I haven't written for a long time Every time I see a friend's message on the blog and ask me why I don't update it, I feel a little ashamed and feel that I have accidentally failed others' expectations.
I know that because I like it, I will care, I will look forward to it, I will go into my hut again and again and ask again and again.
But I always live quietly in silence, night after night, day after day, dull, letting time flow at will, wasting time and killing my mood.
I am an ugly person who is not good at talking. I choose words because I need a way to talk and vent. When I write down a little bit of feelings in words, my repressed emotions will have a pleasure of being released.
Writing is just a wandering mood. When people keep asking whether they have written today, writing becomes a kind of burden and pressure, much like the homework that children have to finish, and spirituality and thoughts are missing from the machinery.
These days, I have been wandering in hesitation and contradiction. I don't know whether to continue writing here or close this blog. When I started blogging, I just wanted my words to have a complete reserved space. At the same time, I can also record my current feelings here, so that when I get old, I can find these scattered words and relive some previous feelings and stories. I didn't expect so many friends to accompany me all the way.
I am a sentimental person and a warm-hearted person. At the same time, I am also a narcissistic and selfish person. Every concern and greeting from my friends moved me. Thanks for the silent company of so many friends. However, I am ashamed to express my feelings, and I am not used to going to other people's spaces to ask questions and reply to messages, perhaps because of my long-term closed lifestyle, or because of my fear and boredom with people and things.
I chose the Internet because I didn't like worldly communication and entertainment, and I didn't like the hypocrisy of raising a glass. I thought the network was a space that could exist alone without the group, and I could escape some people and things that I didn't want to face in real life. But I didn't expect that there would be warmth where there were people, and there would be a desire to return when there were feelings.
I choose writing and internet, in fact, I choose an escapist attitude towards life in my heart. I fantasize about filling the gaps in the spiritual world with illusory things. I didn't expect so many people to like to read my plain words and listen to my simple narrative.
I, in fact, have always wanted to live a quiet life without being disturbed.
I know that this state I long for is an unhealthy lifestyle, but I can't get rid of it. I can't leave the city I built for myself.
When I am immersed in my own imaginary world, when I am integrating myself into every novel, realizing my dreams at will, and loving and being loved at will, my heart is a sense of satisfaction that I have never had before. Perhaps words are a kind of spiritual opium, which can enrich my life in fictional stories.
Everyone who likes writing has a dream of being a writer, but the initial writing is definitely not for utility, but really for the worship of words and the satisfaction of self-spirit. When words are clothed with utilitarianism, they lack some soul voices and become tools to make money.
People who like writing are well aware of their original intention of writing. I am glad that I have always understood myself and that so many people have always accepted me with tolerance.
Those who love me, please forgive my indifference and silence. If you love me, just look at me quietly and accompany me silently. I was deeply moved.
I saw many messages criticizing my words for being too gloomy and warning me to write some positive words. However, I am not a writer. I write a blog, I don't sell money, I don't earn fame and fortune, I just want to write about my current mood. If writing is a tool to exchange ideas, then I have been quietly talking to my soul. Maybe one day, I really feel very happy, then my words must be sunny and smiling.
I didn't pretend to be deep, but I was used to being immersed in my own ideology and feeling gloomy about myself. Yu Hua once said in his article:? Writing will really change a person, make a strong person burst into tears, make a decisive person hesitate, make a brave person timid, and finally turn a living person into a writer. ?
I have never been a writer, but I did make some changes in the process of writing, becoming sensitive and thoughtful, weak and sad, vulnerable and easily injured, and disconnected from the world around me, making it difficult to integrate.
A friend asked me: If you can choose, would you rather be a painful thinker or a happy pig? I said: I want to be a happy pig.
I always wanted to be a happy pig, but unfortunately I didn't become a pig or a thinker. My poor mind is in a state of self.
I have thought about what I am writing for, but I have never found the answer.
Some people say that the writer's inner world is lonely, but I don't think so. My loneliness stems from all the past I can't get rid of.
I wonder if I can get out of my confusion if I give up writing, but I still won't give up.
Perhaps, a person has satisfied the spiritual world to the greatest extent, and will also be accompanied by the loneliness of real life to the greatest extent.
I chatted with a friend the other day. He said he was happy, he was happy, and every day of his life was sunny. Suddenly, I want to cry. I never thought that anyone would live so happily, but in my heart, there are so many melancholy and unhappiness. I don't know if there is always inevitable pain in life.
Perhaps, pain is an experience, an experience. In pain, our thoughts can be sublimated again and again, and in pain, our body and mind can also be tempered again and again. That is to thank life for giving us the opportunity to experience pain. Why bother? And the process of forgetting seems a bit long to me.
Looking through my words over the years, we can see my mental journey. I seem to have been immersed in a kind of narcissism, self-pity, self-love and autism.
I seem to have been running away and hiding, and I don't know where this heart should be placed before I feel comfortable.
Writing is a lonely behavior, and the writer gets the greatest spiritual satisfaction in the text, so he is willing to give up the prosperity and noise. When body and mind are immersed in words, satisfaction, happiness and liberation are synchronous.
But I'm not. My words are more monologues of my inner world, so I am often intoxicated and confused in my own words.
I know that many people care about and love me silently, and I also know that many friends are happy for my happiness and sad for my sadness. Yesterday, on Little Wild Goose Pagoda Avenue, Yangyang said to me: Forest of Steles, do you know? Many friends care about you. You must be happy and bring happiness to everyone. Don't write those heavy and sad words again.
I nodded silently and didn't speak. Tears filled my eyes and warmth flooded my whole body.
I think, if my words are destined to be full of sadness, it must be that my heart has already been corroded by sadness. If possible, let my soul face the real world. I want to convince myself to get out of those sad puzzles and embark on a new journey.
In life, there are many ways to be happy. Quiet yoga, elegant dancing, leisurely walking and casual dating may keep me away from some sad memories and those quiet falls.
Destruction may be a new life, life is a toss-up between giving up and getting, and cause and effect are always closely linked in places we can't see.
My words condense my life, and my feelings are accumulated in the words. I can give up some once, some temptations, some confused feelings, some so-called fame and fortune. However, I can't bear to give up my words, and I can't bear to give up the people who love me.
My words are my sad jar and my emotional pond. Words give me love, words hurt me, words make me happy, words make me lose warmth. If I can come back, I want to stay as far away as possible.
Can you find an excuse to start over?