Sui Yi Du Chun Qiu
Some things are meant to be lived; some are meant to be dreamed. Live the days seriously, but do not stop imagining.
阅读中文版 →Which school should I attend? What job should I find? At what age should I get married?
Whose idea of a proper life should I become?
I know a man in his forties who runs a breakfast shop. He is balding, and his clothes are always marked with flour and oil. The shop has been there since I was in primary school. It has only seven tables and seven or eight steamers by the entrance. Every morning at four, he opens the doors to his customers. He will probably never become wealthy. What the shop earns in a month may be less than someone else earns in a little over a week.
I once asked him about it. He only smiled. This is what he learned to do, so this is what he can do—and he likes doing it.
In this life, some things are meant to be lived; some are meant to be dreamed.
You cannot live a life made only of dreams. But when life falls short of what you hoped for, you cannot stop dreaming either.
My father once picked up the collection of Hai Zi's poems I was studying. He shook his head and scolded me. From his point of view, the language in the book was difficult to understand, perhaps even impossible to justify.
Then came the day when I sat alone on a slow green train. Looking at the scenery outside, I recited a few lines by Hai Zi: “From tomorrow, I will be a happy person, feeding horses, chopping firewood, and travelling the world.”
The fields rushed backwards beyond the window. The wheels crushed my voice into fragments, but no one cared.
Love someone. Plant a tree.
Do something that offers no reward but that you simply have to do.
It may be as small as dust, yet when you truly look at it, it glitters in the sunlight.
It does not have to be a magnificent landscape or an eternal achievement.
It may not be understood.
Your parents may say you have no prospects. Your friends may say you are too naive. People your age may already be buying homes and cars, while you are still spending time on things they call unrealistic.
The glow of sunset burns in your eyes. It is the flame of freedom.
I see a boat slowly sailing toward a sea that belongs to me.
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