□ Tan Bo
The professor was drying his nest under the windowsill again. "Today, the first egg was laid," the professor excitedly told everyone in the circle of friends. For more than ten years, swallows have come here every year, and on the inside of the air-conditioned external chassis, they have unconsciously built a warm nest. The professor patiently accompanied, watched the swallows fly in, watched them nest, lay eggs, hatch, play, and then like swallows diligently record and share this process of companionship with love and fun in the circle of friends.
However, such a beautiful bird in the circle of friends, one day it suddenly ignited the uncontrollable anger of the wife. One morning, before dawn, the wife, disturbed by the chirping of birds, jumped out of her nest and pulled open the window in anger, trying to drive away the birds that had disturbed what little good mood remained in the morning. She stood in front of the window for a long time, almost ready for all the emotions and strength of a loud roar, waiting for only a command from the brain center to burst out.
But she soon compromised with the birds, with this terrible morning, and more importantly with herself. She silently closed the curtains again and went back to bed. The birds ignored her anger and continued their own singing and laughter.
Now, she grabbed her phone and started flipping through her circle of friends.
Or take a look at the circle of friends. The world is big, but it seems to be getting smaller and smaller, becoming the size of a palm, becoming only a mobile phone screen, a small window. Every day, we stare at this window, pay attention to the new crown epidemic, pay attention to the Crisis in Ukraine, pay attention to an airplane and 132 living lives, and pay attention to all kinds of sunburn in the circle of friends. Although we seem to know that there are so many joys and sorrows in the world, they do not care about our attention.
But what else can we focus on besides this?
Pay attention to those who sing alone in the dark of night?
The most recent time, I had not been bubbling in the circle of friends for a long time, and for some reason —perhaps, I wanted to say hello to friends who had not seen each other for a long time in this way—I suddenly sent an essay "As Tolerant as Night" written half a year ago to the circle of friends. I wrote about a middle-aged man who sang in the neighborhood at 9 o'clock every night, and I also wrote about an old man who played saxophone badly in the bridge by the river, and I couldn't help but express my own exclamations: under the cover of night, the saxophone by the river, the baritone in the community, their rough music was extremely narcissistic, lyrical or venting, they must have been immersed in their own world, they may never have wanted to get applause, and they never feared that anyone would hate them, they just wanted to sing like that They never ask themselves what it's all about.
Unexpectedly, such a self-talking short article also received more than a hundred likes and dozens of comments. What I didn't expect was that an old classmate who had long achieved financial freedom left me a large paragraph in the comment area, telling such a true story:
"When the little girl started the first grade, a WeChat group was set up in the class. There is a parent who is very special, every day in the group to play songs, actually found that he sang by himself, singing is really unbearable to listen to. At first, everyone didn't squeak, and slowly some people couldn't stand it. Some parents suggest that everyone go to the mass singing gathering on the weekend, and count the new student parent activities by the way. He said, 'Go ahead,' and the group sang it. Once the school organized an outdoor activity to meet this 'real person', much older than the mainstream post-80s parents, not much to say, gray hair, and some puffiness. But his daughter Mei xiao friend is lively and cute. After that, he continued to sing in the group, and everyone took it for granted and stopped encouraging him. About the second semester, I found that there was no singing from Father Mei in the group, and then I heard that he had a terminal stage of malignancy, and then I heard that he was gone. “
In the last sentence, I will take it out specifically, start another line, and make a solemn paraphrase:
"Every adult has his unbearable side, cherishing every immersive mood and sorrow."
What reason do we have not to cherish it? C, who has not been seen for more than two years, shared his life feelings in the circle of friends: "Hui Hui said that in the past year, he was busier than a dog on the construction site, but the treatment was not as good as a dog. I said yes, there is a ball to play, there is something to do, there is a home, it is very good. ”
I haven't seen C play, but the images he once posted in the circle of friends playing basketball in waves made me believe that his skills and circle of friends are still leveraged.
Da Liu, who was in the next class at the university, was busy on his Huyu Mountain. That's what the WeChat group told me. The college year group, which had been cold for a long time, had suddenly become lively again recently. A few little old men over 50 years old began to sigh and began to learn to be philosophers and poets. Those words that seem to come with the feeling, inadvertently, touch a sensitive nerve in your heart. As soon as Liu was idle, he ran to the mountain of his hometown to sort out the large piece of grapefruit trees, and he enjoyed the time of labor, "There is nothing to go up the mountain to carry a big piece of wood home, when you get home, you know that it is very cool to drink a sip of water, and you want to fly happily after eating a bowl of rice." ”
Also in that college year group, one morning, I opened my confused eyes and saw a picture sent by the old man, with a few irregular lines of text, and when I looked closely, it turned out to be a poem called "Confused": Where am I going / Do I have to sit all the time / Who am I / What am I going to do next / Where am I / Where is the boundary of the universe / Who is this person / Why is sitting here
I didn't fully understand the poem, but I saw clearly the time displayed on WeChat, which was 3:26.
At 3:26 a.m., Lao Bao was still awake and posted a poem called "Confused" in the WeChat group.
In this world, except for the old man, who is difficult to toss and turn at 3:26 a.m. into insomnia, who else?
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