the most beautiful time

Chapter 12 The Traveler Walking on the Left Side of My Life (1)

In Beijing, I was always lost. Standing under the overpasses with endless streams, I often lost the way I came and the way I was going.Many times, I am not even as good as those foreign travelers who rode bicycles and shuttled freely among the alleys; He has the heroic spirit of pointing the country.

That was the case again. I was going to the French Cultural Center to watch a documentary about Beauvoir. When I got out of the subway, I was suddenly robbed of my remaining sense of direction by the roaring high-rise buildings.On the address from Baidu Google, it says [-] meters to the east, then turn left to an alley, walk [-] meters, and the quaint small building along the street is the location.However, looking at the sun hanging directly above the head, and those speeding cars, passers-by in a hurry, and migrant workers who are also at a loss for Beijing, the courage in my heart, like light smoke, is getting stronger and stronger. light.

Just when I asked more than a dozen people and couldn’t get an answer, a French photographer riding a mountain bike broke into my field of vision. He was straddling the bike with one foot, concentrating on photographing the cornices under the shadow of an ancient temple on the opposite side of the road. .As I looked around in a daze, I happened to block a small piece of his lens.He came over, in English, and asked me with a smile if I could get out of the way.I said sorry, forced a smile from my anxious lips, and turned to leave.But he stopped me suddenly and asked, do you need his help?
He didn't speak, but in his question, he laughed to himself first.He was smart, and quickly guessed that I was lost. He took out a detailed atlas from his big backpack, and then proudly raised it at me, meaning: Tell me, where you want to go, I guarantee it will be here.

I dubiously said the name of the French Cultural Center, he immediately pointed to the east confidently, and said, [-] meters, at the first crossroad to the only alley, you will see a landmark building, opposite the building , is what I'm looking for.

Sure enough, under his guidance, he successfully arrived at the destination, and caught up with the exciting movie that just started.After reading it, I bought a cup of coffee and sipped it carefully in a quiet corner of the library while flipping through a French picture book.In the middle of the scroll, I accidentally looked up and saw that on the opposite table, with fingers flying on the keyboard, it was the French photographer who was showing me the way.Coincidentally, he also raised his head, saw me, looked at each other and smiled, then lowered his head and was busy again.

When I was leaving, I passed by his table and said goodbye, like a friend I have known for a long time. He also smiled warmly and replied humorously, next time I get lost, remember to find a handsome French guy riding a bicycle on the street.

I also remembered the pleasant afternoon chatting with an American woman who also failed in class in the coffee shop of Beijing Film Academy.She has been walking in Beijing for six years, going to various centers, acting as an envoy for cultural exchanges.Just because of the upcoming wedding, I have to end my trip in China.On that autumn afternoon, we sat by the window where we could see the clear sky, and talked about our love for each other without hiding anything.She was originally a staunch celibate, and she never felt moved when she met many men who showed love to her; she thought that this life would be spent in China like this, not alone, but also enriched, with a trace of The loneliness that cannot be resolved.It was at an art exhibition in Beijing that I met my fiancé, and at that moment, I decided that each other was the lover who would stay together for a lifetime.Nearly forty years old, she was strongly attracted by a love for the first time, and she was willing to sacrifice her beloved career for this.

When she said this, her eyes were always looking at the tall acacia tree outside the window, and her lake-blue eyes were full of affection and longing.The person she loves is just an ordinary engineer who lives in a rented house and DIYs all the furniture by himself, using old-fashioned cameras and home appliances that we Chinese have eliminated. On the fence in front of the house, it is written in crooked Chinese characters: Take my lovely bride, Ling.Ling is her Chinese name, and "Xinyou Lingxi" is her favorite idiom.She said that China believes in "sincerity leads to spirit", and she must have met her lover because she has practiced enough in this life.

It was an extremely pleasant afternoon, and I still clearly remember that when we opened the window of our hearts, there was no barrier, my once lost love was guided by this foreign woman, through the fragrance of flowers all the way, and the shade of the acacia tree , finally found the way back.

And the South African student who insisted on catching up with me on the street and introduced his name just because I smiled at him; there was also the Danish painter on the Great Wall who encouraged each other and worked hard to climb up, and enthusiastically gave me a class at the film school The Brazilian girl who was a guide; the British woman who chatted with me for a long time about the artistic concept of a painting in the 798 Art Center; Walking on the left side of my life should have been like a cloud of passing smoke, leaving no trace when a gust of wind came, but as I walked farther, their images became clearer on the screen of my mind.

I have forgotten their names, but I deeply remember the clear and bright smiles they gave me when they passed by on the streets of Beijing.

When my mother was young, she was a stubborn and stubborn woman. The three of us, three brothers and sisters, were most afraid of her soprano.If he did something bad, he would often be prepared for a violent storm before he even saw her.At that time, I was not afraid of my father's beating, but the kind of physical pain would soon be forgotten, but only my mother's nagging scolding left the longest scar.Those accusations, nagging, complaining and beatings make us a little bit of pain that we can't avoid.There is very little spiritual communication between us.She was busy with washing, cooking and cleaning, tidying up the whole family in a decent manner, and even going to the town a few miles away to pull carpets and weave them at home, in exchange for tuition fees and extra snacks for the three of us.The hardships of life made her run at high speed like a spinning top that couldn't stop.So when she doesn't speak, we absolutely dare not provoke her; once she wants to talk to us, then the three of us must have some bad habits that she can't tolerate again, such as failing exams and fighting with others, such as When she was the most exhausted, she quarreled endlessly over watching TV. For example, when relatives came over, she was completely ignorant of manners and rushed to grab the food as soon as it came.It was a worry-ridden youth, always worrying about being picked up by my mother to receive ideological education as soon as I went to bed, before the dream began.Her harsh reprimand pierced our poor self-esteem with holes, and there was nowhere to hide.

By the time we reach middle school, our courage begins to grow, just like our age.Personality, gradually rebellious and uninhibited, learning to say no to mother's orders, and bravely facing her fierce gaze, and the golden rules that once made us terrified.She is still very fierce. Seeing that our grades have dropped and the bedroom is in chaos, she doesn't know how to understand the hard work of adults, and she has learned to fall in love at a young age, so she immediately swept over with fierce tongues.At that time, all of us had trained a suit of steel armor. When she said one sentence, we already had ten sentences, and we were waiting below, and each sentence hit her vitals, making her speechless when she refuted. broom or feather duster to vent their resentment against us.But helpless, before she threw it over, we had already jumped away lightly.She chased after her panting, while we fled to a safer place humming a tune, suffocating her resentment and anger to death.

I remember when I was in the second year of high school, I liked a tall boy at work, and I was almost madly infatuated with him.His slightly wrinkled forehead when he was in class, the fine friction sound between his clothes when he passed me by, his even and steady breathing when he was running, his beautiful reverse dunk when he was playing, every subtle movement is all traction Staring at me, so that I can no longer be that good girl taught by my mother with a calm heart.I finally mustered up all the courage in my life to write the first obscure love letter in 17 years.I remember that when I finished writing that night, it was close to one o'clock in the morning, and my mother looked out of the door several times in doubt, but I cleverly played the English tape, giving her the illusion of staying up late and studying hard.After I finished writing the letter and put it in the book, and I was sure that my mother had fallen asleep, I fell into a dream with a touch of shyness and sweetness.

(End of this chapter)