01 Preface (Complaint)

This summer, it rained a lot on the coast of the East China Sea.

After the strong wind, the sky turned completely dark. Not long after, the sound of falling raindrops rang in my ears mixed with the whistling wind. A dark room is always good for writing something. I had been holding back my words for a long time, until I was interrupted by the sudden pounding of rain outside the window. Across the glass. I just feel that at this moment, there is nothing better than a sheltered house from the rain.

I have been thinking for a long time whether to move the potted plants outside the house inside. But I thought: If it were the time of their ancestors, there would be no greenhouse for them to shelter from the rain. So I threw the green and succulent meat outside. I can imagine how miserable they will be after the rain stops, but at this moment, the paper under my pen is my biggest creditor. If I can’t finish writing this, I’ll have nothing but meat to feed me.

The rain in summer comes and goes quickly. I hope this is the last rain of this summer. Because I don’t like the feeling of being wet, the soil under my feet becomes muddy and difficult to walk on, and I will be splashed with water by passing cars unexpectedly while walking on the road.

Chinese Valentine's Day will be in two days, and I am probably the person who dislikes this day the most, because not only do I need to go to work, but there is no room for anyone to reserve a place to eat on this day.

02

Days like this remind me of a book I read a long time ago, "Listen to the Wind" by Haruki Murakami.

"The biggest difference between Mouse and me is that he still believes in love."

Most of the protagonists in Murakami's books are melancholy and pessimistic. In their hearts, there is another independent person. The world isolates itself from reality. In reality, there are dim streets, high buildings, sky, and telephone poles everywhere. If there is any color left, it is only that jazz bar. Only there they could let themselves think about various problems in silence. The slow and free melody of jazz music lingered in their ears. Along with the ups and downs of the music, frames of old-fashioned movie-like pictures flashed through their minds. Murakami said that when he was writing stories, he would listen to jazz music in his ears.

Every story by Murakami talks about love, but every protagonist cannot get it. "1Q84" is like this, "Norwegian Wood" is like this, "Hear the Wind Sings" is like this...

In "Hear the Wind Sing", "I" was in love, but before falling in love, I had already let myself break up in my heart. After all, "I" am not a mouse. It is worth mentioning that the mouse is "my" friend in the book. I woke up in the morning and saw an extra girl in the room. The girl had always attracted "me", but my heart was as numb as "me", and I no longer wanted love.

However, Mouse would talk to "me" about all kinds of girls in the bar. Every time he was eager to meet true love, but his repeated failures seemed to verify another sad fact: There is no love in this world.

The girl started asking me out, and "I" didn't push her away or get close. The girl stayed away, and "I" felt melancholy.

Later, the mouse left and the girl left too. They all have to finish their lives, and the best thing about "my" life is to stay in this jazz bar.

Murakami likes jazz, running, cooking, and cats. I guess he also likes the rain, which is a woman's intuition. In my limited brain capacity, it seems that most beautiful love happens in the rainy season. In the season of drizzle and mist, a girl held an umbrella, and the umbrella shield blocked her face. All she could see was the skirt swaying on her knees and the white sandals on her feet. Then the girl met the boy, the umbrella was raised, and the raindrops slid down the umbrella with water marks, and then they could see clearly, it was love at first sight under the umbrella.

Most short-term love is like this.

03

Murakami gave an example: walking on the road, you see a girl who surprises you. As she passed by, I felt the excitement and emotion of love in my heart. At this moment, I turned around and looked back at the woman's back, reluctant to let go. Until the girl's figure disappeared, she suddenly felt lost, and then continued to walk her own way, as if everything was just an ordinary glance.

Look, love still exists. Murakami knew that this thing existed, but he just didn't want to believe that the protagonist in his book could get it.

The rain was so melancholy that the paper on the table became damp and wrinkled. Murakami was sitting in a rental house at the crossroads of two train lines. Outside there was a rumble of rails, and inside the house was a puddle of water. I will rent this house simply because it is cheap. Amidst such noise, my heart seemed even quieter. In this place, it is probably impossible to write lively and cheerful words. But we are particularly partial to his uniquely melancholy writing.

There are many showers in summer, and then stop for a while. The heavy rain that stopped in the morning started again now. Is it because the Chinese Valentine's Day is approaching, and lovers are whispering to each other about committing suicide, and they are crying for lovesickness? The cool night and light rain are not exactly romantic weather.

Most of the male protagonists in Murakami's books are tragic, but in reality he has a wife who is with him through thick and thin no matter what the situation. There is a world in his heart, where a group of sentimental men and women live. Returning to reality, his wife wears an apron and prepares warm meals for him in the small kitchen.

He is idle at home and writes day and night. His wife works during the day to support the family and takes care of the housework at night. The two of them hugged each other to keep warm in a drafty house in winter, but they were still shivering. But his wife never complained. She probably knew Murakami's longing to stay away from the hustle and bustle. I guess it just so happens that the wife also has such a calm and free temperament. Putting these two people in China, they would probably be like hermits and talented men living in a bamboo forest, doing things that please them.

Therefore, a writer who is so good at writing about melancholic love actually gained the unyielding love of his wife.

04

Since ancient times, sentimental feelings hurt parting, and it is even more embarrassing to neglect the Qingqiu Festival. Where to wake up tonight, the willow bank is full of dawn wind and waning moon. Classical love is as subtle as first love. Everyone is familiar with the origin of the Chinese Valentine's Day. After separation, they have been connected for five thousand years across China, spanning the Republic of China, modern times, and even further into the future. Such deep and lasting love is really amazing.

However, even so, there are still countless crazy men and resentful women rushing into the ocean of love one after another. Throughout the ages, the stories are as numerous as the stars in the sky. While these stories make people sigh, they can't help but yearn for love. What is it like to feel like this, which makes people become less "normal".

If the wind had a sound, probably nothing could be as sweet as it. It must have passed countless villages and woods along the way, passed through the sea and deserts, the sound of the wind was mixed with laughter and sighs, and seen all the love entanglements in the world. The rain moistened it, and it was stained with the smell of red dust.

Listen carefully, it tells a story.

Happy Chinese Valentine’s Day!