Commemorating the Ninth Anniversary
Just one step away from ten years now, huh. I feel much better this year than I did last year. One reason is that she actually showed up in person: her appearance has more or less healed me, from all those years of sorrowful memories.
It’s really nice.
Another reason is that, about four days ago, I found a possible ultimate solution to cure this sense of loneliness: once again, I experienced utter happiness, a happiness so intense that it was no less than what I felt on this day nine years ago. As for how to do it specifically, I could never forget it anyway, so I won’t write it down here. Although I once thought about sharing it, looking back and thinking it over carefully, perhaps I should keep it a secret from anyone in reality forever.
Right now, what I’m more anxious about is still the Regional Contest. Although the best R^2 for the curve fitted from the scatter plot is only 0.682, with this thing, you could almost say the worse the optimal case is, the better…
I don’t really know what to write, eh, since my emotions are far less intense than they were last year.
Oh right, a month ago, I wrote a ten-thousand-word piece about those few hours when I met her after such a long separation. When I read it a few days ago, it felt suffocating. I feel like it’s better not to post it, even though I went so far as to anonymize it, and even brainstormed several versions of the title.
But seriously speaking, over these past four days, she has become not that important and special anymore, returning to a position just slightly above normal.
Oh no, thinking about those things now, my mood is getting a bit down again. Still, over this past year, I suppose I’ve been fairly lucky, because of some people. Even though, I cannot erase the impact that past sorrows had on my past self.
“Alas! Insentient are the herbs and trees, yet in their season they wither and fall. Man, being of mortal kind, is the most spiritual of all things; a hundred sorrows stir his heart, a myriad toils weary his frame; whatsoever stirs within must needs shake his vital essence. How much more so when he broods upon that which exceeds his might, and frets over that which surpasses his wisdom! Small wonder, then, that his ruddy, lustrous bloom turns to withered wood, and his locks of purest ebon turn to flecks of frost. Wherefore, possessing a form wrought neither of gold nor stone, would he vie in fleeting splendor with the grass and trees? Bethink thee who it is that works this ruin—wherefore, then, harbor resentment against the voice of autumn!”
2025/9/25 21:10:06