He remembered that one of his classmates' fathers was a car mechanic, and every time he picked his son up from school, he smelled of the repair shop. Another classmate's father worked at a hospital, and he often smelled of the hospital.
The taste of a father is always intertwined with his livelihood. As father grows old, that taste will fade away. Have we ever respected and cherished the taste that embodies him?
What does your dad taste like? A novel that never reaches the finish line.
A friend who writes novels said that the most exciting part of writing a novel is before you even start writing, the most painful part is the beginning, the most enjoyable part is when you're halfway through, and the most disheartening part is when you're almost at the end.
Before I even put pen to paper, I had so many things I wanted to say, so many exciting plots and special characters in my mind. At that time, I thought what I was about to write would be my masterpiece, so I was very excited.
When it comes to actually putting pen to paper, I am filled with anxiety. I am often not satisfied with the first ten thousand words I write, and I keep revising them because if the beginning is not well written, I will not have the energy to write the rest of the story.
As I wrote more, I started to get into the zone, completely immersed in the characters of the novel, and wrote with ease. That process was a real pleasure.
Two-thirds of the novel was written, with only one-third remaining. At this point, the writer suddenly lost interest, because he already knew the ending, and his energy had been almost exhausted halfway through. He was starting to feel a bit weak. An athlete gets excited when they see the finish line and sprints across with all their might, but the writer was a monster; seeing the finish line made him feel that life was meaningless, and he couldn't be bothered to run across.
The process of writing a novel is like falling in love. The most exciting part is finding your goal; the beginning is filled with anxiety and uncertainty; and the happiest time is when the passion intensifies. As the years go by, the initial passion fades, and a sense of weariness inevitably sets in. At this point, not many people can reach the finish line. Age can be like this...
Women often feel awkward when asked about their age. If they say it's a secret, people assume they must be quite old and therefore unwilling to reveal it.
Age doesn't have to be a number. Next time, you might try answering like this:
"I'm past the age where I want to get married."
"I'm past the age of believing in promises."
"I'm past the age of wanting to get married, but I'm not past the age of believing in commitment."
"I'm past the age where I believe men can change."
"I'm past the age where I like to hear sweet words."
"I'm past the age where I believe love is everything in life."
"I'm past the age where 'love makes even water taste sweet'."
"I'm past the age of strolling on the beach and counting stars."
"I'm too old to experience another heartbreak."
"I still have dreams about love. Am I still too young?"
"I'm still at the age where I'm waiting for my Prince Charming to appear."
"I was young and thought that even though I rejected a man's love, he would protect me for the rest of his life."
You press further: "So how old are you exactly this year?"
I've already said so much, and you still can't guess? You still want to ask? I really want to know what age your IQ is. Those youthful, shy days...
A female college student wrote to me saying that she had fallen in love with a professor who was twenty years older than her. She knew that there was no future for them, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. She felt very distressed.
A young girl experiencing her first love is often easily attracted to her teacher, as long as he is not too ugly or too old to walk without a cane. She can easily place her first love on him.
She always felt that her teacher was exceptionally kind to her and particularly appreciated her. Often, this was just wishful thinking on her part. Besides her father or brother, the first man a girl encounters is often a male teacher at school. Without comparison, she always thinks he's the best man in the world, willing to love him forever, even giving up everything for him, and expecting him to give up everything for her, to have a passionate and dramatic romance. In reality, he was just an ordinary man.
True love is not the worship of someone who is superior. Love should be equal; a student falling in love with a teacher is fundamentally unequal.
He had more life experience than her, read more books than her, and belonged to a higher social class. In her young and shy days, he was her dream lover. But once she left school and met other men, she suddenly realized that her feelings for her teacher were admiration, not love.
What girl hasn't had a crush on a handsome and talented male teacher? The intoxicating joy and the bittersweet embarrassment once made us believe we understood love; but one day, we must smile and admit it wasn't love, just a little episode in our growth. The melancholy of sixteen and nineteen.
A sixteen-year-old boy fell in love with his nineteen-year-old female classmate. He said she was almost flawless, beautiful, academically excellent, and a good cook.
He once mustered up the courage to confess his feelings to her, and she gently said, "You are a good person, but not good enough to be my boyfriend."
He wasn't discouraged. That night, he celebrated her birthday belatedly and gave her a small gift. She said, "You're so silly, is it worth it? You'll regret it." He said, "I'll never regret it." She laughed and said, "Don't be so silly. I love another boy, but he's loved someone else for two years." After a moment of silence, he asked her, "Would you mind if your boyfriend was younger than you?" She said, "Don't waste your time." He said, "No, I love you." She sighed and said, "Don't be so silly."
And so the day ended. The boy asked me, what was she really thinking?
She called him stupid three times during the conversation; she genuinely disliked his young age and knew she would never fall in love with him. Wasn't her true feelings already clear?
Girls mature earlier than boys, and in adolescence, a three-year age difference seems like a huge gap. Ten or fifteen years from now, that three-year gap will be much smaller.
A sixteen-year-old boy falling in love with a nineteen-year-old girl is a youthful sorrow; don't be sad, when you're sixty, you'll still fall in love with a nineteen-year-old girl. (A pair of socks)
We all once thought we loved someone very much. When we broke up, we cried and said to them:
"I've been so good to you, why are you treating me like this?"
Later, we fell in love with someone else. It was then that we realized we hadn't truly loved that person before.
They didn't do much for him. It was right for him to leave.
V once deeply resented her boyfriend leaving her. Then one day, she suddenly realized that in the year or so they had been together, the only thing she had ever given him was a pair of socks for his birthday. How could someone so stingy claim to love him? Poor man, he even slapped her that very day.
Why do we mistakenly believe we love someone so much? Perhaps it's because he didn't love me in the first place. Because he didn't love me, I felt I loved him too much and gave him too much. When we broke up, I cried my heart out, feeling deeply betrayed.
Many years later, we asked ourselves, "Did I love him?" Not at all, not even close to love. Back then, I didn't understand love at all; I loved him less than a tenth of the people around me now.
We simply like the image of a deeply affectionate version of ourselves. I can love someone so much; how deeply I love. When we break up, we're heartbroken not for the relationship itself, but for ourselves.
It's good to be alive. Only by living will you discover that you never loved someone as much as you thought you did.
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Chapter Nine