Unknowingly, I have been writing summaries for four years now. It is May 7, 2025, and I am writing these words with a slight sense of loss, immersed in the atmosphere of post-holiday syndrome, reflecting on the unrepentant April that has passed. Indeed, the louder the flag is raised, the more thoroughly it falls—what was supposed to be the April summary completed during the May Day holiday is now being hastily rewritten amidst the white noise from the computer case, but it is only two days late, which is a significant improvement compared to previous years.
Rewind to April 20, a Sunday, and the Grain Rain festival. I can hardly remember how I spent that day, probably attending a boring large group meeting. The following workdays marked the last complete week before the May Day holiday, with the office buzzing with a restlessness even more intense than during Qingming, almost devoid of any work spirit. Consequently, “naturally,” error codes kept popping up on the computer screen, but a week passed without any significant progress, so I gave up.
Thus, the end of April slowly slipped away, and the sunshine of May should shine on the paths of travel, not among piles of documents. During the May Day holiday, my travel destination with Bao was County J and City W. According to the plan, this was a perfect route for off-peak travel and reverse tourism, and indeed it turned out to be so, as there were not many tourists in these two places, sparing us the pain of crowds in major attractions. The urban area of County J is relatively niche and ordinary, but the ancient city did not disappoint; the cobblestone paths meandered, and between the white walls and black tiles of old houses, a few wildflowers occasionally peeked out, as if time had dozed off here and accidentally let a bit of vitality slip through upon waking. I carried my backpack, holding my phone and umbrella, and strolled around with Bao, finding a few nice chestnut cake and Xuan paper shops. In the end, we had one cake left uneaten, probably because we were too full from the beef soup and honey snow.
After that, we moved on to City W, also avoiding the crowded Fantawild, instead opting for leisurely places like museums, libraries, and zoos. The bronze and jade artifacts in the museum's display cases glimmered with a dim light, like illustrations jumping straight out of history books, many of which were food vessels, reminding me of the idiom “Zhong Ming Ding Shi,” referring to the luxurious dining habits of ancient nobles who dined with bells and cauldrons. Are there still people living such lives today? In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the library, sunlight illuminated the pages of books, making them transparent. We found a corner, each with a book, quietly flipping through the pages. Suddenly, I felt that such an afternoon was more precious than checking off any tourist attractions. The zoo had a few scattered visitors; flamingos stood on one leg in shallow water, while tigers and lions were sleeping. The liveliest place was the monkey mountain, where many monkeys bounced around; the most beautiful was the peacock, drawing people to stop and admire. In the evening, we indulged at a small crayfish restaurant, and the next day we also enjoyed the locally famous spicy hot pot, which had a long queue, but the taste was indeed worth it.
On the high-speed train back, the carriage was filled with tired yet satisfied travelers. I gazed out at the rapidly retreating scenery, thinking of the Country Garden I didn’t have time to visit and the Fantawild I gave up due to the crowds. Life is probably like this; plans can never keep up with changes, but those unexpected twists instead give memories more vivid creases. Just like those places I didn’t get to visit, they are not regrets but reasons to come back next time.