I fell into the world of the dance between me and Mr. M. I thought it was a brilliant pantomime, and Mr. M. was brought into it for no reason at all, and every glance he took at me was taken by me as a gaze of interest and attention, and even though he did it to every one of my classmates, I stubbornly thought that I was the only one who cared about it. fleeting glances. If one day I don't see them, I get restless and self-conscious, and I still don't know if this feeling is called love or not. ......"
The pink diary always breaks down when it comes to Mr. M. I know it's because the story itself feels like Iwai Shunji's fluttering lens and the lens of an of an incomplete youth.
I don't want to make my youth as dazzling and brutal as Iwai Shunji's, but I try to look back on what Mr. M did for me with a normal mindset, and I'm thrilled by at least one thing: the fact that you can learn a purely rational natural science so emotionally, as Newton was poetically struck by before he wrote the law of gravity. I'd say that Miki, who always proclaimed the "beauty of math", wasn't even half as good as I was then.
"Miki, have you ever heard of a physics poet?"
"You mean Einstein's beard or his fascinating theory of relativity?"
"Miki, can you understand how I used to always feel like I was writing poetry when I was doing physics problems?"
"Well, writing the poem must have been like this:
We both sit at opposite ends of a large magnet,
and there is a force that keeps trying to capture each of us,
but
although we are close at hand
we will never touch."
"Miki, you're such a crappy poet."
"Who made me a physics senior? Wow, you said your physics teacher's name was what's-his-name, M, and that he looked like a blind praying mantis with his dark-lens glasses."
"Miki, that was just a joke."
Yeah, it was just a joke. I've got a whole bunch of hard-core jokes, and that's kind of how I talk about the past. Because I know it's the coldest of jokes, the blackest of humor that will make the corners of one's mouth turn up in irrelevant, fake smiles, and those smiles have saved me many times from desperate situations of falling into cold memories.
Moki would laugh at these jokes, too, but after Moki laughed she would say, "You're so good at Q."
Often, if Miki hadn't reminded me of this, I would have fallen lifelessly into the self-excuse and solace of the spirit of Ah Q. Even though I gradually erected a new image in front of my new friends in this way, and I worked my eyes to a passionate look in front of the mirror, and I was always telling people that I was happy, and that even if I wasn't, I wasn't going to be sad. But it wasn't in a good way. I had been biting painfully at this mental finger, protecting the new image, fragile as porcelain, and wondering confusedly if it was me or just this image that Miki had fallen in love with.
In fact, I should have realized long ago that I had fooled everyone but Miki, the most innocent and kind-hearted Miki.
From the time Miki said I was a sad blue kite, I should have understood.
Walking further on this campus, I would only become more and more sad. I took Mu Mu to a place called "cat rock beach", I forgot to tell Mu Mu, when I was a child, my home is living in the Yangtze River, that is a happy barefoot pile of sand childhood, but such days have long followed the death of my father and far away. The feeling of standing by the river with Mumu today is simply hard to grasp, and I can only ask Mumu over and over again, "Is it beautiful here?"
Mumu's answer made me a little lost, he said, "If the Three Gorges is the Yangtze River's most treacherous and majestic throat and lungs, this is just a section of its small intestine." Mu Mu is a cheerful child who grew up in a seaside city with beautiful beaches, and the only real freedom and happiness I ever had stayed in this rocky beach that Mu Mu called "the small intestine of the Yangtze River".
But, Miki, do you know that before I left home, I came here every day, pulling those new, dried-up prince grasses, tying them into the knots that my father had taught me, and then throwing them into the whirlpools of the river by handfuls.
Mumu, you know that last year, when I came home, I stood on the highest rock at Cat Rock Beach and looked into the whirlpool full of prince grass and shouted, "Mumu, let's fly together, let's fly together, Mumu.
My pink diary is saying a lot of things, can you hear it again? It says: "I have a deep affection for every whirlpool of the Yangtze River, I remember them very well and know which whirlpools cast in how many princely grasses. Papa, I put my thoughts of you in two knotted princes' weeds for the whirlpools to bring them to you. Dad, do you remember when I was a little girl on this cat rock beach I could see the balcony of the house and my mom who was drying clothes on the balcony, the princes grass was always so plentiful and green back then, why you always won when it came to hitting the princes grass. Mom is sick today, after you left mom and I were always sick for no known reason, just like the prince grass here is not as plentiful and green as it used to be for no known reason." Kimi I want you to know that if dad was still around he would have liked you, he would have called you boy casually, but he would have taken his little girl's hand and handed it over to you very discreetly and then looked at you longingly with a gaze that can only be read amongst men, I must have been dumb as a rock back then.
I shed a lot of tears, tears were blown dry by the cold wind before the spring, face like ice as tense as the whole expression, I really did not expect to want to say so many touching words to Mu Mu, but so cold and silent looking at Mu Mu, the distance between us in my deep favorite place like the "Yangtze River's small intestines," like pulling more and more far away.
