Life

Moments of Realization: Facing the Complexity of Human Nature and Relationships

“Is this really okay?” she asked, wanting to run away but not determined. It was three o’clock in the morning, they were still awake and tired, she thought she could fall asleep by snuggling, but the boy kissed them.

“Okay.” The Bunun boy pulled her up. There was a kind of wildness in his beautiful eyes, and there was a blazing fire in that wildness. She kept looking into his eyes as she ripped off his sports bra, feeling the flames coming out, igniting them, so thick with smoke that she couldn’t see clearly.

After graduating, she went to teach in a remote small village. She could advance and retreat at work, and her work and rest were perfect, but after one year, she felt like an isolated island. It is not the loneliness of body or mind, but the four seasons pulled by the vast fields, and the days and nights stretched by the vast sky, which wash and rub her again and again. In such a vast time scale, she is young and strong almost Absurd, as if forgotten or abandoned by the world. isolated island.

There is no isolated island that will reject travelers who have not seen each other for many years.

“I won’t,” she said.

He explained a little too clearly, and she was surprised that no one could face her body and desires so calmly. Everything she did later was to apply what she had learned. “But we don’t have protection today, so we can’t, you know,” he said. She lays on his side on his pubic bone, watching him punch himself out, thinking it’s divine and kind of funny, and then goes to help him get the toilet paper.

“I heard it smells a bit like bleach.” The boy sniffed the lump of toilet paper and asked her what she meant, but she didn’t say anything, only felt that her back was covered with needle-like sweat. In a trance, she wanted a boy to kiss her for a moment, but kissing was just a means for him, and she felt humbled inexplicably.

Nesting on the boy’s arm, she soon heard a slight snoring sound, the frequency and temperature made her finally fall asleep, and vaguely felt that the person hugging her was her ex-girlfriend. Feeling hurt? It doesn’t hurt anymore, it just exists.

The next day, when she opened the curtains, the dazzling light blasted on her body. She lowered her head to look at herself, and she didn’t feel that she had lost anything, but she just felt naked. The boy had woken up and said, “Hi.” She picked up the boy’s T-shirt and threw it on the bed, walked into the toilet, sat down on the toilet, and stared blankly for a while. When I put on the underwear, I realized that the inside and outside were upside down.

“What’s for breakfast?” She nestled in front of the desk and patted some lotion on her face. The boy didn’t close the door when he went into the toilet, and she couldn’t help hearing the sound of water.

“Let’s go shopping together.” The boy said, and she watched him change his clothes from the mirror. The fist-sized depression on the lower back was like a pair of shallow depressions, filled with the morning dew. Perhaps a tribal mark, she mused to herself, a little fascinated.

They went out the door one after the other, and when it was locked, he held the screen door for her, holding her hard hat in one hand. The rice seedlings were so green that day that they felt crisp, and the wind was just right, and as soon as it blew past, there was a soft wave of rice, which rolled all the way to the far side. They stopped and watched for a while, but no one spoke.

While waiting for breakfast, the boy went to the 7-11 next door. Still guessing that he might be preparing for a new night, he came back with a can of potato chips open in his hand, eating as he walked. They stayed in the room for a long time that day, doing their own things. When they were sleepy, they climbed into bed and slept with their arms around each other. When she vaguely woke up, she really thought that arm belonged to her ex-girlfriend. Or is the self worthy of cuddling belonging to an ex-girlfriend? Suddenly I remembered a saying that says: Two people are lonely together, more lonely than one person’s loneliness. If two people are together but not together, can loneliness be counted separately?

Finally waking up, the boy took her to the beach. The sea was directly below the windmill, white and towering, and each huge fan blade seemed to cut through the sky; the low-frequency noise set off infinite flying sand with the rotation of the fan blades. Some kind of vast imagination. A sapphire blue SUV parked at the end of the embankment, amidst the rushing dust clearly visible to the naked eye, it was like a car advertisement with a different story. “Let’s see if we can warm up.” When he was still in the army, the boy mentioned that after his military service, he would go to the beach to warm up together. At that time, every time they put down their mobile phones, they would chat for a few words. She knew that the army was miserable and needed to be heard, so she just talked like a boy.

When the tide is low, the beach bares the terrain that has been repeatedly etched by the waves and has a large drop; the seemingly solid intertidal zone sinks at every step, but the cold and long waves erase all footprints in an instant. The northeast monsoon is howling, coming from the sea, full of salt, blowing the hair on the face, and tasting the dull bitterness of the sand when you press your lips. They split up for twigs among driftwood, uprooted grass bundles buried in sand, or anything dry with a potential to burn. It was a little cold, the boy took off his coat and gave it to her, old-fashioned romance, she wanted to reject this kind of tenderness, feeling the warm inside of the brushed coat, full of hints of bribery.

