8964 - The history of the dead is written in ink, and the history of the living is written in blood.

I dreamed that I met a student when I went to Hong Kong to play, and he died a day later in the anti-extradition campaign.

I remember his appearance and body, the taste of the food he cooked, and even the name he had written on his obituary. I have always believed that some dreams are the reflections of the multiverse, and I have experienced almost no change. For the first time, through my own despair, I realized that the people of the past are living in the past truly and vividly.

And perhaps on a special day, dreaming of the revolution of the times is a deliberate act of my spirit. "The turn of spring and summer..." in the history of the party shows that the word revolution, which seems to have achieved itself, is so ugly and unsightly, because the harmonious lip-synching of the piano and the serenity that they maintain with the level of self-moving effort cannot be used by a group of insignificant people. Destroyed by plankton, there should be no shame in the glory of the world.

Most people are living a normal life today. They have pretended not to remember what happened 33 years ago, or completely ignorant of the human nature trampled under the bloody storm. Naturally, they cannot be killed by tens of thousands of deaths. shock. Forgetting seems to be able to rewrite history, and it seems that all evils have never happened, and the bloody struggle has never been given meaning, and it is forever. After all, the life that is far away from you is not important, right? A democratic and free China is a topic that should be avoided, right?

Even so, I envy my classmates who once had the opportunity to stand for the square for their own freedom. Their hearts are full of sincere hope, and they simply insist on the innocence of the revolution. And with a bit of false self-sufficiency, I want to quietly watch how this sinful society is being devoured by crime.

I'm in a bad mood.

But what is the value of emotions in the current era? There was an era that I had no luck with, people made emotional connections, said "why? i think it's my duty!" to the camera, and rode their bikes to the square.

And now, more than a month ago, a "Voice of April" was continuously reposted and banned. That night, some people in my circle of friends were arguing that "my rebellious mentality is here" while participating in retweets to no avail, falling asleep with the passion of self-righteous revolution. The next day everyone was silent. I watched on the sidelines, wondering whether these emotionally inflated people would still be able to recall today, and whether they would realize that this seemingly resistance against the high wall is just a mosquito that can be slapped to death. Whether we reflect on the situation at that time, the anger on the Internet is useless, and if there is no revolution, what time will it be.

Although I don't know, and I don't dare to speculate about what kind of mental state this generation of Chinese will develop after all, but... the above doubts are most likely to be negative answers, because memory is not their weapon, and reflection is not within their ability. Inside. Because if the answer is yes, China may have had democracy long ago, and Shanghai this spring may not be a farce.

I often hate myself for having the same weakness, for not being able to meet or form a group that can wield even a little bit of strength, always hoping someone somewhere can do it, and I'm just a logical way to join. I hate myself for thinking decadently, "I may not be able to wake up the people around me, I'm just struggling to keep myself from falling asleep."

Silence and inaction are both accomplices.

So today I want to leave some words, with pure hatred, to at least commemorate the boy who died because of the liberal and democratic revolution in my dream.

I love him.