Hello everyone, my name is Zeng Xiaolang.

Last night's writing was fruitless, and I fell asleep in a daze at about three o'clock, and this morning I woke up at nearly eleven o'clock. The family's dog bear Xiaolang has been waiting for a long time, squeaking in the cage, his wife fed him breakfast, I drank a glass of water after washing, and took it downstairs to let the wind out.

Xiong Xiaolang is a border herder, the smartest, the most athletic type of dog, and cute, so I can't kill it with my own hands, if I can't take it down to play for half an hour every day, it is bound to be melancholy at home, the manifestation is probably lying on the ground squeaky like a mouse, seeing me or my wife, the eyes at any time like a battered child, and will take advantage of our inattention to run to the kitchen or under the table to pee.

As mentioned above, I couldn't kill it with my own hands, and since it was sunny today, I had to take it down and run around the park.

The park in the community has just been built, and it covers a large area with few pedestrians. In my birthday essay a few years ago, I once described to you the beautiful toilet by the lake, when the lights are lit up at night, it looks like the villa, and the community is on this side of the toilet, and there is a large forest in the middle.

In the second half of last year, a five-story small building said to be a party school was built next to the community, and the woods began to build a starting road and separate the flower beds. The park along the lake has almost doubled, and a gazebo has been built high up in the woodland, which was rarely accessed, and you can go to the pavilion and look out onto the lake, with the back of the toilet below, and a path winds down to connect with the lakeside promenade.

The places that were once inaccessible are now mostly traces of people, and in the morning there are often no pedestrians, so I listen to the song and let the dog run around this place for a while, and when I see people coming from afar, I bolt the chain again. The trees in the park are all old trees from the old forest, lush, and the sun is falling from above.

In winter, there are many branches falling on the ground, I have found a few of the appropriate thickness to play with the dog is a patrol dog, you throw out something, it will immediately run over and take it back, you throw it again, it continues to bite, after a while tired into a bellows, I will save a lot of things. Now that the branches are rotten, the dog has developed a habit of looking for sticks in the grass every time he goes to the park, which may be a happy past.

Walked Xiong Xiaolang until almost twelve o'clock, and when I took him home, my younger brother called me and asked me when I was going to dinner, I told him immediately, and then went home and called my wife Zhong Xiaolang to ride a motorcycle to my parents. Although Xiong Xiaolang was too tired to do it, he still wanted to go out after drinking water, we didn't take it, he stood in the living room with a resentful and incredulous gaze, and after closing the door, he could hear a squeaky protest from inside.

I'm going to my parents' place for dinner today because it's my birthday. During the meal, I talked to my brother about "Women's Federation 4", we agreed that the best fight in superhero movies is still the body of steel, Women's Federation 4 is good, but the fight scenes are naïve, I always think of what kind of scene a round of fire in the United States or China will be, and my brother mentioned the scene when Tony sells arms in Iron Man 1, a split missile can wash several mountains, and it becomes hand-to-hand combat here...... My illiterate dad came over and said that the movie tickets were too expensive, and CCTV stopped them, hahahaha. Grandma is talking Zhong Xiaolang, are you thin? Zhong Xiaolang felt that he had gained a little weight recently, and when he was said like this, he was suddenly a little entangled: "It's because I have less clothes to wear." ”

I went out after lunch, and the sun was good at noon, so I rode my electric motorcycle along the main road. In fact, there is nothing to play in such a small place as Wangcheng, we wanted to run all the way to Jinggang, but after running more than 10 kilometers, the river was on the old road in disrepair, all the way to the smoke and dust bumpy, all kinds of cars drove by, I think we are all boring people who go to Jinggang.

Then we won't go, turning the front of the car, I said, "We're going home, Zhong Xiaolang, don't cry." ”

Zhong Xiaolang said a few words behind him.

When I got home, Zhong Xiaolang went to the bathtub to put water in the bathtub to prepare for a bath and a nap, and I decided to simply sleep after a while. Zhong Xiaolang had just finished taking a bath and recommended her bath water to me, so I went to the bathtub to lie down for a while, with songs playing on my phone, the first song was Na Ying's "Love and Hate Early", what a delicate singing. When Na Ying sang in the song, "The glass window is like an old movie, and every frame is a freshly faded you", the noon sun is also coming in from the window, shining in the water of the bathtub, one by one, warm, clear, and clear, just like a movie. I almost fell asleep listening to the song, and the second song was "Begonia Full of Wine" sung by Hetu, still lazy, and then the singing was everything, and it became the prelude to Hua Yuchen's "I Care About You", which scared me to death.

So I turned off the music, changed into pajamas and went to bed to lie down for a while, and got up at three o'clock. I made my coffee and went to the computer to write this essay.

Let's talk about the essay.

A few years ago, it was said that I might be an INTP personality. I have always scoffed at these generalizations, thinking that they are as stupid as "Taurus people have XX personalities", but in order to distinguish whether the other party is praising me or scolding me, I searched for the definition of this personality.