Squatting on the border between the embankment and the beach, the dry grass and wood blocks are like a campfire, waiting to be burned silently. The boy took out a lighter from his pocket, lit it with his right hand, and protected the fire with his left hand; sparks quickly slid down the grass stems, like a stalled Liu Ying, and then disappeared without a trace. No matter how hard they tried to spread themselves out and get closer to each other as much as possible, the wind still carried the sand and rushed over, ignoring them, and easily licking away the towering firelight with its wet and salty tongue. Knowing and dying, clear and dying, the slender hay is black and withered, with no attachment.

“There’s only one way left,” he said. When she was lighting a cigarette, at the downwind place, her nostrils were suddenly filled with a sweet and greasy smell. She stood up wearing a boy’s coat, feeling dizzy for a while, so she closed her eyes tightly. Facing the sea, the sound of the waves is overwhelming, rushing from the other side with blurred outlines. Both she and her ex-girlfriend love the sea, and they can stay by the sea for a long time, and they can’t tell what is fun afterwards. Feel safe? She always explained it like this, but now when she opened her eyes, there was a kind of loneliness in the vastness of the sea; the residual waves rolled on the beach were murmuring, frustrated and inarticulate, very much like herself, indistinguishable between reality and reality. At night, I analyzed love and non-love in confusion.

Cigarettes are not kindling after all, and the boy puffs white smoke in front of the imaginary bonfire.

“Are you looking for a reason to smoke?”

“Oh,” he laughed, “I really want to start a fire.”

As night fell, they fled the beach, and the street lights on the country roads were gradually turned on, and there was a small crackling sound of electricity hitting the lamp tube, and the small noise of mosquitoes raising their wings to catch the light. The distance to the city is very long. The boy brought popcorn to her mouth in the movie theater. She took it and cast her eyes on the screen without drifting for a moment, as if she was enjoying it. But she’s not really there, she’s in a black box very much like a theater, bending over herself, feeling sad.

She was eager to discuss “Instinct” that night, the boy put down his phone, put his arms around her, and a strange smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.

“You first,” said the boy.

“Instinct is a way of seeing. Labeled, like heterosexuals are attracted to the opposite sex, homosexuals are attracted to the same sex. Instinct allows people to see specific, beautiful things. Instinct and human nature do not conflict. Even instinct If there is none, you are blind.”

“Really,” the boy looked at the ceiling, “then you can be both boys and girls, and you have very rich instincts?”

“It’s not something that can be multiplied either.”

“I think instinct is probably like a switch, and it’s not the kind that turns on when you say it, or turns it off when you say it. Although it sounds a bit ugly, this kind of impulse and reflex exists. This is especially true for boys.”

“Sounds like an animal.”

“Abandon instinct, and humans will have no animal nature. Without animal nature, only rationality remains. If everyone lives according to the rules, the world may be full of boredom, right?”

“It would be boring,” she laughed, “but animals don’t have ethics, empathy, commitment, expectations, understanding. Humans need that.”

“Need, what kind of need? When it comes to sex?”

She was silent for a while, “It should be said that it is especially necessary when facing sex.”

She turned over and lay on the boy’s body, her cheek resting on her chest, subconsciously counting under the sound of her heartbeat. The street lights filter in through the green floor-to-ceiling curtains, and the room is filled with grass-green, flickering light and shadows, like being in a fish tank. He pulled her hand under the covers and moved downstream. She fondled it, and suddenly felt proficient. While holding it, she looked at him calmly and said, “It’s a bit boring.”

The boy stood up abruptly and penetrated her in one fell swoop. The light and shadow swayed more violently, and there were waves in the narrow fish tank, and the waves were also grass-green and fluffy, scratching it. She knelt down, clutching the mattress tightly, staring at the painting of humpback whale leaping on the wall, watching the gray-blue, beautiful and huge life rising up in the unknown white mist: maybe it was a wave, maybe it was A cloud, or perhaps some sort of abstract mass eruption of particles. The bare back began to germinate fine, sweaty fields, why is it more stuffy to be naked than when fully clothed?

Instinct is to wrap yourself in love and make it grand when you’re hungry, she thought. Fortunately, the boy’s hunger was purely literal.

After taking a shower, I saw that the floor-to-ceiling curtains were pulled open, and the things in the room were invisible under the night. The boy was smoking outside, and the sweetness lingered in the air for too long, creating a bitterness. She walked towards him, feeling her back start to sweat again.

“The wind has died down,” said the boy.

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