Life sometimes feels like a long railway line. The train is moving, the scenery outside the window is changing, but no one tells me the name of the station where I should get off. It just feels like I've come a long way, yet I can't seem to find my destination.
The regrets that have been accumulating in my chest then rise like smoke, making it hard to breathe. I wonder, what if I end up walking on this line? After a while, a crow named Doubt fluttered its wings and sat down in front of it. It said, "How much longer on this line? Have you seen the track next to it?" Maybe that's right.
Some people suddenly change direction after hearing the crow's words, while others sit with their heads against the windowpane for a long time. But one day the train stops, and you have to get off—whether you like it or not.
As I grow older, my mind becomes like an old diary. Where I used to see only mistakes on the pages, now I find stories. The letters spread with ink suddenly take on meaning. In the light of day, dreams become seeds and are remembered, and at night, the stars in the sky glow and extinguish like the lights of a distant city—seen but not touched.
The day is like a huge market. The bargaining, the shouting, the crowd—all of it makes my head spin. When night falls, a black tarpaulin is pulled over that market. Then the bird, tired of flying in the sun all day, cannot even find its shadow before returning to its nest. Just like that, as soon as the sweat of the day dries, the cold of the night enters my chest. Then, I sit down for a while, putting down the burden of noise, and sleep comes and knocks gently on the door of my eyes.
A day passes like sunshine and rain. Sometimes bright, sometimes cloudy. Success and failure sit side by side and drink tea. Then the question arises in my mind – I ran so much, what did I actually get? Looking from a distance, it seems that the person in the back row is the happiest. His yard is tidy; his smile is as still as a picture hung on the wall. The path I took in search of happiness eventually brought me to the city of thirst – where there is a water tap, but there is no water.
Some people's faces are like mirrors. If you look into them, you can see the broken houses inside. One day, I was sitting in the park and cracking nuts. Just as the whole kernel comes out from the shell, the hidden fatigue in the eyes of the man sitting on the bench next to me was also coming out. He was not saying anything, but the silence was saying everything about him.
The pain of not getting something is sometimes as sharp as a thorn and sometimes as light as a dry leaf. Even within a family, there are many desires in closed boxes. Everyone, while carrying their own burdens, does not have time to open and look at other people's boxes. The man felt like all his friends had crossed the river, and he was still standing on the pier. Some had found boats, some had learnt to swim, and all he had was wet clothes.
After this thought, his mind might become an empty field. Cigarette ash falls on the grass and flies in the wind, but the smell of burning remains. Because his suffering is not only his own but also the unfulfilled needs of his family, adding fuel to that fire.
The evening light was fading. My almond shells were scattered on the ground. I have to return home—the house light is on for me. As I walked, I suddenly realised that I had also come the wrong way. The trees and the nursery—all are familiar, yet the path is not.
Then it occurred to me—life is not an account book that has to be closed by adding up profits and losses. Happiness actually comes to the person who can put down the bag of debts. Who learns to live with fewer sighs. Whether inside the house or on the street outside—his mind then walks lighter.
