Last day of 2018. Snowed yesterday. Amazingly the snow accumulated over night, and Shanghai is now looking pretty, covered in white, and fresh air. Listening to Xmas music in Starbucks, with Noah reading his comic book next to me. It's quiet. The shop just opened. I thought it was already opened at 7, but it turned out we were the first customers. I like it, peaceful and quiet, and holiday in the air. Sent you a message on the way over. I saw the snow, and that is forever linked with you. I can see your face brighten up and your prettiness is captured in someone's camera. Yes, this is what you will like, and I am happy to imagine how happy you will be.
What more can I ask about life, when I have this type of rather luxury life, where the person I love, Noah, is next to me, and I am able to spend some time w/ Dad? Though I don't know where you are anymore. At least, we are in the same city, breathing the same air, seeing the same snow, and in the same space in a sense that I know you are here, and maybe, you will think of me, too.
End of 2018. Another year. I dont' get excited over holidays anymore. I looked at my camera this morning. Even though I have just bought a few more lenses, I don't think I'm becoming a good photographer — I'm not taking pictures, and I dont' have fire burning inside me. I don't have an audience in mind for whom I am going to show and talk about these pictures, experience, and imagine her face, her smell, her reaction. Without that, I feel nothing but emptiness, a void. I know you are still there, like living in my soul. Yet, you are becoming so silent that I'm afraid I will have moments I don't hear your voice anymore in my mind. Reading the "One Hundred Years of Solitude", what a tough book! I was constantly reminded of you when characters were going through life with their burning desire and their persistent, sometimes even rather strange, love. It's one thing to live in love, feeling the anxiety, pain, excitement, tingling of skin at a touch, quite another that each love ended in misery, or not even having an end, just disappeared into a thin air, like nothing happened.
How sad. I feel love is a thing God invented to tease human, that gives you so much hope, makes you feel so full and fulfilled, will fade, inevitably, and will change, inevitably. The best one can wish is to turn it into a family-ish relation, and that's just, sad. What happened to desire? to sensitivity? to yearning of seeing someone, of being with someone, of be close to someone, of being known and understood by someone, being thought of by someone, being reminded by someone when the weather is cold, or hot, or rain, or shine, or anything, just to be reminded, that the someone, is there?
I don't know why people can get over these moments so quickly (or so easily). I really don't get it. These are the moments in life that made life worth living, it gives you a memory to look back, to feel yourself deep inside that you are still sensitive to a feeling, even it is just sad, that you are alive. Moving on is indeed a wicked word. It is not by anyone's choice. It's a choice by time, and time goes on without concerning a bit of who you are, what you do, whom you love.
So, 2018, like any other year, is nothing but an earmark of time, ruthlessly passing by, announcing its existence, trashing everything on its path, indifferent, cold-hearted, sensible.
But human, if deserves that name, has feelings, and should cherish that, because that is all we have left. Like me thinking of you at this hour, that you probably will never know, nor will you care perhaphs. But that's all I have, all I have to stare at the face of time, at the passing of this coldness, so not to be turned into a being that myself will hate. You, keep me, sane.
I miss you. Go play in the snow. You will like it. You always do, and that's how I remembered about you, and wish you remember something about me, too.
Happy New Year, 美丽的人.
— by Feng Xia