I embarked on solitary living.
My abode occupies the fifth level, where my minuscule existence remains concealed.
The climate is delightful, for it is the balmy season of spring. Its zephyr emerges through crevices, and the illumination is exceedingly faint, gently alighting upon the beige drapes. This fabric, adorning the curtains, was initially preserved by my grandmother. Similar to me, she possesses an affinity for accumulating trifles. Gradually, an abundance of possessions amasses, inundating the entire cabinet with seemingly “useless” items. Nonetheless, we perpetually assert: “They shall prove useful when the need arises!”
Indeed, my rental abode is devoid of any belongings; everything is immaculately white, while the verdant grass perpetually captivates the gaze. The curtains were left behind by the prior tenants. I found myself captivated by them; what shall I do with this newfound fascination? Under my grandmother’s astute guidance, I commenced acquainting myself with the craft of tailoring and fashioned a fresh fabric for the curtains.
“These possessions possess inherent utility,” declared my grandmother with a sense of pride.
I, too, smiled in concurrence.
The sunlight was resplendent, unyielding despite the tribulations I may face. Spring shall forever manifest. Cautiously, I inquired, “Do you still harbor concerns regarding my capacity to navigate this solitary journey?” “I am apprehensive, for you are yet a child,” replied my grandmother.
My grandmother persists in her penchant for worry. I extracted a lemon-flavored confection from my pocket and placed it within her mouth. She closed her eyes momentarily, only to expel it forthwith, uttering like a child, “It is exceedingly sour!”
Another delivery arrived.
Fatigued, I slumped upon the floor, unwrapping one package after another. Eventually, I assembled a shoe cabinet and procured paint to adorn its surface. Given its second-hand nature, the original wooden hue had gradually deteriorated, with fragments crumbling away at the slightest touch. My intention was to employ white water-based paint to cloak these imperfections and instill a sense of serenity.
Initially, I employed sandpaper to smooth the cabinets, facilitating the absorption of the water-based paint. This colorless and odorless medium dries expeditiously. After a few additional brushstrokes, I witnessed the emergence of a pristine cabinet. Just as anticipated, it gleamed resplendent in its pure whiteness, bereft of any hint of dust. Subsequently, I adorned the cabinet with several plants bestowed upon me by acquaintances. The verdant foliage bestowed vitality upon the cabinet.
Life’s verdancy occasionally proves arduous to sustain, yet rejuvenation serves as the norm.
A few days prior, I undertook the task of organizing the home cabinets and serendipitously stumbled upon a collection of diaries atop a bookshelf—an encounter with an alternate self. The natural demise of a beloved transpired precisely when I believed acceptance was within grasp. Throughout that period, I diligently documented this event within my diary. Fond memories of her smile, her words, and her culinary creations during her earthly existence invariably occupied my thoughts.
Words were imbued with nourishment, and nourishment was imbued with words, as we jestingly bantered around the dinner table.
The incident chronicled within the diary transpired a week ago, yet more than a month has elapsed since.
The petite plants within my abode have already flourished, their names yet to be designated.
My father advised me to uproot fallen seedlings and transport them to my desired destination. I responded, “Their roots shall perpetually remain here.” The sky harbored a paucity of clouds, obligingly adhering to the meteorological forecast, yet on this occasion, rain unexpectedly descended.
When the courier summoned me to descend and collect the final delivery of the day, I had already ascended to the fifth floor, clutching the dampened parcel in my arms, while the pursuing wind seeped through the open window.
Indeed, I had neglected to secure the window.
In the morning, I ventured out to familiarize myself with the route to the supermarket. “The supermarket is adjacent to the pharmacy,” replied the individual who provided directions, displaying an air of perplexity.
As I passed the pharmacy, my attention was captivated by numerous climbing plants adorning the display window, audaciously growing and flourishing, while those within remained disinterested. As I drew closer, I discerned their scientific appellation—Epipremnum aureum.
“It resembles the one at home,” I murmured to myself.
The rain persisted. Were I in the confines of my abode, it would incessantly patter upon bowls and ladles, descend upon the mathematical formulas eluding my brother’s comprehension, permeate the silence of my grandmother’s complaints, and bear witness to my friends racing on the road, gently patting my shoulders, urging me to keep pace.
I nodded in agreement and chuckled.
The night has grown profoundly deep.
I embarked on solitary living.