Spring time – 春天 – English

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So, Spring has arrived, but not with a bang or a crash. The warning signs are all too familiar: the creeping allergies, the waking up itching in the middle of the night. I’m mentally composing a new essay,even when I get up in the morning I dimly remember and rush to the computer to write it down. Maybe next spring我在混沌中构思了一个新的长篇,一直到早上起床都还依稀记得,赶紧打开电脑记了下来,也许在下一个春天,我就可以写下那个在梦中寻找出口的开篇。有风的时候望出去一片昏黄,整个城市都在刮沙,我现在宁愿要一个黄色的北京,因为厌倦了它灰黑色的模样。有一天出门看见楼下迎春花在公共厕所边上乱糟糟开了,天空透着宝石蓝。几个老头坐在那个小得不得了的小花园里抽烟下棋,几个鸟笼子挂在瑟瑟发抖的小树上。我买了新的连衣裙,新的白衬衫,连衣裙119,衬衫一件49,一件29,统统包邮。我们在送走客人后去小区里散步,买一个迷你可爱多,一分钟吃完之后非常后悔没有买一个正常大小,小区里几乎没有树,连绵不断停着车,我们终于找到一张长椅坐下来,试图说点和这夜风相配的话语,但转头一看,右边是一排破破烂烂的平房,在“风行造型屋”和“云南过桥米钱”之间,有一扇脏兮兮的窗户,上面用红漆写着好大两个字:“大饼”。我哈哈笑起来,春天到了,原来这不需要任何话语,它是自顾自来了又去,我们只是它路过的地方。




Source : Tianya

Article Revisions:


February 3, 2015 @ 13:48:16Current Revision
  <p>So, spring has arrived, but not with a bang or a crash. The warning signs are all too familiar: the creeping allergies, the waking up itching in the middle of the night, befuddled. I’m mentally composing a new essay; even when I get up in the morning I can dimly remember it and rush to the computer to write it down. Alas, maybe next spring I’ll be able to pin down that opening paragraph I’m searching for in my dreams. When the wind blows I look out on a yellow haze, the whole city swirling in dust, but I’d rather have now a yellow Beijing since I’m so sick of the usual dull grey. One day going out the door I caught sight of the jasmine vine, that symbol of welcoming spring, that grows over the wall of the public restrooms downstairs, flowering in profusion under a startling blue sky. Several old gaffers sit in the unbearably small garden, smoking and playing chess; several bird cages hang from a rustling tree. I bought a new dress, new white shirts – the dress $119, one shirt $49, the other $29, including postage. After we farewelled some visitors, we took a walk in the neighbourhood, bought a mini icecream cone. After the brief minute it took to eat, I really regretted not buying the normal size. This district has barely any trees, just unending parked cars; we finally found a bench to sit down on, tried to speak of something in tune with this evening breeze. But turn your head, to the right is a row of dilapidated buildings, between the “New Model Rooms” and the “Specialty Noodles” is a dirty window, with “Baked Goods” painted in large red letters above. I had to laugh, springtime has arrived, but this doesn’t need speaking of, spring minds its own business as it comes and goes, we are just a place it visits along the way.</p>
  <p>Two months ago I was dragged into a couple of huge forums on messaging app Weixin. In the high school group there is a guy I once secretly crushed on; even though we’ve never spoken two words, I still fantasize that he will take the initiative and ‘friend’ me, and then from time to time click 'like', and so forth. But it’s never happened. Even though its spring, it still hasn't happened. In the group there’s someone who grows kiwifruit and loquat for sale, there’s someone who’s career has been so sucessful they’re in the public chat group for “Investor career women”. Someone else has been made redundant many times, and they mulled over starting up a Taobao online shop selling cold rabbit meat from their hometown; dozens of people enthusiastically suggested names for his shop, but the matter was quietly dropped and hasn’t been mentioned again. There is someone who, when drunk, called on somebody else to repay a debt. The person reminded of their debt asked for the account number right then and there, and then claimed he transferred the money right then and there. But the person who wanted his money back says all along he hasn’t received the funds. As one of the anxious, silent bystanders, I think “If you say its been transferred, why on earth don’t you take a screenshot?” Like most groups, when our reminiscences have been exhuasted, the forum falls silent.</p>
  <p>Our university classmates group has 57 members, they talk over and over about a 10 year anniversary reunion, but over and over <span style="color: #ff6600;">there’s no conclusion</span>. The forum ebbs and flows in popularity, from times when I can’t swipe to the end of the comments, to deserted – even if someone <span style="color: #ff6600;">posted something scandalous</span>, barely anyone would reply. Our university class had 59 people in it, of the missing two, we don’t know who one of them is. Truly, everyone has wracked their memory, listed the class out dorm room by dorm room, there’s still no way of knowing their name. I’ve gradually stopped looking at that forum and friends list, its just sometimes in the middle of cooking dinner, I still can’t help but strain my mind: Who was it? Who the heck was it?</p>
<p>So, Spring has arrived, but not with a bang or a crash. The warning signs are all too familiar: the creeping allergies, the waking up itching in the middle of the night. I'm mentally composing a new essay,even when I get up in the morning I dimly remember and rush to the computer to write it down. Maybe next spring我在混沌中构思了一个新的长篇,一直到早上起床都还依稀记得,赶紧打开电脑记了下来,也许在下一个春天,我就可以写下那个在梦中寻找出口的开篇。有风的时候望出去一片昏黄,整个城市都在刮沙,我现在宁愿要一个黄色的北京,因为厌倦了它灰黑色的模样。有一天出门看见楼下迎春花在公共厕所边上乱糟糟开了,天空透着宝石蓝。几个老头坐在那个小得不得了的小花园里抽烟下棋,几个鸟笼子挂在瑟瑟发抖的小树上。我买了新的连衣裙,新的白衬衫,连衣裙119,衬衫一件49,一件29,统统包邮。我们在送走客人后去小区里散步,买一个迷你可爱多,一分钟吃完之后非常后悔没有买一个正常大小,小区里几乎没有树,连绵不断停着车,我们终于找到一张长椅坐下来,试图说点和这夜风相配的话语,但转头一看,右边是一排破破烂烂的平房,在“风行造型屋”和“云南过桥米钱”之间,有一扇脏兮兮的窗户,上面用红漆写着好大两个字:“大饼”。我哈哈笑起来,春天到了,原来这不需要任何话语,它是自顾自来了又去,我们只是它路过的地方。</p> <p>More often, I gasp in admiration at these people who disappear so thoroughly from other people’s orbit. A full ten years, he or she, how could they, while under assault from cellphones, email, alumni networks, social networking, blogging, and message apps, still manage to hide themselves on some island unlocatable by any modern technology or burst of memory? Probably in this world there are some people, just like springtime, they mind their own business as they move on. It seems we can’t avoid relationships in life, however where they have passed through, they don’t plan to return, let alone leave a souvenir, <span style="color: #ff6600;">in each moment springtime passes</span></p>

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About julien.leyre

French-Australian writer, educator, sinophile. Any question? Contact julien@marcopoloproject.org