Before returning to my home country, the days were like waste, I tacitly allowed myself to be as wasteful as possible. Consuming countless electronic junk, spending hours in the same position, going crazy like a waste. Only the music-related schedules set on the calendar a long time ago took me out of the wasteful life for a few hours. I couldn't imagine I could be so wasteful, nor could I imagine the me returning to my home country, almost giving up everything overnight. Starting to plant plants and vegetables, learning how to make audio circuits, cooking from breakfast to dinner every day, re-reading books that I couldn't finish before. Living like this for a month, passing through the humid rainy season in the south.
Then, the tour schedule written on the calendar at the beginning of the year once again took me out of this kind of life. Cherry Blossom Ballroom, Angzhi Fan Club, going to the next door tomorrow, every place filled with emotions. Perhaps in the UK, because I was an outsider, so every performance was almost only about music, social interactions were more concise, even if there were any shortcomings, I might not care, becoming a waste at home, not wanting to think about anything at all, although even so, still unable to fall asleep.
Coming back, there arose a need to satisfy my self-esteem, not like the driving force of making music, but because of a deep sense of inferiority, from a casual remark from my parents and once closest friends, in that moment of receiving it was understood as mockery, repeating in my mind. At severe times, even when doing things I was originally curious about, I was filled with such annoyance and inferiority. Unable to relax, purely pursuing something, only the life and death of the plants at home could bring me some comfort. At this moment, I am in a small run-down hotel in Wenling, missing the Persian red grass and cold water flowers at home, worrying about the chicken feathers that have been sprouting for a long time but never growing.
A former friend sent a message today, asking why I refused to see her. She said I was too rational and heartless. I haven't enjoyed being with people for a long time. I gave up, didn't want it anymore, always shouting in my heart, go to hell. Today at the Ping Pong performance, a guest was singing a birthday song, and I hummed a line, go to hell. I hate those who treat things that others love as background, of course, when that thing is music, I am more sensitive, at this point, the other person is actually a good person and has no meaning to me. But when I see many people constructing their music in a similar way, I feel a bit dissatisfied. When I meet people who are making music in slightly different ways, I feel touched. In this way, dissatisfaction and emotion intertwine, in towns, cities, various environments, mingling with people, those abandoned things impulsively return to me.
I want to face my foolish self alone, like a fool doing things beyond my capabilities.