Xiao Xia, my mother has not been able to sleep well for a long time.

I didn't eat less, but I never slept well. I was nervous every night, tossing and turning, and I couldn't sleep early. Thoughts are complicated and unsolvable.

Lying on the bed, as soon as you close your eyes, you can remember the direction of the bed at home. In the dark illusion, next to the bed, the large white cabinet creates a tangible, existential atmosphere.

It was so close to the bed that I always felt like I could reach the door of the cabinet just by lying down and reaching out.

This atmosphere transcends the five senses. It can't be smelled, it can't be heard, it's only there. It was as if I was one with my surroundings and with me.

This exists and occupies my mind.

Everything in the illusion is. Everything is like a testimony of idealism, real is constructed, so it really exists.

Bedroom doors are also present.

In the dark, eyelid world, the small door was to the right of the foot of the bed. Lying on the bed, the door will be completely blocked by the cabinet, in fact, it will not be visible at all. But it exists, and it is also the same as the cabinet, which permeates a strong sense of existence.

This door, which is invisible even when you close your eyes, transcends the rules of three-dimensional space, and no sensory feeling can describe it. In the process of thinking about it, I even began to forget what it was like to feel when I was in real contact with it, and completely entered the indescribable, symbiotic presence. Its presence has become irrelevant to the touch.

This door exists in me, in the midst of me. The little door to the bedroom where we used to be home was part of my mother. There is no need to summarize any specific theories. This door is like the stomach in my mother's womb, I don't know how it feels and tastes, but I know it exists.

So it's the same as the stomach, inside the mother, and the mother is the same person, and the mother is the same object. is one.

Behind the door, there is a wall. The color of the wall, because I have never paid careful attention to it, is magical, in this illusion, this wall simply has no color. Like the door, the wall exists indescribably and without representation.

It is isolated from the borders of the illusion, has no substance, only a function in memory. This wall is a wall that only extends halfway. The other half is a black blur. It was a black mass extending from the corner of our bedroom.

There is always light in the bedroom, but the black in the corner is always there, and it is pieced together with half of the wall, which becomes the shape of the bedroom by the mother.

The bedroom where Mom could lie down with her eyes closed, the side where her feet were facing was half wall and half darkness.

In front of the wall is a row of low cabinets, which seem to be far away from the bed, and in the sense of shaking and passing, they do not exist much. In the real world, the row of cabinets that occupy a large area is all small, oblique, crooked, and shorter and shorter the heavier they are. Later, it became smaller and smaller, dissolving with the wall and the floor, and becoming a colorless, faint existence.

The windows, the curtains, and the once huge monstera that gave my father a headache, are all built in this world with a weak existence. Whether it is in or not is a bit unclear.

In addition to that, mom can feel herself. This heavy lying, the whole sinking self, in the darkness, in the blur, the clearest is his own body, like glowing, the details are clear. I was wearing plaid pajamas, a plaid top and plaid pants that never existed in reality.

The orientation of the home, like a compass in the brain, is sensitive and accurate. Close your eyes, the magnet is close to the compass, and in an instant, the north and south spin around, and the direction returns to its position. The whole person returned to the bedroom, to the me, to feel the fit of the bed, the faint pulse of everything, the delicate breathing between objects, and the tasteless smell of the past time and space.

Compared with that group of familiarity, the room where my mother lives now has not yet entered my mother.

In the darkness, the spirit began to struggle to distinguish between memory and reality, and from time to time it took me away from the bed in my former bedroom back to the real world, only to change back in the blink of an eye. The feeling of being pulled away will burn the pain of emptiness. It was as if a gust of wind was piercing the top of the head, and it was painful and cold.

When you open and close your eyes, you often can't locate where you are and where you belong.

Xiaoxia, where do we all belong?

In my mother's dream, I appeared in the first home where I lived. It was a cottage where I lived with my grandparents. On the ground floor, it was damp and cold. In both winter and summer, there are moisture-fed reptiles in the kitchen. Spread over the carpet, very thin kind. In my dreams, I can often re-experience the touch of stepping on a thin carpet.

Mom also dreamed of her grandmother's house. My mother used to be fostered there for a while, waiting for my grandfather to return from afar. Whether in reality or in a dream, my mother obviously didn't feel that she had to stay by her grandfather's side, but the scene was still full of loss and expectation, and it became a profound atmosphere.

When my mother was a teenager, my grandfather moved from his first cottage to a new home. The new home is much bigger, and my mother has her own cabin there, where she stays in her own space every day to study and rest.

But Mom almost never dreamed of being there.

In my memory, the cottage had a flat curtain rolled up from top to bottom or from bottom to top. The curtain depicts a fairy waving a wand, an unproportioned small house and scattered stars next to it, and a colorful ribbon representing the Milky Way above and below. At most, it's a blue curtain.

In the house, the small lamp on the roof, my mother also remembers. There was a misspelled English word written on it, hello.

The whole room was a little dark, and it was still a little dark after the lights were turned on. Mom always studied under the lamp.

In that room, there are many memories of my mother, as well as my mother's countless complex and tangled thoughts, as well as a period of failure sharing and final isolation from myself. That's right, self-isolation starts in that room.

But why can't I dream of it?

That room is actually very important, and life there is like a mother gliding on a track, eager to try, and everything is looking up.

But I never dreamed of it. Even the computer games I played in that room were more impressive than the atmosphere of the house itself. Odd.

Mom still remembers the game, the sound of the wind in the game, the noise in the virtual city, the feeling of loneliness, and the dinner ordered in the game. Every time I walk around the corner, I hope to break through the game premise and turn into another alley to find out. That game made my mother suddenly learn English.

I still remember that game, walking in a virtual city that could be New York at night, ordering dinner, and the waiter was very impatient.

It was all in that room, but I never dreamed of it. Maybe there's some reason.