For a person born in 1988, it seems a bit pretentious and sad to lament the passing of time in this world. After all, how to say it is also a proper post-80s. In fact, our generation of post-80s generation is already old.

I, like most people, can fearlessly and selectively cover my deafness in the face of the event of my age, always active in the middle and upper reaches of my own small world, jumping up and down, and trying to get a silver medal to chat to comfort the hurried journey of youth, but I found that it is okay not to accept the old, but not against the will, because I can't do it.

Well, when did I start thinking I wasn't any younger?

Maybe it's looking through the video of your daughter babbling on your phone, maybe it's hearing your family talking to you about the channel that has completely changed from political life to life, old age, sickness and death, or maybe you hear a lot of unexpected changes in the world about all the people and things around you. So, in a trance, on a sleepless night, I lay on my back on the bed and suddenly cried out loud for no reason.

The adult world is always sad and amorous, but also isolated and forgetful.

It's like when I look at my red and swollen eyes in the mirror early the morning after crying, but I completely forget the reason for washing my face with tears last night, and I can only find a way to cover up my face to the world in a daze, and laugh at myself for being very sick.

On New Year's Day 2019, the day was anything but ordinary. Born in 88, the festival is like pulling hatred, there are many contradictions in my heart, I look forward to longing, but I still let this day be no different from the past, and then I will sigh that the years are not shocking as the end of the festival.

When I was a child, I wanted to laugh when I heard the song "Unforgettable Tonight" at the end of CCTV's large-scale theatrical evening. After getting older, I suddenly felt that this song was very good, yes, unforgettable tonight, don't pass it tonight, Mingxiao is old.

The people of Changchun seem to have a mechanical passive love for festivals. Just after the early morning of New Year's Day, firecrackers crackled outside the Fourth Ring Road, and I happened to live at the junction of the Fourth Ring Road and the Third Ring Road. I put my head in the pillow, not sure if I was annoyed by the pesky welcome or if I was annoyed that I was old and quit.

I can't sleep, I always like to write something, and this habit has been going on for nearly 20 years. At this point, it seems like the one thing I've been holding out for the longest time besides breathing. I like to turn my days into ink rubbings on paper, because after sprinkling them, you will know that you have lamented the coldness of the world or the mental journey behind the prosperity.

January 1, 2019, 1988 for Me

My life spans a century, and perhaps that's why this life seems so long.

On a cold night before I saw the winter plums, I caught a glimpse of the fireworks celebrating a stranger's birthday.

I was born in 1988, and the years have never stopped.

I have seen the world, but it is difficult to wander the world.

The brilliant neon light and shadow in the distance are reflected in the pupils of the sky,

Are you a distant cape, or a moment of beauty?!

When I finished writing, the fireworks were cold in the treetops of the cold wind of that New Year's breeze, and I didn't see the clusters of firelight in the air, but I still saw the snowflakes falling.

At the beginning of the year, it seemed like the beginning of an expectation for everyone. As a result, those who longed for the good began to be restless, and those who liked to rush forward began to compete, so those who were on the shore still chose to watch silently.

My mom always said that my words were sad, and I didn't think so.

Too many people in this world are used to seeing my smiling face, but I still want to write poems about my perception of the world and life and send them to the past years.

That's why I love writing.

Perhaps, one night many years later,

There's no drifting snow,

Without the companionship of youth,

Suddenly met the old,

Looking back on the moment,

You and I have mottled our hair and our faces dirty.

The dark rose tea, with the oblique light, shimmering and jumping dreams, rested in the corner of the table, perfect and a little dazzling, so that I was overwhelmed for a while. 

I felt a little bit empty, as if I had no intention of being spied on some unknown secret, looked at the teacup, and put the good things away.

The years are a mottled light and shadow, and the seven emotions against the light...... 1988In the lives of several people who are pacing by, like a kite lost in the wind, I am lost in the vast world of the future...... 

Aoki Green Ya, the old thing in the south of the city.

Even so, we are still like clockwork clocks, which will not change or move forward because of anyone or anything.

Unusually slow, like the slowly broken time when the years fade, fixed on the face printed with the word old. 

There will always be a city where you can see the blue sky on every lazy afternoon.

Snow-covered trees, green elves will surely leap in the branches one morning.

The desert has been roaring for so many years, and it will stop by the Peacock Lake at sunset, and play a soft horse-head piano to soothe the sadness and affection of youth......

In the middle of the night, I would walk into an unfamiliar café, taste jazz in the mist, tell about the broken state of mind of these years, or comment on the back of the fading youth, only to whimper at the dawn without fireworks. 

Which one of the windows of this city is lit up for?

The dazzling neon of this city, which beam of light focuses on your heart?

Although the ups and downs are fixed, they still go up and down.

The man who reached out to hold something,

You see

Her hands,

Frozen on the bridge.

Not long ago, when I was looking through my manuscript from a few years ago, I came across a quote from my youth:

I, I promise myself to ride a horse for a long time, and set foot in the mountains and rivers and rivers for thousands of miles;

I, I promise myself to be idle and arrogant all my life, and I will be lonely and old with my pen and ink.

Man said,

The outside world, the north is self-eliminating, and the old man of the long bridge is not there. The old man went to the west, and I went to the east, but it was a separate west to the east.

Man said,

Jiangnan belongs to the south of the Yangtze River, and the old people who cut off the green silk are still there. The old man went to the left, and I went to the right, but it was too late to wave goodbye.

Life is just a realm, a quiet, a pure, and a path.

The realm seems to be empty but not empty, and the passage of thousands of sails is still pitiful;

Quiet, like quiet but not quiet, the heart is comfortable and the tea is quiet and pleasant;

Clean, like clean but not pure, the water is clear and the sky is pure;

Paths, like paths are not paths, and stone paths and paths capture dreams.

The chaotic years of crows and birds collide with the complicated life of chicken feathers, and I write an essay to record the division and unity of this world, joys and sorrows.

My 1988, where are you waiting for me to park the boat and see your bookish green and smiling like a flower?

Are you like me, standing on the flower rock on the willow bank, waiting for a solo dance of Xiao Qiang, looking back at the past, tears in all directions?