Day 50 · Halfway There

The mint on the windowsill has sprouted new leaves again.
I remember on the first day when I wrote these words, I casually pinched off a branch and put it in water. At the time, I thought that if I could keep it alive for fifty days, it would prove that some things don't need too much effort to survive.
Now it has really grown roots—thin, white ones, drifting in the water.
Day 50. Halfway there.
Flipping through the words I've written over these fifty days:
Sometimes writing on an airplane, the person next to me watching a movie, me writing about the relationship between K-lines and Zhuangzi;
Sometimes writing in a café, a server coming to refill my water, asking what I'm writing, me saying it's a diary, her smiling and walking away;
Sometimes writing in the deep night, the whole city asleep, just me and the glowing screen.
When I was writing, I never thought I'd make it to fifty days.
Just like when I planted the mint, I never thought it would survive.
Someone asked: what's the point of writing all this?
Can you make money from it? Can you gain followers? Can it become a wealth code?
To be honest, I don't know.
But what I do know is:
Over these fifty days, because I had to write something, every day I would observe life a little more carefully.
Watch how clouds drift, how leaves grow, how sunlight slowly crawls from the windowsill to the bed.
These have nothing to do with K-lines, but everything to do with myself.
Day 50, exactly halfway.
For the remaining fifty days, I don't know what will happen.
But with your company, that's enough.
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