Wang Dingjun said in "Footprints": "When a person dies, his ghost will pick up all the footprints left in his lifetime, in the car, in the boat, on the bridge, on the road, on the street, and at the end of the alley, the footprints will never be wiped out. "What records your life is the road you have traveled, and what you remember is the people you have met. A good movie can make people think. A Quiet Life reminds me of life and death. Mr. Mei was in a trance about his age, and only remembered that he was past middle age. He always wears dark clothes, waits patiently for traffic lights on the dark streets, and sets the tableware patiently, just as he patiently treats every customer. Rather, dead clients. Those who disappear from the world seem to be without a trace. Zhu Ziqing also once said: "We come naked, and we will go naked again." A funeral is the last moment to witness a person, and people are always unwilling to sacrifice their own time to witness the last moment of others. Mr. Mei's boss also said that living people are reluctant to attend the funeral. Without a funeral, there is no grief, and no tears. Mr. Mei always felt that thinking like this would make people very indifferent. So I look for family and friends for people who have passed away alone, and look for those important people who witnessed the life of the deceased. On his humble desk on the street, he carefully counted the joys, sorrows and sorrows of those forgotten. No one has witnessed their past years, only photos, only coffins and only eulogy. So Mr. Mei spared no effort to do these tasks silently and silently. He silently made photo albums for the deceased, silently selected the best coffins, silently selected the cemetery, and silently wrote the eulogy. Funeral, silently accompanied by a person. He had become accustomed to this kind of company. Just like being with yourself. He was always meticulous and methodical. Cutlery is in a fixed position, work is in a fixed position, and fruit cutting starts from a fixed position. Life is dark, as if he is stubbornly plowing the fields in the peach blossom garden. In his view, no profession is boring. In his view, life should be revered and pitiful. But the fact is as stated in "The Undertaker": "It's ironic. The important death of a person's life is decided by others." Mr. Mei found many people, but the people who were in the heart of the deceased said that the deceased was like a gentleman. He was always busy searching, searching for those fragments, those scenes, in the stories of the dead. Sometimes it's the pillow I've slept on, sometimes it's the person someone else said. Loneliness is the normal state of life, so Mr. Mei can understand loneliness better. He always looked at the lives of others calmly, at people who were alcoholics in their later years, at people who only had an old cat with whom they didn't write letters, and at a different version of themselves in the mouths of others. The boss fired Mr. Mei, in his opinion, if a living person doesn't care about it The dead have no meaning. So here comes a new colleague. Those who waited for Mr. May to visit relatives and friends for them and picked up the footprints were finally discarded in the wild like garbage. Their ashes are in the air, their tenderness is like water, the good season is like a dream, and they are withered every year. Mr. Mei was expressionless, he didn't understand why one person's joys and sorrows were not as important as the pie and the dog in front of another person. Mr. Mei's widowed life is like a backwater. He has been in a position for 22 years. I thought it might be the years I've been through, but then the years tell me that that year is nearly five years ago. Many times I am not sure how old I am, and the way of counting the number of false years or full years is cruelly approaching 30. Increasing numbers, but not getting better and better work and life. Back to movies. My boss didn't understand it, and my family didn't like it. I even wondered what made Mr. May insist on doing these meaningless things. I think, maybe he has seen too much indifference in the world, too much coldness in life. Those who yearn to be remembered and warmed are always forgotten. Too late to say goodbye, too late to confess. So Mr. May tried to change. He changed into bright-colored clothes, chose distinctive cups, imitated others to bite the belt, urinated on his boss's car, and bought gifts for the people he met. If the first twenty-two years of him were stagnant water, then in the end someone understood that someone missed it was a gorgeous fireworks. Fireworks are in full bloom, burning hot, illuminating the road at night in the dark night as far as the eye can see. Fireworks will turn into spring mud. When the neat table is no longer set with tableware, when the album is gradually covered with dust, when there is one more tombstone in the field. A bored person in the attic might wonder on an ordinary day how the man in dark clothes, patiently waiting for traffic lights on a dark street, patiently setting the table, patiently treating every customer, didn't watch this afternoon To, then, tonight, and then, forever. I waved my sleeves without taking away a cloud. No one knew about Mr. May's departure, and the priest stayed in the church where Mr. May used to stay and prayed silently. As the sun sets, the heartbroken person is in the end of the world, but the person who sent away countless people has no one to send him in the end. Mr. Mei became a new grave bag. The spring grass will be green next year, and the king and grandson will never return. Not far away was his last client, an alcoholic in his later years. Only this time, Mr. Mei didn't need to participate in the funeral. People came from all over the place, sprinkled dust, saluted flowers, and declared the life of the deceased to come to a successful conclusion. The streets were icy cold and the crowds were surging. Mr. Mei finally ushered in a pilgrimage by himself in the leafy spring. From this moment on, no one will question him, not understand him, and of course, no one will remember him. sometimes i It's like seeing yourself, seeing yourself walking through the same street with the same crowd. Sometimes I also think: how will I die in the future? Or who do I want to come to my funeral? How do I want them to judge me? a good husband? a good father? A good listening friend? Or a good man with good intentions? I've found that thinking about how I'm going to die makes me more determined about how I should live my life. I think Mr. May must have been thinking about this a lot: meaningless is meaningless. Therefore, every soul that passes through his hands will be treated gently by him. Perhaps, he really hoped that these souls would come to meet him after death. Mr. Mei represents those small and kind people, ordinary and unnoticed. Live a quiet life and treat others simply. Even if it is silent, they still leave some warmth to the world. The grass grows and the warbler flies, and there are three or two peach blossoms outside the bamboo.
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