Looking for an article written by Greene

On this day, I started reading a story on my way to Taitung. I haven't left Taipei for a long time, not for work or performance; For a long time, I didn't expect it in my heart, expecting a little rain in the sky.

Because I hate rain.

On this day, it rained in Taipei and Taitung at the same time, and it hasn't rained for a long time. I went to the nursing home in Taitung to visit my grandmother, but I haven't seen her for a long time, even my father and niece who accompanied me.

The name "nursing home" is not so kind in my heart. I always thought it was a place like a hospital. When I read Giddens Ko's story on the plane, I was worried and resisted the preset situation.

However, the story is played in the eyes like this.

When I got off the plane, my father was still bargaining with the driver, and I already took a taxi. The whole person is groggy, and the wind outside the window smells of cow dung. I looked at the running trees and the asphalt road, and I was a little confused between reality and dreams. I sometimes think, now, are dreams and memories so easy to distinguish for others? The prospect and prospect of moving at different speeds outside the window will remind me of everything I saw through tears when I was running on the road of benevolence at night. Sitting in a nursing home in Taitung, I will think of my grandmother picking fruit with a cane on Lishan, and I will also think of my crying mother, but I can't tell whether the scene I think of now appeared in my dream or really happened. A path behind the nursing home, where I seem to have chased my primary school classmates, but in a blink of an eye, it may just be a memory of running out to make trouble more than ten years ago; Every time my niece in a big class looks at my eyes with a shy peek and an angry glare, it occasionally scares me, so I dig out a love letter in my memory drawer. Because of the noise or booing of boring classmates, this love letter never reaches the girls. Everything that comes and goes confuses me, but I am pinning myself on a story at this time. First, in the story.

So, besides the present, dreams and memories, there is another project that puzzles me: a story, a true story.

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In Giddens Ko's story, I often ignore the people around me and attach some affirmative voices; Sometimes I laugh, return to reality from other people's eyes, and then cover my mouth awkwardly; Many times, all I can see in my mind are pictures, and I am almost confused about real life and stories.

For example, the protagonist Ke Jingteng wrote that in his story, he tried his high school life after going to college:

"In the classroom during the day, I began to do some strange things, such as planting flowers in drawers, tearing papers into small pieces of paper and scattering them all over my classmates' heads like snowflakes. Besides, I always find someone to play badminton with me outside the corridor, sweating like a pig, and there is no pressure for the joint exam. 」

This passage reminds me that when I was trying to go to college, I also played snowman (as opposed to Snow Girl) to disturb my classmates and find someone to do some meaningless activities. This also reminds me of my classmates, who are always doing meaningless activities in the corridor, but they are never tired of it.

In some parts, I found that I also have some quirks, and the result is everyone's behavior, just like the protagonist desperately pursues the feelings of girls and shares them with the moon:

"No, will I be too treacherous?" I looked at the moon.

"No, you are very, very treacherous." The moon said.

"You're welcome." I gave a thumbs up.

It turns out that I'm not the only one who can talk to the moon. Our moon always answers us.

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It seems that all the characters in the story are talking around me. Shen Jiayi, who poked Ke Jingteng in the back with a ballpoint pen, seemed to be sitting in the row next to me; Li Xiaohua, who later changed her name to a stranger inexplicably, looked in the direction of the window and seemed to see her; Aho, Liao, people ... are surrounded by these people. I looked around and Lai Dao came into the classroom from the outside ... Finally, I seemed to be familiar with the characters in these stories, which made me like their friends. I read the story clearly, but I care as much as I listen to gossip, care about the subsequent development, care about what others think, care about what Ke Jingteng will do ... When he cut his hair in the rain, I saw that Shen Jiayi had a small white beard printed on his lips. When he said, "It's so cute", he could completely understand the tone of that sentence. During the fighting competition, I inadvertently showed a miserable expression, but I really wanted to shout; When the hero and heroine finally admit their mistakes to each other, I seem to be more upset than everyone else, and I feel bored when I put down the story. I was caught up in these vivid details unconsciously.

In addition to these vivid descriptions, he also said some great things. He said:

"It only takes one person to agree to break up, but it takes two people to agree at the same time. This is the interesting thing about love, isn't it? 」

When the girl he likes wants him to go to medical school, his reaction is:

"Medical school ... what could be more inspiring than this kind of love? Rigid parents should wake up, don't always stay in the old thinking that love hinders schoolwork, and urge their playful children to talk about a passionate love!

」

I can't list all the places where I nodded like garlic, but there are many words and parts that I deeply agree with, just like what I said to those stubborn parents just now, which seemed to be on the same line with him.

When reading this story, I was drowned in the nursing home in Taitung, and suddenly I saw the place where the lyrics of Flying Fish were quoted, and I shed tears unconsciously. For the first time, I was deeply moved because my lyrics were quoted. I always hope that the stories of my lyrics are not so clear, but that people who listen to the songs will interpret them and finish these stories in their hands. What I read now is not what I expected. He wrote:

"The underground band Sodagreen, who recently released a record, has a great lyric of Flying Fish:" What if the flowers don't bear fruit? Do you have to swim if you are a fish? 』

Love without results, as long as it blooms, is bright in color.

I have seen the splendor, and I have no regrets in my youth. 」

For me, a story with unfinished lyrics blooms in the palm of someone else's hand with brilliant colors.

At the end of the story, my father asked me to go out with my niece. I accompanied them around the nursing home. There is a drizzle in the sky, but the sun is very strong. We walked from the fish pond to the bridge, from the garden to the karaoke jukebox, and finally we sat down in a place similar to a park, where there were some simple amusement facilities. I haven't been with my family like this for a long time. I watched my father take a camera to help his granddaughter pat the west, push the swing and press the seesaw. I think of myself a long time ago, and I haven't shown intimacy and coquetry to my father for more than ten years. Some memories have remained, sometimes I can't tell the truth from the false, but now I see myself standing in the memory. Sadness is like a shadow, no one can hide it, sometimes it seems to disappear, but when I am in the sun, sadness is great. So is loneliness. So is exclamation.

I'm nervous about this story. I'm going to end it. There's still a little left. I'm afraid I can't accept the final appearance. Because of impatience, I haven't read a book carefully for a long time, but I have buried my feelings in the process of being trapped, but I have no ability to smooth the soil. This unprovoked sadness turned into a smile on my lips. I watched them, swinging by myself, occasionally watching the raindrops in the sky, occasionally watching them fascinated, and occasionally watching them think about the past and the plot in the story through the raindrops in their eyes.

I walked behind my father and his granddaughter, searching for the memory of seventeen years ago. Seventeen, what a beautiful number. Memories of seventeen years ago are almost indistinguishable from dreams. Sunlight and rain are also mixed together. I haven't liked a rain so much for a long time. I like the city where I am trapped here, trapped by the rain.

The girl we chased together in those years. The six-year-old girl in front of me will be so difficult and wonderful in the future, I think.