Confession at 26: The Stone-Pusher
It is now June 6, 2023, and I am 26 years old. As I grow older, I no longer feel much ceremony or anticipation for my birthday itself. Yet, it still serves as a milestone, reminding me that another year has passed. Since last year, I decided to leave some words on my birthday and New Year’s Eve, as a way to account for the time that has elapsed.
In fact, over the past year, I have written 40 weekly reports. I thought I had grown accustomed to sharing my emotions, but as I put pen to paper, I still feel a sense of bewilderment, unsure where to begin.
The events of the latter half of 2022 were detailed in my year-end review, “2022 Year-End Review - Confusion, Low Points, and Change”. The changes I’ve experienced this year have been mentioned to varying degrees in my intermittent weekly reports. Not wishing to be redundant, or perhaps hesitant to reminisce, on this birthday, I only want to discuss life itself.
Just as I try to assign a few keywords to each weekly review, I always attempt to give a theme to the path I’ve traversed in the past. After much contemplation, I decided to name it “The Stone-Pusher”, derived from the story of Sisyphus - a tale of ceaseless effort, absurdity, and repetition, where one continuously pushes a boulder to the mountaintop, only to watch it roll down again, and then push it back up once more.
Last year, I experienced a breakup just before my birthday. On the day itself, I only remembered it was my birthday after receiving well-wishes. I struggled to get up and respond to my friends’ greetings, recalling whether it had been one or two months since I last stepped out of my room. I chewed a few melatonin tablets and returned to another sleepless night. Perhaps out of pity, a friend sent me a bouquet of flowers and a cake during the day. Due to lack of appetite, I ritualistically tasted a bite just minutes before my birthday ended. It was sweet but impossible to swallow.
Throughout the past year, people often asked at various stages, “Have you moved on?” The question wasn’t difficult, but I never really knew how to answer.
I suppose it was around July when I returned to Hangzhou to clear my mind, changed my hair color, and met friends, that I decided to continue living? I filled my idle time with various courses and learning new technologies, pouring my pent-up desire to share into blog posts and Twitter updates. At the time, I seemed to believe that if I compressed my time to leave no room for reminiscence, I could gradually move on. Months passed, and when I thought I had come to terms with everything, when I felt I could slowly progress on a new life trajectory, suddenly, a small memory of our past interaction - so small that I can’t even accurately describe it now - brought everything back to square one.
It was then that I realized I had been doing something akin to Sisyphus all along, pushing the boulder with all my might, only to watch everything crumble. Many things in the past year have been like this.
In my rented apartment in Hangzhou, there’s a potted plant. I don’t know much about it, but it should be an easy-to-care-for variety. It came with the apartment and sits in a conspicuous spot. Working remotely, I see it every day, yet I never really paid attention to it. It wasn’t until a few days ago when a friend visited from Beijing to play with my cat that I thought to tidy up a bit. I noticed many leaves had withered, and the soil had dried out completely. As I was about to water it, I accidentally knocked it over, scattering soil everywhere. This reminded me of a random thought I had written before.
Suddenly, my emotions hit rock bottom. Irritation, depression, beyond consolation. “I’ve lost too much this year. Any small death or breakdown becomes unbearable.” When I saw this sentence in Brother Lu’s video at the beginning of the year, I couldn’t help but choke up. Perhaps this is the most apt description. I realized I hadn’t made much progress in “accepting loss” at all.
Yet, life must go on. If there’s one thing I’ve truly learned this year, it’s probably just “to face life itself honestly.”
I adopted a lovely cat named Nini.
Raising a cat alone has always been something that required courage for me. After all, I felt that my own standards for quality of life might not even match a cat’s. But I still chose to take responsibility for a new life companion. Although I worried to the point of losing my appetite when she fell ill, and my hand trembled when signing the consent form for her spaying surgery, experiencing some troublesome moments, she has accompanied me, often soothing my emotions, and teaching me how to love.
Nini gave me the courage to continue living.
During my work in Beijing for most of last year, I had friends who treated me well, some familiar colleagues, and like-minded leaders who gave me considerable freedom. However, I didn’t grow in various aspects as expected, and I became increasingly confused about my direction. I was constantly busy to the point of neglecting my life. As these emotions accumulated, I decided to leave.
Life and work after returning to Hangzhou have been calm, simple, yet not without joy. I live with Nini in my rented apartment, each of us immersed in our own world. The remote work mode has given me more free time to participate in many interesting activities, like going to Hong Kong for Mayday’s concert, or drinking and chatting with long-unseen roommates in Xi’an. The good technical atmosphere allows me to constantly explore new tech stacks, and I would occasionally stay up all night tackling a requirement or technical problem, just like old times.
However, perhaps because it’s been exactly a year since that darkest period last year, I’ve gradually found myself falling back into the same repetitive state over the past two months. Sleep deprivation has become the norm, with 4 or 5 am wake-ups being common. Social isolation, often not leaving the house for one or two weeks. Inexplicable anxiety, eager to change but not knowing how to start, frequently frustrated.
The past year has indeed been difficult. I still often find myself fragile and sensitive, still dwelling on the emotions of a ended relationship. I still haven’t learned how to pick up life again. Many of the goals I set at the beginning of the year haven’t made much progress. Despite having more time, I’ve read fewer books and watched fewer movies. I still stay up late every day until I’m physically and mentally exhausted, yet unable to change. I still haven’t become the ideal version of myself, still haven’t found the meaning of life.
But this is life itself. It faces everyone fairly and cruelly.
I have gradually stopped complaining and instead embrace it sincerely and passionately.
The boulder will always roll down, but when we open our eyes early tomorrow morning, we still have to push it up again.
Happy 26th birthday to myself.
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