I remember seeing a comic when I was younger, about a painter and a writer who had completely different attitudes towards their own work. The painter looked at his previous paintings and said, "Oh my, this was painted by that idiot, it's full of flaws." But the writer looked at the words he had written as a child and sighed, unable to replicate the innocence and enthusiasm of his thoughts at that time.
I have seriously pondered this question before, where does the power of words truly lie? But I couldn't find an answer, I didn't understand why such viewpoints existed, until I read the "immature works" I left behind in elementary school. It was then that I understood the meaning of this story.
In elementary school, I was obsessed with online games and wrote fan fiction with the same world view. I remember loving writing in elementary school, whether it was for exams or writing novels and diaries, I enjoyed recording my inspirations in my free time. When I saw the stories I wrote back then again, I was so engrossed in them. It felt like I was having a conversation with a child who looked just like me, but this conversation was not childish play or boring lectures, it was a genuine dive into a child's inner thoughts, experiencing what they were thinking at that moment, why they wrote this story, and so on. But to be honest, when I saw my childhood "works," I was more surprised. I was amazed at my bravery back then, amazed at the delicacy of my thoughts. It was a feeling that I couldn't imitate now.
I remember in elementary and middle school, I liked to write stories in notebooks or print them out to share with my classmates. Although I find it embarrassing now, at that time, I actually saw myself as a "star." It was as if I had become the person I aspired to be, a true writer. Because of my boldness at the time, some classmates from other classes whom I didn't know would occasionally mention my "famous" name.
I want to share a few lines from the writings I wrote back then, although it's embarrassing, I think this kind of sharing is a good way to convince everyone of the so-called "power of words."
"The skeletons are created by the gods using holy fire to burn the flesh of corpses, turning them into ashes, and then they become skeletons. Of course, this is also a legend in the eyes of the skeletons. Most of them believe that they appeared in this world out of thin air, without parents, without other flesh and blood, and they don't know what created them..."
This short passage was written by me in junior high school, and the world view came from the game "Minecraft" (I am still a Minecraft player now). This story was originally intended to tell the adventure of a skeleton named "Xiao Zhong" and Steve. I wrote the battle scenes quite beautifully, but because I didn't have a complete outline, the story came to an abrupt end.
I also reviewed my diary from the time of the college entrance examination. I felt like I found my naive and striving self again.
"They say the college entrance examination is a battlefield fought alone, especially in the time before the battle horn sounds. You have been controlling your own destiny. I hope you can truly devote yourself to studying during this time, forget about things unrelated to studying, improve your focus, and efficiently complete every task. I think this is my goal for the next few tens of days.
Time won't wait for you, but for those who know how to use time, it is almost still..."
The last page of this diary contains a four-leaf clover that I found after running around my small town before the college entrance examination. Although it has turned slightly yellow now, as a lucky charm, it accompanied me for over a hundred days before the exam. Thinking about it, my eyes couldn't help but become a little moist.
The power of words lies in this. Sometimes, it's not about how brilliant or magnificent the words themselves are to be considered literature. Literature often arises from the interaction between the author and the reader. This "sense of interaction" and "immersion" are the true power of literature in my opinion.
During the period of preparing for the postgraduate entrance examination, I have been looking for a way to record my thoughts in writing. It should not take up too much time, be convenient to record, and through the description of words, allow me to recall the whispers of my heart at that moment. I thought about it for a long time and finally decided to use ancient poetry to record my year. But due to time constraints and the fact that my daily activities were mainly focused on studying, I didn't have much time to seriously consider the rhyme and wording. But later, I thought, even during the peak of poetry in the Tang and Song dynasties, poets were not always obsessed with whether the words were magnificent or the techniques were appropriate. More often, they wanted to express their emotions.
I deliberately recorded the poems I wrote somewhere on the Internet so that I can look back on them later. Now I think it's best to organize them here. On one hand, I can reconsider my own lines, and on the other hand, it can help me relive my thoughts at that time.
As I write this, I feel that readers may be a bit tired of my ramblings. How can one person talk so much? And shamelessly share these words that I don't understand, what's the use of letting me read them if I can't empathize with you? So before reading these words, if you are tired, I suggest you get up and have a drink of water ☕, or eat a piece of fruit, or gaze into the distance and take a rest. Because I really want to convey the charm of words to you, so if you are willing to continue listening to me, please concentrate!
