The Road of Life is Long, Cherish It While Walking

I moved out of school and am truly facing life. I’ve never had such a clear sense of severance before. For many years, no matter how things changed, I still had to obediently return to the classroom to listen to courses I had no interest in. But this time, I felt like I was hanging from a beam, someone swung a knife to cut the rope, a flash of white light passed, and I fell into an unfathomable black hole. I wasn’t scared by the unknown—maybe there’s a pool below, or it’s filled with soft fallen leaves, or it might even pierce through the planet and drop me under another blue sky. So I was too lazy to even let out an “ah” like bungee jumping, and forgot to experience the feeling of weightlessness.

I’ve been working for three months. At first it was a bit tiring—there was so much I didn’t understand, and I relied on Google for everything. As the things I didn’t know were resolved one by one, I gradually forgot my troubles and began adapting to the 9-to-6 work routine. We’re a small company, so I can leave at 8:40 and being late is common. Recently I’ve been wearing shorts and flip-flops to work every day. This is what life is supposed to be, damn it.

But human laziness is deeply rooted—once adapted to an environment, people are reluctant to move. I’ve always been wary of stable, long-term jobs, worried about hanging myself on one tree and losing the whole forest. The other day while watching Floating and Sinking, the little driver explained to Wang Guilin why everyone wants to go to Shanghai: “In Jiangzhou, at twenty you can already see what you’ll look like at eighty.” I’ve said similar things. When a classmate went to Jinchuan County as a civil servant, I told him I could already see what he’d look like in the next few decades. I bet that around fifty or sixty, he’d run to Chengdu to buy a house and settle down—because that’s basically what civil servants from Tibetan areas do. If they don’t get promoted, after working half their lives, they quietly retire in that city where they have few connections until they die.

I once solemnly told Juan: “Don’t ever take the civil service exam—one foot in the door and it’s as deep as the sea.” Recently she said she wanted to take the exam again. I didn’t try to dissuade her this time—instead I supported it. Who says everyone likes a life of ups and downs? Time flows like water; what matters is mindset. But I definitely won’t go. I don’t even want to see what I’ll be like in five years. Speaking of which, poor Doraemon—drilling into a drawer and seeing his adult self. What’s the point of struggling in life then?

Last night while drinking with Lei Ge, he said no matter where he is, after staying five years, he plans to buy a house there. So now he hopes to have a down payment within five years. I was embarrassed to tell him face-to-face that he thinks economics too easy and life too boring. If it were me, I wouldn’t consider this issue within ten years—I’d rather buy a car that can take me to see all kinds of scenery. Recently, my father discussed buying a house with me, saying at my age I should think about these things. Being from the working class, I’m a bit worried about how many years of freedom it would cost to scatter a fortune. I haven’t lived according to my own wishes yet, so I told him: take it slow, no rush. I don’t know what decision they’ll make after I go back.

I have my own ideas. Anyway, I don’t want to be a rural migrant worker for long, and I don’t want to put down roots in the city for now. I’ll make this clear to my dad when I go back.