I Kina spiser de hunde (1999)
Yesterday, I searched for a long time for a café, but nowhere could offer me the quiet I needed to empty my mind. My thoughts were chaotic, and my body felt weak. Work seemed endless, and I had no place to truly rest, no real space to unwind. I felt deeply unhappy, as if the cries within me were met with silence. That small part of me felt displaced, adrift. I know that if I continue like this, without finding a solution, it will eventually lead to immeasurable, destructive consequences. Yes, I am still in the midst of the storm, with nowhere to hide before the cycle of death.
“When the virus was spreading, there were still people reading and writing at their desks, lighting a lamp in the dark sky, offering a glimmer of hope to the world.” This is the tagline from Around the World in Eighty Days. It reminded me of the “desk” in my rented room. It’s not really a desk but more of a projection of my inner state. The surface is cluttered with unrelated items, with no empty space. Sometimes I feel intense disgust toward these things—why do they have to take over my desk? My chair is no longer a chair but a “Christmas tree” piled with dirty clothes. This “dirty laundry Christmas tree” fills me with disgust, yet I feel powerless to change it. Can you imagine a Christmas tree in your living space, hung with dirty clothes instead of ornaments?
My female friends say I’m a minimalist, with few possessions, but that’s only on the surface.
These past few days, I’ve felt despair—despair so profound it’s hard to put into words. I keep wondering, why have I let myself fall into this state?
I’ve never truly had a vacation. Even when I decide to leave my laptop behind, my body can’t escape the invisible cage. Tomorrow, I’ll return to the tangible cage, repeating this endless cycle of death.
I’m grateful to the barista at the Guotu Bookstore for lending me a pen and paper to write these thoughts. Perhaps this will help me find a way to break free.
In China They Eat Dogs is a 1999 Danish film. On the last day of the Mid-Autumn holiday, in the hotel before leaving Shanghai, Xiao Lu suggested we watch it. In the early hours of September 18th, despite our exhaustion, Da Hai and I stayed up with Xiao Lu to finish it. The protagonist carried a sense of absurdity, a “no matter what happens to others, I must complete this task” vibe. There was a surprise at the end, but I missed it because I was half-asleep. I plan to rewatch it later! Before leaving, I also recommended a French dance film, En Corps (its Chinese title doesn’t quite capture its essence), which I had watched at the French Cultural Center in Beijing. This film was my introduction to modern dance. Because Xiao Lu often mentioned JP Dance Studio—the place where she rediscovered her vitality, but now faces the threat of closure—she’s doing her best to save it. As a “family member” of the studio, I became one too because of her. Without Da Hai, Xiao Lu might have given up dancing there long ago; without Da Hai, I wouldn’t have lasted as long either. This past March, when my dance season card was about to expire, I was debating whether to renew it. Xiao Lu proactively recommended a renewal plan that suited me. After that conversation, we gradually became closer. We didn’t actually spend much time together before I left Shanghai. I didn’t think much of it at the time, always feeling that leaving was just temporary.
I think, in the coming week, my colleagues might notice—“She’s starting to take action.” I plan to break some routines, like skipping group lunches and dinners during breaks, and instead use that time to draft my action plan. This isn’t Trump’s so-called “concept of planning,” but rather the “action of actioning.” To ensure the safety of my actions, I must carry them out quietly, under the guise of normalcy. It feels like a spy mission, but I really am about to start acting.