The first poem was written when I met a Twitter friend for the first time. He always left me with the impression of being easy-going, cheerful, and reasonable, and he had a strong interest in music. That day, we were by the Qiantang River in Hangzhou, bathing in the river breeze and capturing the beauty of the Qiantang River. At that time, I thought of a poem that described the Qiantang River, but it was about spring. What would the Qiantang River be like in late summer?
"Recalling the Qiantang River"
Heavy clouds and white clothes stack up the peaks, the blue waves surge and reflect the red glow.
Leaning on the railing, enjoying the scenery of the water and sky in the drizzle, the autumn tide is invisible but the autumn wind is felt.
As for this poem, I won't analyze the meaning of each word in detail, because I think the emphasis of poetry is on the overall intention, just like Wang Wei's "poetry in painting, painting in poetry."
The second poem was written on an evening when I had just finished dinner and was on my way to the study room. I saw the purest glow of the sunset. But because I was bound by "postgraduate entrance examination" at that time, I couldn't personally chase after such a beautiful scene, so I wrote the following lines:
"Quatrain (Trial)"
Bright pearls emerge from the mountains, the clouds veil the vermilion face.
Gazing into the distance, the wisdom goes, lush and heavy mountains beyond.
During the Mid-Autumn Festival, I also wrote many poems. Firstly, because Mid-Autumn Festival has always been a time for good poetry, and secondly, the scenery was indeed rare.
"Before Mid-Autumn"
The bright moon shines on the mountains and fields, the stars are sparse in the sky.
Purple silk weaves the northern sky, green clouds cover the evening light.
Green leaves drip with white dew, stone moss resembles frost.
The round and incomplete have existed since ancient times, fifteen days go south.
The above poem was written on the 14th of the first lunar month, basically describing the scenery. The main reason was that I had high expectations for the Mid-Autumn Festival. Below are three short poems written during a walk with my roommates to enjoy the moon at West Lake on the 15th night of the lunar month. They are also mainly about the scenery or expressing my joy.
"Fifteenth Night Journey"
Part One
Bright pearls emerge from the mountains, the clouds veil the vermilion face.
Slowly driving on the road, the shadows overlap and multiply.Part Two
Osmanthus flowers touch the jade nectar, the night is quiet with the sound of insects.
The autumn is high and the wind is refreshing, by the lake with friends.Part Three
Stone gate and jade plate hanging, shimmering waves and willows hanging.
Lotus pond, evening lotus standing, a young girl picking the moon.
Time passed quickly, and after the Mid-Autumn Festival, summer was truly saying goodbye. During the time of "Hanlu," the window outside the classroom was filled with autumn rain. This slightly "withered" scene made me write down the scenery while using my own brush to depict the missing part of this scene.
"Hanlu Diary"
Autumn rain falls in the mountain stream, dyeing a few leaves yellow.
Evening moths dance to an end, early silkworms busily spit out mulberry leaves.
Crickets chirp in the cold dew, returning geese slightly touch the river.
Clear and cloudy weather changes in an instant, the blue dog is hard to stay for long.
But autumn also has its own beauty. It's not just about decay. Sometimes, only in autumn can certain things reveal their beauty. One morning in autumn, I was studying in the study room, and I learned that I had passed the first round of exams. I was both delighted and nervous because I had been eliminated in the final round of interviews last time. I made up my mind to undergo a transformation this time. The winter scenery that I had seen was already dispersed by the spring, and bright flowers bloomed one after another. To put it in the slightly cheesy words of Undertale, I now feel full of determination.
"Spring Colors"
Sparrows chirp, swallows return, buds are green, and late plum blossoms reflect the spring red.
Warm wind brushes away the snow in front of the door, one flower blooms, and another flower is born anew.
In the end, the result was pleasing. I did my best, and I made it. It was as if my inner shout had received a response. I could relax for a while, even if only for a moment.
I have written so much, I don't even know how many words I have written. It feels like the length has exceeded my expectations. But looking back at my own words, it's as if I have returned to my past self, back to the naive and enthusiastic, persevering, lost, and happy self. Even if it's only through words, I can still feel the imprints and weight of time. As long as I am willing, I can experience such a journey through the dimensions of time at any time.
✏️The End