How to Love This World - Cryptocurrency Exchange Platform

How to Love This World

Some time ago, I traveled thousands of miles to Saïngor to attend Chashao’s wedding (if you still remember him). After three rounds of drinks—no, to be precise, after many many rounds—I gently persuaded him to reveal his true feelings. He finally admitted that his heart still belonged to Miss Shuo. This time, I learned from experience: I didn’t hold him, deliberately kept a one-meter distance, and used a long, heartfelt paragraph:

That person will always live in time. You can’t pull her out, and you can’t go back yourself. Just let it be, let her stay quietly there. She won’t gain weight, won’t grow old, won’t wear professional suits and high heels, won’t carry the smell of diesel and vinegar from home. She will always be young, always beautiful, standing in memories, smiling at you like a blooming flower. Isn’t that good enough? One day, you’ll have to peacefully part ways with all your memories—there, she is, and you are; her youth, and your years.

Chashao still didn’t understand and asked a classic question that billions of devoted men have asked over the centuries: “I’m so good, why did she leave me?” I drained the last glass and said:

“All the reasons you can think of are correct.”

Two

Chashao thinks he’s special, that this world will make exceptions for him. Actually, aren’t we the same? When we’re young, we always think we’re The One, or someone else’s The One. More often, young people, using the excuse of youth, treat emptiness as sexiness, laziness as rebellion, and decadence as trend. What I find most repulsive is that after watching movies about Lily Zhou or the murder of street boys in Guling Street, I lament the cruelty of youth. Isn’t childhood cruel? Cruel enough that children can’t express themselves; isn’t old age cruel? Cruel enough that people become numb to it; and middle age? Their cruelty often leads to everyone’s cruelty. In my view, the only cruel thing about youth is that many people get used to using youth as an excuse, as if maturity would bring some great achievement.

Actually, not being successful isn’t a big deal. At least after maturity, you need to understand that the center of the world isn’t you. Recognizing this isn’t difficult. After all, most people gradually lose faith in themselves, lose trust in the principles they’ve upheld, and use all sorts of pretentious ways to prove themselves—whether it’s “back in the day,” “my friends,” or “my plans”—it’s just a desire to prove they once were the center of this world.

Three

After most people reluctantly accept this fact, they inevitably feel lonely. I saw a question on Zhihu, probably asking how to live alone. A bunch of men and women filled the comment section with single life stories, gaining hundreds of likes. It made me laugh—if I took a Chinese recipe and copied one every day, I’d probably surpass Zhang Gongzi by the end of the year. You live alone, and besides eating, you can’t think of anything else, yet you still claim to be so successful in living alone?

When loneliness turns into a collective celebration, it has lost its original meaning.

When the first person around you starts a modest solo life, you find it cool, tighten your belt, rent a big suburban apartment, and use apps to recreate a full Chinese banquet, buy a ukulele on Taobao, and secretly rejoice that others are still immature. Oh, and there’s also the supermarket discount season, buying big packs and small packs of tissues.

It reminds me of John Fiske’s famous “Jeans Theory”: the first young person to cut a hole in their jeans, and gradually, peers start copying. Until one day, the jeans manufacturer collapses and begins mass-producing ripped jeans. Then, loneliness, rebellion, and decadence are quietly woven into the world, revealing a sly smile.

Four

Yeah, this world is so bad. Do we still need to love it?

Loving this world starts with loving yourself.

I read a review of Black Swan:

“Nina, I have a little homework for you. Go home and touch yourself.”

Moreover, in Black Swan, the twisted director points at Nina and asks her male dance partner: “Do you want to make love to her?” The male dancer smiles without answering. The twisted director then harshly says to Nina: “No, no one would want to make love to you!” Bam, everything around plunges into pitch black.

The reason Nina can never conquer the role of the Black Swan is because she doesn’t know how to let go. We like Lily because we see a ballet dancer who should have her hair meticulously styled, but she throws away her hair tie, reminding us that life should be free of constraints. The more someone loves the world, the more they love themselves. Lily actively cares for others, sincerely congratulates others’ success instead of envying. Such a person truly understands how to love themselves. All the sources of happiness in her life come not only from herself but also from interactions with others.

What kind of life is this? Even without applause, even without worldly success—so what? Everyone should hold onto an impossible hope, with fearless courage to fail, because only then can we transcend the emptiness of life itself and reach the fertile depths of the soul.

Aunt Liu Yu talks about going solo: “Talent unrecognized,逆水行舟 (sailing against the current), one person is like a team, rallying their mind and soul, not discouraged, with a calling, loving freedom.”

She is too subtle. In my view, loving the world passionately like making love is enough.

Regarding the story of Chashao at the beginning, as someone who has been through it, when your love has blossomed or you’ve experienced a long, stable relationship, how does your view of love differ or change from your youthful fantasies? Or, what new perspectives do you have on love?

$PEOPLE **$METIS **$KSM