Let's record my city
Life is a wilderness, but perhaps it is not an endless wilderness. For me, that time in 2021 is gone. It's hard to imagine that I, who came from a small county town, could indulge in the evening breeze on Hankou West Road when Citywalk was not widely defined. I remember the golden color of the garden, and Borges's tiger hovering over every leaf.
Shanghai Road, Guangzhou Road, Zhujiang Road, Zhongshan Road, Hanzhong Road, Huju Road, Xikang Road, Beijing Road, Hunan Road, Shanxi Road, ......Just vaguely remembering these road names is enough to get me through countless cold winters. But now I basically can't take annual leave, and taking five days of annual leave to spell out nine days of vacation only exists in an unrealistic fantasy. The wilderness seems so narrow. It is only on official holidays that I dare to carefully plan a flight and feel the breath of a different city with a cheap ticket.
From this, I understand that Citywalk is not just about consumption downgrading - at least the word itself removes a certain petty bourgeois mood, and it is not necessarily the same way to find the unfound by walking. I like to visit museums in various cities, and I think it's a unique romance because of the fact that history is reflected in the form of cultural relics. Even if I still have vulgar ideas such as "free" and "air-conditioned", I will try to check in as much as possible, after all, I have been here before. When I am about to turn 25, I also roughly understand the dialectical relationship between the wilderness and the wilderness, but more importantly, I must have a heart facing the wilderness. This sentence does not mean that the civil servants in the examination city, as long as they are admitted before the age of 35, they will go ashore, and those who have worked will not go ashore.
The point is to find meaning in life in a life that follows the rules. Pleasure is the meaning of life, but it is not the whole story. I believe that Rilke's leopard will never be confined to "a thousand railings", although the solid pace and sharp gaze seem to mean nothing. In the Jardin des Plantes de Paris, Rilke finds eternity and divides it in two with a vulgar worldview. On this point, I agree with Camus's praise of Sisyphus, who bears the stone of absurdity and can still survive as a symbol. So, I'd rather be a recorder who doesn't accomplish anything.