My family lives in a corner of a town, with a long street in front of it. There is a fruit stall on the corner of the street, and the stall is run by a couple who are over sixty years old. I have long forgotten when they set up the green tent, when they exchanged their vegetables for fruits, and when they carefully put a price tag in front of each kind of fruit. It’s just that in my memory, rain or shine, they set up their stalls in the morning light every day, and closed their stalls with moonlight behind their backs. They looked like a day for more than ten years. They looked like an ordinary three meals a day, maybe morning and evening, and hot. Wen, but never absent.
One day, due to a whim, I temporarily decided to run in the morning, and happened to meet an old couple who had just gone out of the stall. The air in the morning was still slightly cold, and they were rubbing their hands vigorously while talking to each other. From time to time, there were sounds of anger and cursing, and the morning when there were few pedestrians suddenly became no longer deserted. I saw the grandmother who had limited mobility unload the two boxes of apples, carefully placed them in the fruit box in front of them, and then wiped each apple with a clean tissue, like a devout believer is slowly reaching the heart of the faith.
Seeing this scene, I walked straight over and asked curiously: “Grandma, why do you wipe all the apples?” “You have to wipe it every day! Apples are good-looking, people are good-looking, and people are good-looking. The business is done well!” Grandma replied. I thought about these words thoughtfully, turned and ran into the early morning mist, as if someone slammed into my soul.
Grandma carefully cleans each apple every day, as if she is delicately “applying makeup” to herself. The fruits sold are clean and beautiful, and the sellers also have their own light, so you don’t have to worry about attracting repeat customers. It took me a long time to understand this kind of exquisite act, such a masterful person.
2
When I want to come, the hospital should be the most inhospitable place. Most of the people in it are in critical moments of life and death, but it wasn’t until I saw Uncle Hu with my own eyes that I had a completely different idea about life. Some time ago, I went to the hospital to take care of my mother because of her illness. Uncle Hu, who was a few days later than us, was arranged to be next to her. Over time, we will inevitably chat about the daily weather in the ward, talk about the past experience, and share fresh fruits…
Uncle Hu is a music teacher who is about to retire. He has a stable and cheerful personality. Within a few days of arriving in the ward, I won praise from many patients. Later, Uncle Hu asked his aunt to bring him unfinished books from home, and the aunt hurriedly persuaded Uncle Hu to rest more, but Uncle Hu kept talking about the books, and the aunt brought him. As a result, there were suddenly a lot of books in the ward, neatly placed in front of Uncle Hu’s bedside table. Facing the warm sunshine every day, Uncle Hu brought old-style reading glasses close to the pages of the book. It was a morning or an afternoon, quietly studying Norman Lebrecht’s “Classical Music People”, or whether it was Clay Glen Wright’s “Listening to Music”, so concentrated and energetic, is not like a patient who has just been admitted to the hospital.
Not only that, but Uncle Hu would often quietly turn on his mobile phone to listen to some classical music without disturbing his patients. From time to time, piano music by Mozart, Beethoven, and Chopin slowly overflowed from behind the curtain of bed 32, and occasionally Chinese classical music like pipa, zither, and flute sounded from the side near the window sill. I slowly learned that Uncle Hu would also play a lot of weird instruments, but he couldn’t use his fists in the hospital, but he couldn’t restrain his loneliness and even played the harmonica-whenever the sunset shines on the building, He would sneak to the rooftop at the corner of the corridor and climb the railing to play a melodious tune. Seeing the exquisite and unobtrusive gesture of Uncle Hu with silver hair, I sometimes feel envied inexplicably.
In this way, the disease-ridden Uncle Hu did not crawl into the vortex of life, nor did he surrender to life, but stood in the magnificent world of music, with fearlessness, love, unrestrainedness, and elegant and delicate gestures. Greet every ray of rising sun.
3
In the years that followed, I encountered similar scenes more than once. After my friends get home from get off work alone, they always compare the newly learned recipes, spend nearly 2 hours preparing dinner, and then happily feast on them; the Youtiao soy milk shop in the street morning market is always prosperous, and the fireworks smell is very strong, but The boss will show people with exquisite makeup and neat storefront every day; now, every “consumption festival” comes as scheduled, countless “pseudo-exquisite” young people are eager to try, making the use rate of installment products such as Huabei skyrocket. Because of this, they too It became what we didn’t want to live.
Fu Seoul once said frankly: “From the heart, the exquisiteness on the outside is not as good as the enrichment on the inside.” Exquisiteness is originally not a picky pick, but a gentle and sharp weapon in the game against the world. I think that even if this unknown world is being hostile to you and me, or you will inadvertently criticize and embarrass you somewhere, don’t forget to let go of your tiredness and go lightly, because the scenery along the way of life is very warm and pleasant. Wouldn’t you miss it? pity. At the moment when those crowds disperse, we can still hold our heads up, hold our chests up, and take steps, with enthusiasm for the world in our hearts, to the long distances of looming solitude, and to the lush and prosperous springs hidden in greenery. .
Nowadays, we are driving fast on the highway of life, with a brand new distance in front of us-“makeup” is to please ourselves and enrich the heart; “exquisiteness” is to adjust the rhythm, learn to be self-consistent, and to truly welcome the distance. Accumulate light at all times. We will eventually rush to the next mountain and sea without stopping, how embarrassing our unkempt face is. We might as well start working hard now to be brave, burn hard, and try to live out the exquisite self-by then, you should smile and bump into the whole spring, like An unexpected flower affair.
Exquisiteness not only refers to the exquisiteness of external materials, but also an attitude to life. There is nothing wrong with active pursuit, and there is no age limit. The rain falls silently, and the real water has no fragrance. We delicately arrange the days into a classic repertoire. The only way is ordinary. Even if there is no warm applause from the audience, it can still make us lively.
