I don’t quite like the feeling I am undergoing these days. Depressed and indifferent, as if tortured by some unspeakable miseries. Keeping a diary is something useless and time-consuming, for all what we try to record is but some kind of memories, happy or not. Ambiguity is the philosophy of life for many.

I’ve been working on the travel notes of a female writer. Translating, as the process of recreation, requires the efforts of savoring the ideas and affections of the writer. Smiling with her, and crying for the pains and sorrows hidden in the landscape of a wild place. Solitude, that’s the moment when everything resonates. I know there must be a place where different souls could meet, just like the scenario depicted in the movie Soul. I bought the Book of Alice Munro several minutes ago, both English and Chinese versions. Soon I realized that I’d read plenty of works themed feminism ranging from the magnum opus of Doris Lessing to that of Jeanette Winterson. A few days ago, I reviewed the life of Simone de Beauvoir again, and thusly found her work not that convincing as imagined. Wrapping the gift we like with the most glamourous package is but the instinct of us mankind. We should have fathomed this terrifying fact that the work of someone has nothing to do with his or her personal life.

We had a meeting yesterday. And if there’s really something worth noting, it should be the epiphany that everyone was faking, no matter in what kind of position or social status he/she might be. Making dietary changes, starting body exercises, getting everything arranged in a tidy and orderly manner, and working on something for joy or money: this is basically how I spend each and every day of my life now, and perhaps till the end of it. I don’t give a crap about what should a diary look like, but this is it. This shit has to come to an end at the middle place of this sheet, for I just want to write something down to please myself, instead of complaining or cursing at those tedious trivialities. YOLO, that’s the buzzword I try to avoid from the very beginning of this so-called diary. But now, I don’t see the point. It’s not necessary to deny the fact we’re living with, isn’t it?

I reaffirmed again yesterday my fancy for the ever-lasting landscape around us. Yeah, shut up if you’re about to argue with me that everything changes, especially the ambient environment. Fine, will it be better if I add this “relatively” word that triggers the drool at your mouth? Here is what I said and I’ve been believing in all the time: waters, mountains, sands, earth, and plants, aquatic or water-free, they’ve witnessed the stories of different generations. Hence, they could better understand your feelings and life experiences than anyone on this planet. Why don’t they ever respond? Because they saw so much laughter and tear that they had to hold this indifferent attitude. After all, they cannot tell what’s real and what’s not. Mourning for the crocodile tears is silly, isn’t it? Or, they responded, but you never cared about or didn’t even notice. Otherwise, how come there’s this warm gentle breeze from the tip of the verdant willows leaning towards the pond you frequently visited? Sitting on the meadow in front of Building 3, I used to ask one of my classmates that how do you know when we look at those trees on both sides of the campus roads, they were not looking back right at us? It seems that as Chinese, we’ve been taught too well by the philosophy that the landscape and objects around us are all affectionate. Hence, they describe their reluctance to leave with willows, their hope for reunion with the full moon, and their sadness with the cawing of ravens. They resigned immediately from government officials once realized that they were not cherished by the authority. And the next and seemingly only choice for them is to indulge themselves in the beauty of nature as hermits. I don’t want to admit it though, but that’s why it is meaningful when Zhu Xi reinterpreted the idea of “obtaining knowledge upon the investigation of things.” You know what? Fxck those hermits, and fxck Zhu Xi. How come natural beauty becomes a second choice after you cover all your darn body with stains and greases from the experience in the bureaucratic government? And why would I obtain knowledge from something I should dump all my affections onto?

OK, this is it. No more trash talk. Go get’em.