the other side of the valley

I am a drifting bird who has forgotten how to fly, a traveler who has lost his baggage and wings.

I stand at the watershed between style and subject matter, looking up at the unknown valley. I don't know if there will be another mountain behind the valley, or a great avenue or a cliff, but I have gradually become convinced in the slow years that I am heading for a road that will leave no regrets.

When I first made up my mind to organize my travel history and put it together into a book, I never thought that I would keep writing it. But when I read book after book and realized that every writer is actually like a traveler on a long journey, I realized that everyone is actually doing the same thing, and all things can be Common.

As I polished my thoughts into words, I felt like I had lost my body. "I" has become a concept, and that concept can be transformed into words itself, but at the same time, the fingertips can paradoxically complete the homework for the me who has disappeared at the moment. To be more specific, it was like there was another self in the distance, watching me typing on the keyboard, and there was no passionate enthusiasm on the tips of my fingers typing on the keyboard, only an idea of life.

That thought comes from afar, and "I" is just a passage.

As human beings, we all hope that our will can be left behind in any possible form, even inherited. It doesn't matter whether you create it or not. As long as one lives, desires and habits are guided, and in many cases even more fixed than beliefs. And our whole life is nothing but an attempt to overcome the invisible existence, and any other more tangible existence is often just a representation.

In the past, I have always been extremely serious, living under the interference of external voices, not only having no certainty about life, but also having an extremely lack of imagination about life. Before the era of information explosion, I was immersed in doing what I liked, but I was always afraid that time would go by and I could not grasp anything. It wasn't until I also became dependent on the 3Cs, until I became a member of anxiety, that things didn't get better, they just got worse.

If life loses its profound experience, all things are just fragments that are slipped by your fingertips. You will not remember the content, but you will only remember that you have done sliding. Rather than saying it was a surfing, it was actually more like a drift. We gave our whole consciousness to the community that thought we could connect with the world, but because there were so many things to browse, we gradually became the cold eyes behind the screen.

So it would even be my honor if I could end this indifference and become someone who seemed to be mumbling to myself. I just need to make sure that in each moment of focus on the present, I lose at the same time, but also get closer to myself.

Spread your wings and soar.