December 30, 16:48
Tree shadows, mottled, dragging down the tired sunset from the sky. The most vivid, most sacred ritual of blackened, decaying wood.
The pink in the distance blurs; even the layered forest of identical buildings is softened into something gentle.
A patch of orange-yellow glimpsed beyond the canopy of broad green is refracted in fragmented splashes by the mirrored windows of the tower blocks, scattered across the road where red and green lights stream past.
Cars snake in long lines; pedestrians flow without end, like rain falling sideways.
My hands have lost all feeling.
My mind too, submerged in endless orange-yellow, pink-white, red-green.
Secret of dusk.
December 31, 15:49
Winter sun high overhead.
On the ground, a carton of spilled milk.
The rubble along the roadside still sits where it always has, with weeds and faded dead leaves for company.
Dark green shrubs sway in the wind.
Gray and silver sedans backed up in traffic.
The gray and silver light of year-end drapes like gauze over pale blue towers and a pale blue sky.
No parking in fire lanes
Water supply valve box 250
An orange, black, and white cat crosses the road and disappears before you can track where.
Recyclables
Waste plastic
Waste paper
Old textiles
Waste electronics
Waste glass
Paper-foil packaging
Recycling encouraged
Hazardous waste
Organic solvent containers
Expired medicine and packaging
Mercury-containing waste
Dead batteries
Hazardous waste must not be mixed with household waste
On the table, the egg and congee from this morning sit untouched, gone completely cold.
The room, unlit, is a little dim.
On the community road, a few idle figures stroll.
The railing on the balcony has yellowed; red rust spreads unevenly along it.
The wall paint, long unrepaired, smears my silhouette onto it alongside smoke from some unknown kitchen.
The neighbor’s balcony has a kind of vintage charm, in its own way.
Sunlight spreads across dead leaves.
Dead leaves, blown loose by the cold wind, have scattered across the garden tiles.
Looking down, I notice dead leaves on the balcony tiles beneath my feet as well.
I pull the screen shut and draw the curtains.
On the desk, a frosted acrylic name plate with a broken corner dims along with the fading light.
Turning to leave, I look back and see Moco still lying on my bed. I kiss Moco softly.
See you next year.
Electric city.
December 31, 16:31
My mom walks in without warning, wearing a black down coat. It makes her lips look redder, her face whiter.
We exchange a few words that turn into an argument, the usual, and get in the car.
Just out of the neighborhood, the sun stabs my eyes.
I pass that tower block again; the trees beside it have been turned yellow-green by the setting sun. The Xinghewan buildings stand tall, like giants saluting the sunset in silence.
The sun gradually stains the distant blue sky pink.
My little sister asks, as usual, whether there is anything to eat. Behind her, the car window is fogging over; the buildings in the distance blur into a dark mass, the sun flashing on and off behind them. We go down a ramp; the sun’s shape dissolves, leaving only a flawless blue-to-orange gradient hanging in the air.
The streetlights lean out like watchers, gazing down over the surging waves of traffic. They stand in a row, closer and closer together the farther they go, until at the end of the road they seem to converge, merging into the afterglow.
Mirror vertigo.
December 31, 17:20
Home. The Christmas tree on the second floor hasn’t changed. The lily on the coffee table hasn’t changed either, still giving off a cool, clean scent.
My old photos are still on the bookshelf. The League of Legends tenth anniversary commemorative book is there too, untouched for a long time.
Moco’s wall scroll is still up. Next to it is the ticket from my first ever live show, at MAO in January 2019 — While She Sleeps. Further left, the ticket from the Edo-era costume event I went to over National Day this year.
The electric guitar and effects pedal on the top bunk have gathered a layer of dust.
The last leg cramp of 2020 arrives — the most violent, most painful of the year. It feels like someone is frantically pulling, tearing, refusing to let me leave this year of setbacks and surprises.
Invisible human.
December 31, 23:55
The road at the entrance of the complex.
Neon signs. Sparse pedestrians. Lonely noise.
In an instant, three cars drive past with their high beams on.
A bus comes too. The green light turns red.
Just me
ringing in the new year with this world
January 1, 00:00
My ears melt along with my fingers. I start to laugh.
There is me in this world. There are all of you.
Taxis appear. Trains appear. Motorcycles appear. People heading to the convenience store appear.
The drunk and swaying — good luck.
The couples strolling by the road — good luck.
The convenience store worker — good luck.
The people in masks who haven’t gone home — good luck.
The streetlights — good luck.
The signs — good luck.
2020, I’m heading out.
2021, it’s time to go back.
2021, good luck.
ありがとう！！！