Today is September 18, 2025, the 94th anniversary of the "September 18 Incident." Never forget national humiliation, remember history, not just on this day.
How do I describe this August? Is it the lingering warmth of summer vacation? Or the anxiety of returning to work, feeling more like an indescribable joy mixed with a certain melancholy. Speaking of returning to work, last month's clock-in anomalies were not much different from previous months, yet a sudden change in rules resulted in a salary of zero. There are indeed too many unreasonable aspects, and I don't even know where to start complaining. Since clocking in is required, yet certain "methods" to make up for it are tacitly allowed, isn't this hypocritical trick worse than being late? Given the circumstances, I had no choice but to sacrifice an hour of sleep, get up early, and observe the situation. In the morning, the cicadas outside were still singing, but one day they suddenly fell silent, and the temperature dropped sharply, making it hard to feel any trace of summer. I began working with sleepy eyes, still on that old project that has wasted more than half a year of my time. The sunlight slanted into the room, casting mottled shadows on the desk. I often stared at those shadows, my thoughts drifting far away, yet I didn't know exactly where they were headed.
Perhaps they drifted toward a more fundamental question: what are we really busy for? I have always held the view that life is the main line, and work is just a side line. At the same time, I admire those who integrate work into their lives; they have found their value and deserve such harmony and transparency. However, most of us may not be so lucky, with the status of life and work reversed, either completely unaware or powerless to change it. The melancholy likely stems from the tug-of-war between this awareness and powerlessness. The joy is in regaining the rhythm of life and connection with others. These two emotions intertwine, much like the clouds in the sky at this time of year, sometimes clear, sometimes gloomy, yet possessing a captivating beauty.
Now, standing in September looking back, I find this complex emotional state quite precious. Life is generally like this; pure joy or sadness is rare, and it is mostly a mix of flavors that constitutes the depth and breadth of life.