Essay｜Amber, Dreaming, Gravedigger: Using words to cut through the cocoon of life

Walking to the table, he put the steel cup into the cup holder beside the table. The ice cubes floated up from the bottom of the cup due to the shaking, jumped out of the water, and swayed in the bottomless black grass tea. The ice cubes were sharp. The edges are arranged like mountain ridges, like the terrifying mountains in the Cthulhu mythology, standing in the dark and unknown lake.

I stared at it in a daze.

Earlier, I was also staring at the sweeping robot in a daze, watching the afternoon sunlight pouring in from the balcony window in the restaurant, watching it shuttle between the legs of the table, watching it draw a straight line along the path it swept, just like a snail. A long, wet trail trailed behind him.

I'm really lazy. When I moved, I silently decided to buy a truly "hands-free" and truly "smart" sweeping robot. I think of the "antique machine" in my hometown. It always hits the wall at the edge and corner, and then turns after hitting the wall again and again. In the end, it always misses the places that really need to be cleaned, such as the toenails next to the sofa in the living room and the prince's noodles under the coffee table. And the dust next to the TV cabinet will never be swept away, let alone the mopping function. No one is willing to reach out to wash that mop. Except for my mother's occasional efforts, she kindly helped install it, and no one else wanted to get their hands on it. In the end, I simply gave up this function that was useless because of laziness.

When I returned to my hometown a while ago, I still saw it working hard sweeping the floor and wandering along the steps in the corner of the toilet. It can only be said that times have changed rapidly. In the past few years, these tools have improved rapidly, and I no longer have to deal with a mop. I remembered the cleaning on the eve of the New Year last year. I saw my mother turning the robot over, removing the blue semicircular mop, and scrubbing it with her hands under the faucet.

Now it has really become a dead ringer.

No more mopping the floor, either by me or by the robot back home.

I was saved by technology, but the robot in my hometown lacked a person who could help it wash the mop.

This year my life has undergone earth-shaking changes in every sense of the word. My mother passed away suddenly at the end of spring. In a short period of time, I followed my mother's last wish of "no ceremony." I think of this last wish as an "update" when my grandfather passed away in the autumn and winter of last year. I didn't expect that it would only take half a year. Just put it to use . During this week, I visited countless funeral homes, communicated with relatives on the phone, went to the urn factory to carefully select "good-looking" and cost-effective jars, and even bought a tower space. I remember lying on the bed in the rehabilitation clinic a few years ago and hearing the elderly people in the next bed talking about " buying tower space to preserve value ". It was interesting. However, the moment I actually bought it, it was not so interesting. I was left choked up until I could speak. My father couldn’t explain it, and my brother and I were trying to stay calm. Things that I never thought I would come into contact with, but at that moment, appeared after my mother left, it was like a disaster being released from Pandora's box.

Half a month later, with the support of my partner and family, I started looking at houses.

From the start of the pre-sale house sales site to the signing of the contract with the agent, Taiwan experienced the end of the epidemic in the middle. However, my partner and I were both diagnosed after a certain house viewing, and we were lying on the bed of a small suite less than five square feet, panting. During this period, I looked at houses many times, and I became more and more familiar with it. I knew my needs and affordability, and finally chose this one. I went through viewing the house, making an offer, negotiating, and acting out the defense with the agent, and then completed the sale .

It has just been decided, and after handing over the house, there are interior renovations, furniture and appliance purchases, demolition work, painting work, and various installations and confirmations.

After dismantling the dish dryer, I discovered that the wires at the back were already exposed. The installer of the dishwasher said, "If you turn it on and run it, the wires will definitely catch fire." Fortunately, I had the idea of ​​testing it a few days ago, and finally reached out and pressed the button. Stop thinking before turning on the switch, otherwise your new home will be destroyed within a week after handing over due to a gas explosion (the gas line runs behind the dish dryer).

In just six months, I rushed through the major events in my life as if catching up with progress.

I remember writing my own story in my thesis a few years ago. I wrote that my father once said to me: "You have to move forward in life!" . At that time, I was two years away from completing my master's degree, so I wrote in my thesis: " I don’t feel that my life has stopped, after all, my age is still growing with the passage of time.”, but I also admit that I am confused about the future and feel lost about which direction my life should go. I have an education major, but I am in education. Frustrated at the scene, eager to escape but not knowing where to go .

I am like trapped in amber condensed by time, unable to move. By writing about my past life, I stand firm in the river of time, pick up the pebbles under my feet, and try to find the alchemy stone that can answer my life. "Writing" is the treasure I found.

What I found was not just a job, but something worthy of my lifelong dedication.

At that time, I wrote at the end of the paper: "I hope that my words can become a sharp blade, enabling me to split the cocoon of life." Now, I think this sentence still counts. I hope my words can lead me, no matter where my future will go, whether I continue writing, or stop here and go to another industry to make a living, I will always know:

"I have been touched by words." I am different from before.

To paraphrase Natalie Goldberg: "I have the heart of a writer." I live like a writer. What I see, hear, and feel will be different, just because I "write". No matter where my life goes, my heart is like a bright mirror, and I have never been confused.

I recently read Margaret Atwood's "Conferring with the Dead" and I was interested in the passage describing "Who is a 'writer'?" He said: "Secretly, most people believe that they also have a "This book, if they didn't have time, they could have written it." I also think this describes part of the truth. After all, everyone's life has meaning, and "anyone can write it," right? Writing is the most "democratic" form of artistic expression! Anyone can write as long as they can read.

But she also said that "being able to write" alone is not enough to explain everything, and also put forward a straightforward metaphor: "Everyone can dig a hole in the cemetery, but not everyone can dig a grave." People." The latter must shoulder more responsibilities and meanings, shoulder the gazes and fantasies of others, and shoulder challenges and symbolic meanings.

This is not to draw a red line to indicate "qualification or disqualification", but to describe the particularity of the "capital" writer's profession. We don't just write, but in all aspects of life and in every corner of life. Looking for meaning in reality or dreams, using the length of life to weave words, we use all our strength to serve the words we write, not just write.

Now, I will say that I am dreaming, a sweet dream that happens whether I am awake or asleep. I dream on the edge of consciousness. I dream when I am washing apples. I dream when I open the window. , also having this dream while typing.

It is not a dream of great wealth, nor a dream of success, but it is being woven and completed at the same time.

I have already realized the same dream in the moment of practice.

Every breath I take is complete. When I write and when I live, I feel happy.

At this moment when life keeps rolling forward, I use words to cut through the amber of time that wraps myself. Without hesitation, I quietly flap my wings and fly to the boundless distance.

Finally, I have to explain another major life event at the end of the article,

I went to register my marriage last week.

Sure enough, everything will happen this year. Time passes fairly and surely. I can no longer press pause. The amber is like ice cubes melting at room temperature on the table, with no trace left.

But I will still continue to walk towards the other side where the words are.