On November 7, 2023, I celebrated my 24th birthday.
There are many thoughts that I naturally want to write down, but when I start to pen them, I still feel at a loss for words. It seems that everything I want to express always lacks a bit of meaning when written down.
At 24, I have already gone through two cycles of life. This year is supposed to be my zodiac year, but it seems I haven't encountered any particularly difficult obstacles? Perhaps it's because there isn't a September 30 in the lunar calendar this year, so technically I don't have a lunar birthday this year. 🤣
Writing is always a dialogue with myself. Some questions that I can't quite figure out, realities I don't want to face, if I never write them down, it seems I lack a foothold. After all, we are not Trisolarans; we cannot achieve efficient communication of information through thought alone.
Words are a beautiful thing, especially the square characters of Chinese. Although what I write may not express even a fraction of my thoughts and feelings, I still want to write them down.
This birthday monologue may conflict a bit with my summary of 2023 (who says my birthday comes at the end of the year? 🥹), but I still want to get to know myself from another perspective.
I thought of a few keywords: growth & reflection, friends & reading.
Growth & Reflection#
Looking back on my 24 years of experiences, it seems that I have mostly sailed smoothly without experiencing any so-called ups and downs. Perhaps those experiences I once went through, when I look back at them, are ultimately just small mounds limited by my perspective.
Some images unconsciously appear before me: the child who cried alone the night before the first midterm exam due to anxiety and couldn't sleep.
The child who blushed shyly in Chinese class because he couldn't answer a question.
The naive boy who folded a paper airplane at the coming-of-age ceremony, took a deep breath, and wrote down his dreams.
The boy who first stepped into Wuhan University and read aloud the six characters "National Wuhan University."
The boy who traveled around during university, leaving footprints in Xi'an, Tianjin, Fuzhou, Suzhou, and Guizhou.
And three years ago, the boy who went south alone to Shenzhen to become a worker.
Scenes from the past keep emerging. Those experiences that seemed a bit plain to me have formed a "me" in a parallel universe.
Thinking about myself, I haven't experienced entrepreneurship, haven't traveled to faraway places, haven't suffered from serious illnesses. Elementary school, middle school, high school, university, work—everything has been orderly, and it seems there’s nothing wrong with that.
I remember a moment from my childhood when the director of the education bureau, my uncle, asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I didn't know; I probably really didn't know then. I was still at an age where I could only recite textbook answers. What kind of thoughts could I have?
Perhaps I never had the chance to become a reclusive genius, and I don't hold any hopes for that. I just wanted to satisfy my growing curiosity, along with a bit of unwillingness, and a little ridicule from relatives that came with my birth, turning left or right at one crossroads after another.
I have also been mired in difficulties, blocked by abysses, drenched by heavy rain, laid down out of weariness, and lost due to a malfunctioning compass.
I remember during my internship, because the work was research-oriented, I spent almost every day with a headache. I would even go to the office on weekends to brainstorm, but soon I was overwhelmed by anxiety, spending a day in the King’s Canyon of programming. It seemed that only by immersing myself in the game could I briefly forget the troubles before me.
I once fantasized about the grandeur of "One sword could defeat a million troops," and I recited the lines "One sword frost cold across fourteen states." These beautiful words seemed to penetrate the paper, but they couldn't break through the shallow PPT on the screen.
I remember a year later, as I became more familiar with the business, work seemed to become more manageable. But the projects that followed seemed to mock my ignorance. During the most confused times, I would lock myself alone in the company’s conference room on weekends, repeatedly scribbling on the whiteboard. Exhausted, I would look out the window, expecting to see misty mountains, but instead, I saw high-rise buildings blocking my view.
Fortunately, those hurdles that seemed insurmountable have long been filled with soil when I look back.
After two years of work, I began to realize that I was gradually falling behind. I flipped through my long-abandoned blog, lamenting my youthful ignorance on one hand, while my heart began to stir on the other. So I decided to start writing. I thought it would just be a fleeting interest, but unexpectedly, I’ve been writing for over half a year, nearing 100,000 words. It seems that work really changes a person.
Friends & Reading#
It seems I have always been a rather reclusive person? But often, others don't see me that way. At every stage, there are partings with old friends and new friendships forming. Three MBTI tests have also told me that, at heart, I am still an E person.
I have always adhered to the philosophy that "a gentleman's friendship is as light as water," unwilling to get involved in small groups. This has led to a particularly wide circle of friends, but there may really be no one I can confide in.
Friends evaluate me as someone who can engage in any topic, which stems from my wide range of interests.
I have always believed that treating others with sincerity will surely yield sincere friends. Although I have also suffered many injuries in this process, those meaningless criticisms once bothered me. As my mindset gradually shifted, I began to understand that perhaps adult life is like this. It’s no wonder people say we all live behind masks and disguises, but I don't want to live so exhaustively.
It seems I have never taken my birthday very seriously, and I envy those friends who had a great time in college, where friends would fly over to celebrate their birthdays. I probably will never receive such treatment, but I have gradually gotten used to it.
I have always loved reading. During my student days, every New Year's Eve, when I was still in the countryside, I would pick up dried firewood, light it, and in the quiet night, listen to the crackling and popping sounds of the fire. My mother would half-jokingly say that I didn't seem like her biological child because she and my father had not read much. They didn't understand why this child loved reading so much.
Having rambled on for so long, I’ll end it here. As long as it can be read, I’ll gradually improve it later.