Some of these descriptions really put me in the right place, such as what it means to tell and write about that personality, and people with INTP often think through talking, "People with this personality type like to share their immature ideas in their own debates, and when they are particularly excited, their words can become incoherent, because they will try to explain the chain of logical conclusions, which in turn will give them the latest ideas." ”

For me, too, the process of telling and writing is more of an attempt at induction, and in this attempt, I often see my own problems. If life is a math problem of "two times three times and then multiplied by three", when I put my thinking into words, this problem is simplified to "six times three"; However, without words, the calculation would be difficult to simplify.

In this way, over the past few years, you can see that I have continued to summarize myself and make conclusions. It's not so much that I'm sharing this, but that as a person, I need to do this to confirm my place in the world. What am I, where do I come from, and where am I going?

I was able to write, perhaps because of this habit: because I kept looking back, recalling how I felt when I was a teenager, how I was when I was twenty, how I was twenty-five...... I was able to write similar characters in the book, and I was able to write about different perspectives and aesthetic levels of life.

But even so, even if I keep recalling and reflecting on my perception of the past, maybe it is still changing little by little, which of my memories of the past are true, and which ones are too beautified or too ugly in the memories of the day? Today, the scale of time may have been blurred in memory a little bit.

When I was thirty years old, I said that the thirty-year-old self is probably a thing that merges with the twenty-year-old self and the ten-year-old self, but before that it was not, and the difference between the ten-year-old self and the twenty-year-old self is so stark, and at the age of thirty, it swallows both of them. Now, at the age of thirty-five, I feel more that they are all mixed together on a subtle scale, because they are so mixed that I can't tell which ones belong to which year.

Memories are not so much my memories of the past as "memories of me at the age of thirty-five", because we have become so far away from the past, the power of time, the alienation of personality and the memory of non-objective merge, and memories become something that is only responsible for the present. "My past was like this" became "I think my past was like this".

When I realized this, I was walking the bear waves in the park, the grass was still cold in early spring, and a father came down from the other side of the steps with his child, and I led the dog on a chain and sat on the steps to watch them walk by. It was a rare sunny spring day, the children were babbling, the grass in the park was trying to take root, and I was sore from the gym workout the day before.

A medical check-up a year later made me really think about death, so much so that when I looked at the child and the dog, I remembered when I was as old as him: the deceased.

There will indeed be certain points in life where you will suddenly see the traces of time more clearly. Some people are acutely aware of this, others are sluggish, and generally speaking, sluggish people are happier.

In my past essays, I often reminisce about some of the problems I encountered in the past, and even some experiences that might even be described as suffering. But if objectively, I think I have gained a lot of things in the past few decades, I have been able to make a living from my interests, after I was thirty years old, all the way has been very smooth, although I don't make much money, but I don't have to worry too much about money, I can even refuse some businesses that let me write with huge sums of money, I joined the Writers' Association, and even the National Writers' Association, won awards, got a platinum contract, and I even won the championship of the monthly pass because of thirty-one essays. When I was younger, it was unimaginable.

I became interested in writing in the fourth grade of elementary school, and I went to the same school as I did in junior high school. When I was in high school, I went to Yongzhou No. 2 Middle School, which was a city focus, and one of the things that attracted me more was that there was a literary club in the school, called "Chuhang Literature Club", I was yearning for the word literature, and I was in elementary school and junior high school, and I had never seen such a high-end thing in the literary club, and I only heard this word after graduating from junior high school, and I felt that I was close to a big step in literature.

After enrolling, I applied to join the literary club, of course, that's all, my writing is too poor, and I haven't participated in any activities in the next three years, maybe I submitted an essay in a solicitation for essays, but there was no feedback after that. Of course, I was not enlightened at the time, which was a very common and natural thing, but I still vividly remember my vision of literature at that time.

One thing I remember vividly, not long after entering the class, the girl sitting next to me at that time was a big master who was said to have published articles, and when we chatted together, I remembered an article I saw during the summer vacation, which introduced an essay question: throw a piece of paper into a glass of water to write an essay. I thought the topic was so subtle that I shared it with him, and the other person smiled, "Oh, it's a peep in the cup." "I didn't know what it was at the time, and I felt a little embarrassed.

I always think about it later and find it funny. At that time, I lived in a small circle in a small city, and I had no access to the Internet, so I knew very little about the outside world. Han Han's first prize for a new concept essay with "A Peep in a Cup" had already spread widely, but even as a self-proclaimed lover of literature, I still had no idea about it, and I was excited to see a subtle title...... I often think back and sigh: the world I saw at that time was really perfect.

Everything I could see was full of novelty, full of possibilities, every day I saw something new, and every time I added a new knowledge, I did get something, like picking up wonderful stones on a wonderful beach, and the world was poor in the surrounding things, but the world was wonderful. Even though I have no literary talent, I love to write, and I may not be able to publish anything in my lifetime, but there is no doubt that literature will take me to magical places.

"Hey, throw a piece of paper into a glass of water, can you write an essay with it?"

If I could go back to that moment and tell that kid back then that you will live on words in the future, and even join the National Writers' Association, how unbelievable joy he would be. After all these years, even though my memory has become blurry, I can still be sure that I did not think of this once in my student days, we were not popular at that time, and on the other hand, because I was extremely sure that I was indeed untalented in literature.

