Running Notes — April

4-4

The temperature dropped sharply, and the wind made running harder—my scalp felt cold in the gusts—but I finished anyway. I thought of the bright sun a few days ago and the girls in skirts on the street. The weather here is like a mischievous child; you can only sigh at its charm.

Today I watched Year of the Dog. I think I had seen it before, but I had forgotten the plot entirely, so it felt like a new film. Loneliness hangs over the whole picture. One line of dialogue probably sums up the film:

“Why is living so dull? Work is dull, not working is dull; eating is dull, not eating is dull; dating is dull, not dating is dull. Why is everything so dull!” “I’ll beat you up and then you’ll feel alive!“

4-5

Qingming. A light rain in the early morning. When I started running the road was already dry; I had not looked at the sky. I remembered Qingming last year at the seaside—the tourists were surprisingly few. I leaned on the railing alone, the open sea before me, flocks of gulls all around. They were not afraid of people, rising and falling near and far. Their cries must have been beautiful, but I have forgotten now—am I getting old? If I really am old, that is fine; then I can go back. As the saying goes:

Do not return home before you are old; if you return home, your heart will break.

I found myself humming a song—melancholy and lingering, fitting the mood:

Morning light through the window, sun on the western bridge, clouds drifting. I think of your hem in the lotus breeze years ago. Carved wood, gilded flow, ripples of time—seven years since I put down the brush, because all my writing in this life is only for you.

A zither far away, solemn and empty, each note urging rain from the sky. Whispered thoughts spoken only to myself. Flickering moonlight, layers of fireworks, red candle flames. Old dreams in the mortal world, dreams broken, all turned to emptiness.

Rain wets the eyes; year after year I lean by the well, waiting to return home. Most afraid of tears falling without noticing. I wander in this world, unable to find your heaven. East bottle, west mirror set aside—I hate that I cannot forget. Again it is Qingming rain; I fold chrysanthemums to place beside you and softly sing the song you loved most.

4-7

I watched My Native Heath and copied a few lines from the film and the text:

I cried—we graduates all cried. How we loved growing tall and becoming adults, and how afraid we were! I asked Father: why do thieves steal? I asked Song Mama: why doesn’t she raise her own child? Why does she come to our house as a nursemaid? Why does she send the money she earns back to her family?

How strange—these were thoughts in my heart, never spoken aloud, yet how did she know? She answered with tears. She said nothing, did not wipe her eyes with her sleeve, let the tears drip into the wicker trunk, eaten up by the chicks with the millet!

The morning sun shone on the earthen slope. I walked up the slope and the sun covered my whole body. I had not eaten breakfast, but I felt comfortable.

At dawn I woke and heard a rustling outside the window. I remembered something, jumped out of bed, and ran to the window to look out. The snow had stopped. Dry branches held snow; a small donkey was tied to a trunk. When it moved, snow fell from the branches onto its back.

4-9

Just do one thing well.

4-10

Three days of basketball in a row—my whole body aches. Running today felt truly exhausting. I also watched Manchester by the Sea. The desolation in it infected me deeply; I wanted to forget it as soon as possible. The feeling is like eating crazy-hot wings—BT super spicy—and afterward wondering why you ate them, then wanting them again after a while. I especially liked these lines:

Once the heart is broken, it stays broken. There is nothing left inside me.

Especially when he says “There’s nothing there”—I burst into tears.

4-13

Some anxiety.

4-15

Half of April is already gone.

4-16

Played basketball—the scenes in the game look more and more realistic.

4-18

Played basketball.

4-21

Rain. Watched the LOL semifinals—five games, very exciting; the last comp was unbeatable.

4-23

The rain stopped but the wind did not, yet I still ran. Maybe because I had not run for a long time (basketball all last week, then rain from the weekend until now)—there was an unfamiliar feeling. Running used to be a conversation with myself; today it felt like finishing a task. Once you treat running as a task, you lose the part that was “interest”—probably why many people cannot keep it up. If you turn a habit into a task, it will never become a habit; you may even come to hate it. That is part of the experience of being human.

4-26

Floodwaters seem to surround me. A single still image can still affect a person. I have to admit it affected me—lowered my daily expectations to the minimum. Even when expectation disappears, something else takes its place. That is the hope that exists in life.

4-30

The last day of April. The day before yesterday Mom and Grandpa came to visit; yesterday my sister and aunt came too—but I caught a cold. Ah, I had not had a cold in nearly three years, and now I have one. Unpleasant—endure it slowly. Hope May brings better things.

Watching Summer with Kikujiro again—Hisashi Joe’s music and the two children running. Children should be free; a little restraint is enough. I think of my childhood—happy days ended when school started, because school imposed too many constraints. I wish I had never gone to school.