9.1
（九月一日）
（九月一日）
Two and a half hours after leaving home, I’m on a plane somewhere high above the earth. September has just unfolded today, and my longing stretches farther with the line of the horizon. When I saw Grandma this morning, she seemed dimmer somehow, her spirit slower to respond. I realized she has entered the winter of her life. Yet I hope she won’t rest here forever—not before I return, not before she can see me do something that makes her proud. I left home reluctantly, still worried about her.
But farewells are inevitable. Once again, I’m standing on the zero-degree meridian between two worlds—the left, where I grew up; the right, where I pray time slows down. In March I went to Mount Emei to make a wish: that my family would stay healthy. Maybe the gods didn’t hear me—by May, two of them were hospitalized. At Jiji’s birthday gathering last month, I wished again for everyone’s health. Maybe this time it will work.
There’s a photo from the summer of 2018—me with Grandma, newly wearing a pair of glasses. She was still full of life then, smiling so wide her eyes curved into crescents. I hadn’t realized that was three years ago already. That same year Sox still slept on my bed at the small apartment, and we even took him to Shandong—Dad had to drive back midway because Sox went on a hunger strike at the pet shop. That was also the year I was chasing a boy who seemed so perfect, writing him poems and love letters, offering all my youthful tremors to him. By 2021, the year Jiji turned 20, Sox had left us forever, Grandma had grown frail, and that boy had become the shadow of my youth. He taught me never to wager everything, that love can be both flood and beast.
The world changes faster than I ever imagined. This summer, I spent long karaoke marathons with old friends, talked philosophy with Ritian until dawn. The zoo is still crowded, the paths still echo with our laughter. Sometimes it makes reality blur—the past compressed into a silent film, scene after scene. I still feel like that teenage girl on summer break, hanging out with Jiji at the cat café. We’d start some homework, but soon she’d get distracted by the kittens and drag me away from my “work battlefield.”
Two months in Taiyuan, away from everything in Chengdu, have turned me back into the earlier version of myself. I can finally look at my old path with a new pair of eyes. In this moment, things like GPA, money, or prestige mean so little. All I can feel are the emotions leaping through clouds around me. It reminds me of the opening of Norwegian Wood—Murakami circling above a city, beginning his story of youth. Maybe he felt the same way I do now.
Every departure from home is a new journey. Perhaps I should start recording more of my thoughts and fragments. I used to believe memory was omnipotent—that I could hold everything inside. But it isn’t true. I’ve forgotten too much. I don’t want forgetting to erase what I’ve loved—the people I can’t bear to leave, the moments I cherish. I don’t want to look back someday and find only blank spaces where my life once was. Writing is my way to hold on—to keep feeling, to remember, and to treasure this one brief life.
这是离开家的两个半小时以后，我在一架高空中的飞机上。九月在今天拉开帷幕，而我的思念也随着这航线的深远被拉长。今天见到姥姥的状态不是很好，她好像灵魂更加迟钝了。我意识到这已经来到她生命中的冬季，但我不希望她在此地长眠。至少也要等我回来以后吧，至少也要等我做出一些成绩被她看到吧。我依依不舍地离开了家，放心不下家里的她。
但告别又是不得不的。我又一次站在了两个世界的0度经线处，左边是东半球的长大，右边是西半球的不要变老。三月的时候我去峨眉山许愿，希望家人身体健康。也许神明没有听到我的呼唤吧，五月的时候两个人双双住院。上一月，在鸡鸡的生日聚会上，我也虔诚的许下身体健康的祝愿。这一次总会灵验的吧。在2018年的夏天，我因为新换的眼镜和姥姥有一张合照。照片里的她精神状态还是很好，笑的合不拢嘴。我才发现原来已经过去那么久了，已经是三年前。那一年的索克斯还在我小家的床上，我们还一起去了山东（途中老爸还返回来，因为索克斯在宠物店不吃不喝闹脾气）。那一年我在追求一个看上去很好的男孩，写一些诗和情话，为他想要花费我青春所有的悸动。在2021年的这时，鸡鸡出生的第20个年头，索克斯永远的离开了我们，姥姥也更加衰老，那个男孩成了我青春最大的梦魇，他教会我不要孤注一掷，教会我感情都是洪水猛兽。
原来世界变得有那么快，远远出乎我的意料。在暑假的生活里，和老朋友一起过八小时的KTV生活，和日天一起谈人生哲学谈到新的一天。动物园还是人声鼎沸，所过之处都留有我们的欢笑。这似乎还没有改变。它们总让我意识恍惚。所经历的一切是一部被压缩的默片，我没想过它有那么长，有那么多幕。我以为我还是一个年稚的高中生，可以假期回来与鸡鸡一起跑猫咖。我们会写一些作业，但很快她的注意力就会被猫咪吸引，她会拖着我离开我的工作战场。
在太原呆了两个月，远离了成都的一切，我仿佛又变回当时的自己。这个时候我终于可以回归到最初的样子，用另一双眼睛打量我曾经走过的道路。在这一刻，什么学分绩点，什么金钱名誉，都是过眼云烟。我唯一感受到的，就是不断在云层中跳跃的感情。这使我想到村上春树《挪威的森林》的开篇，他也一样随飞机盘旋在上空。或许这就是他开始记叙青春故事的缘由，他也和我有一样的感受。
每一次离开家都是一次旅行。也许我从这次开始应该多记录一些想法和灵感。我总以为人的大脑是万能的，能记住很多事。其实不然。我忘记了太多、太多。我现在不想让我的遗忘去抹杀掉我的感情。那些我倍感珍惜的事物，那些我不愿从他们身旁离去的人。我不想在多年以后，我看着记忆里那些空白，无言沉默。这是我把握我的情感的最好办法，也是我需要这般去珍惜、记录我的人生。