After I was 20 years old, I gradually grasped the art of writing, and then gradually accumulated doubts, and by the age of 30, I told people, "I want to see what the current high point of Chinese literature is." "The direction of literature is fragmented, without a clear goal, and full of all kinds of confusion and sighs.

The world, life, is such a magical thing, when you have nothing, you really have it perfectly, and once one day, you touch its borders, all you have is a broken sandcastle on the beach, you can pick up the slack, but eventually it will be gone before the waves.

Sometimes, of course, I may also have to thank it for its confusion and failure, and the failure of literature may mean that there is a faint possibility of perfection elsewhere, because of this possibility, we still have the motivation to move forward. The most terrible thing is complete failure and perfect success, if there is a day, we will all lose our meaning, and in the imperfect world, there is room for our existence.

These things are hard to understand, and for some people, they may be like moaning without illness.

I know that many readers may want to feel motivated in my essays, and I have considered whether or not to write about these things, but I think this is where I am at the age of thirty-five. Each of us, one day, may touch a certain boundary, you will see your future trajectory, eight or nine is not far from ten, sometimes you will even feel bored, you can only find the joy of life from some more complex details.

So I still want to paint these things as they are. I think this is perhaps the real point of life moving from simplicity to complexity, before we like pure pop music, and then we may like something more profound and charming, such as symphony? We despised everything before this, but maybe we would have preferred to experience some ritual afterwards? Or maybe it has more manifestations. If you take the present as a node and just look at me at the moment, who am I?

Recently, I have been reading "Me and the Altar of Earth" occasionally.

I have told you many times that I read it over and over again in my junior high school morning reading class and realized the beauty of words. I've probably read it over and over again hundreds of times over the years, but not in the last few years. A few months ago, I picked it up and read it aloud again, only to realize that the peace of the past had left me, and my mind often ran to more complex places, rather than just focusing on the book.

It took me a great deal of effort to read it in its entirety, and there was some weight in the article that I had not felt before, and what was in the middle was no longer the fluency of my youth, but more of a subdued pause and exclamation after the language. I guess there's nothing bad about this complexity, the question is, what can I extract from it.

Recently, I often write in a small room at home, which has a good view, a laptop computer, and a portable keyboard with a blue switch, all of which are small and can't do anything else. Life is not completely on the right track, the physical examination after the year has sounded the alarm bell for the body, I went to the gym to get a card, and the state is getting better after a month of exercise, but I still can't match the rhythm of writing, and I have occasionally had insomnia recently.

I sometimes write the beginnings of other books, some of them are kept, some of them are overturned after they are finished, and I occasionally talk to friends in the group about writing and talking about the structure of the later years. My family occasionally tried to urge us to have children, but they didn't say it in front of me, I hate children, after all, my brother is ten years younger than me, and I have had enough of his rebellious period.

Life often enters the next stage when you are not ready, I was looking forward to literature when I was a teenager, but my younger brother was sick, and suddenly he couldn't study, so he had to enter the society, and he entered the society to make money in the dark, and after working hard for a few years, he suddenly approached thirty, and then fell in love, got married, and began to run in after marriage, I actually wanted to take a break for a few years I don't have the confidence to raise and teach a child, but we don't have much time left.

Maybe in the second half of this year, maybe next year, we're going to have to have a child. In fact, I know in my heart that we can never be prepared for such a thing as life, and even one day, it will come to an end unconsciously.

I finished writing "Hidden Killing" when I was twenty-four.

A few days ago, Rosen sent me a big message, saying, "Thank you for making Kaoru's Du Zi bigger, and making it clear that Dong Fang Wan went to bed", although of course there are many problems, but there are "great things" in them. When I was in high school, I read almost all the rented bookstores next to the school, and I figured out the words and structures in "The Tale of Grace" over and over again, and by the time I wrote "Hidden Killing", I had already figured out the way of writing books such as "Style" and "Ali", how could I have imagined that one day Rosen would finish reading this book?

Time is the most ruthless, but there are also many precious and warm things left in time. I think that to this day, whether it is for Zeng Xiaolang at the age of 14 or for Zeng Xiaolang at the age of 24, it should not be regarded as a failure. I'm very grateful for your hard work, and although I am still not ready for this world, I at least know how to deal with it.

We will stay at this point for a moment, and time will push us forward mercilessly, and I often regret the past and fear the future.

I occasionally see the words "don't remember the past, don't fear the future" in some chicken soup, it's really nonsense, it is precisely because there are excellent things in the past that we feel regret, and it is precisely because we value the future that we are afraid and hold on to the present. If we really don't think about it, how hasty our life should be.

That's what I've been able to see this year, and it's probably going to be years before we can make a definitive conclusion about that complex world. Hopefully, at that time, we can still cherish each other and say goodbye.

There may be an update in the evening, or not, but this year's essay, that's all for it, Zhong Xiaolang urged me to have dinner.

Sincerely.

Salute.

Angry Banana on May 1, 2019.