sweet? Sweetness is my enemy, like light.
When I was seven years old I was obsessed with designing a fountain, or a house with a fountain. A complete failure on this project turned me into the optimistic person I am today.
I had never heard of or seen any fountain before I had the idea of a fountain. In fact, the name fountain was learned later. If you understand the original idea in my mind, and then look at the name of the fountain, you will find that it is actually two different things. But now, in order to facilitate understanding, I can only aggrievedly, with a half wry smile spread my hands and say, okay, okay, let's call it a fountain for the time being, although it is actually completely different. This plausible compromise has also become the norm in my daily life. It is often said that after so long, you are talking about so-and-so, right? Although it's not so-and-so at all, but with the mentality of "you won't understand if you explain it again, you will only be despised more", often without hesitation and cheerfully saying, yes yes yes, that's what it is . For a pure optimist, it is easiest to admit defeat, as if every battle defeated points to the greater glory of the final victory of the war.
So whether in the eyes of others, my life is full of ease, harmony, beauty, dexterity, or full of heaviness, ominousness, calculation, and lies, I sighed in my heart and said, although it seems similar, but in fact it is completely Not at all.
The thing I want to build, first of all, has a frame like a house. Now that I think about it, the original idea seems to be in a glass shed, with light on all sides and walls. Any such structure makes it seem like an open secret, placed in the brightest place, but expecting the strongest camouflage. It seems that there are private houses on the left and right. As soon as you push the door, you will see a small yard full of flowers and plants, cats and dogs running and jumping, bicycles splashed with mud, and clothes that are half-dried. Find empty rooms and transparent roofs. When you look down, you can see that the water is constantly flowing out from somewhere in the middle of the opposite wall, calmly and effortlessly flowing down to your feet, dragging the shallow water like hair, and flowing from the nearest to you. This end disappeared into the ground and disappeared.
I remember telling it to my aunt when I was a child, and my aunt said, oh, I get it, you want a small house with a river flowing through it.
Well, I thought to myself, not so.
The key to this house is that the water that flows from the opposite side is the water that flows away from this end. This "river" doesn't flow through here, but here it flows endlessly.
That is a fountain, my aunt said, just install an engine.
However this is where I get tripped up. I've been stuck on "how to build a river without man-made motors" for a long time. Beneath the water-smooth surface, there must be an equally smooth bottom image. Just as I refuse to believe that there is a bloody, throbbing heart beneath the surface of a smooth-skinned person, so I refuse to offer a rumbling heart to a babbling surface.
On the coin of the world, I float on the surface of flowers and grass, and feel that the power of this world does not come from heavy hard work, but should be pinned on beggar-like begging.
After many years of going to see the sea, and seeing the sea water constantly being lifted up and falling under the moonlit night, only then did I realize that I was a believer of the moon. The poor, pale-faced man who tried to carry the water in vain.
I have been helpless since I was a child. Until I found a heart that didn't beat for my spring, I was able to draw from this helplessness a sheer optimism as pure as sunlight, lying in place like a puddle of water for not believing in the possibility of success.
Although in a world with the sun, the water flowing down from the upstream never has to worry about how to return to its original appearance.
View more about Before the Rain reviews