Four
This year's Spring Festival does not have a New Year's Eve, tomorrow is 2003, and everyone is waiting for the New Year's bell to ring in their own way. I was disturbed by my indifference to Mummy this afternoon, and Mummy looked worried too. Mom was in the kitchen making coffee and actively preparing for the Chinese New Year Gala, which ended at midnight. In the end, a song on TV brought us to the topic of "happiness", which was a difficult conversation for me to have. In the end, I just couldn't make any sense out of it.
My pink diary helped me a lot by saying, "My studies have become unmanageable, and I have no choice but to indulge myself, and in the midst of my degradation, I didn't realize that I would accidentally experience something that I would classify as joy. Like the joy of being capricious, like the joy of chasing Mr. M's gaze, and the joy of gawking ......"
I asked Miki, "Have you ever heard the saying, the happier you are, the more depraved you are."
"That's the name of a movie, Qiu Shuzhen is beautiful."
"'Fallen' was the cool word we popularized in high school, just like we love to say 'depressed' today."
"The people who used to say that word were the good students who called it depravity when they thought about the new Hollywood movie in the bathroom for a while."
"It's their way of protecting themselves, they create a layer of mystical smoke over themselves to make us think how happy they are on the formal path of learning."
"Do you think they are really happy?"
"Miki, if that's called happiness to me, I'd rather be mute like Takeshi Kaneshiro who ate a can of pineapple."
"You're talking about Fallen Angel, I know you love that movie."
Yes, for a long time I sat in front of the TV late at night and watched it over and over again. The scene of Takeshi Kaneshiro eating candle ice cream lingered on later in my life, and I had described its beauty so many times in front of Miki that she couldn't stand to look at my silent expression. Then he went all the way to buy two large cups of taro ice cream and lit two candles to stick in the center.
The small dark garden where we ate ice cream together was once spied on. Because we did look like two large fireflies. While eating the ice cream Miki asked me, "If a person is too fallen, will they still be an angel?"
Looking at his still ice cream-stained mouth and innocent eyes, I said, "Angels are only fallen in heaven."
After eating the ice cream Miki said something that touched me to the core.
The bells of the New Year were about to ring, and the great time re-drawing back the inexplicable distance between the two of us this afternoon, I reveled in the sweet, silky satisfaction of the ice cream. I hoped that after the bell rang, there would be no more past.
No more past, only future. I lied to myself repeatedly.
I hadn't expected Miki to break my deception the moment before the bell rang.
Moki said, "Before you enter the moment of the New Year, you should take an honest look at the path you have traveled, the past is your best treasure and you should not hide from them."
"What have I run away from?"
"Your past, when you came back, you've been running away from it, from the school you didn't like, from Mr. M, who you liked, and Auntie said you made her put off the reunion for you, and that you should go back to them again."
"Miki, why are you saying all this, I really don't want to think about it, I don't want to think about it ......"
"You're just afraid of exposing your true self, it's what scares you that makes you finally submit. "
"Miki, stop talking ...... "My heart was messy like flying snow, I pushed Miki away hard with my hand, I don't know how Miki knew all this, I even thought that it must be Miki who took my pink diary, he saw all the secrets. I even thought that Miki didn't love me anymore, and that his silence and worry these days were meant to be a fatal blow to me when the New Year's bell rang.
But why was he still talking about coloring my sad blue kite pink?
I pulled my legs out and ran for the door, where my mom stood looking at me anxiously and helplessly. I understood in a trance that it was my mom who told Miki everything, because she liked Miki's sincerity, but mom, do you know me, I love Miki too, and I love you, and I love Teacher M. I ran away from the old weak, depressed, selfish me just so I wouldn't lose you guys.
My heart was so messed up that I ran downstairs, with Miki chasing after me, until I fell heavily in front of the streetlight downstairs, whose light shone on a small area, the lost place of my pink diary. I sat there in that small spot, looking at Miki indignantly, as if he had stolen my pink notebook. I finally shouted out, "You saw it, I'm nothing like you thought I was, go away, I don't want to see you again."
The streetlight suddenly went out and darkness engulfed the space between him and me.
"I'm leaving," Miki said in the darkness, and I could see a heaviness in his eyes that I couldn't hide, even in the darkness.
Moki was really gone that night when there was no light at all.
The second he was gone, the first bell of 2003 rang, and everywhere there were cheers from others, and I was alone. Only the words Miki said as he finished his ice cream, which touched me to the core, rang in my ears.
He said, If he made an angel, he'd come back to me with dozens of pounds of heavenly ice cream falling from the tallest building in Chengdu.
A cold tear hung on my face, illuminating everything around me, and I saw my pink diary taken away by a blue kite.
Or maybe this night I saw my destiny, the destiny was the blue kite and the pink diary.