And never before have I felt, as I do now, both my detachment from myself and my presence in the world. — Albert Camus
Translation:
I have never felt so deeply the distance between my soul and myself, and yet my existence is so dependent on this world.
Walking on the school road, it was an evening in a campus bathed in the embrace of trees. Although the network of roads was like blood vessels, I climbed out of the seven-story dormitory and stumbled up a slope, like a muddy clot. I cried because I had just finished watching a movie ("Detachment"). If you want to criticize me as weak, I have no place to argue. At least today, I haven't found a second person who would shed tears because of doubting their own existence. The road was made of rough cement and stones, rough and hard, rushing straight into my eyes, and the warm tears seemed to throw me to the ground. Why do people stand on the ground with two legs? Does this constitute the essence of human beings? If not, why doesn't anyone fall to the ground and crawl for survival? I am dressed in ordinary clothes, a T-shirt and a jacket. The fine fabric wraps around and touches the clean skin of my back and limbs, and my clean and nimble hands. Can these prove that I cannot lie on the ground? Let the soil and stones enter my half-civilized domain, that chaotic and dirty land, the place where millions of microorganisms and dust accumulate; another clean and tidy place full of order, the distribution of colors and materials contains practical and aesthetic purposes, its various parts come from unrelated chaotic lands in the world, composed, organized, designed, assembled, distributed, transported by humans and machinery like logic, and then implemented on my body. These are two unrelated worlds, the former is located under the feet of human beings, sitting at the end of the hall of human thinking: we pass by it, but never pay attention to it; the latter parasitizes on human beings, sitting in the middle position of the hall: being noticed, cleaned, replaced, pursued, but each individual's time with humans is not long, they will eventually come from the former world and be abandoned there.
This seems to be a good reason for me not to fall on that world that has nothing to do with us, as if if I try to touch, embrace, and kiss such a world, I will also be relegated to the end of human beings. This is not just talk. I tried to roll on the road of this campus, and then sat quietly for a while, looking at the dust and leaves beside me. As long as I heard the disturbance of another human being, I couldn't enjoy staying in this world properly. I can think of that person comparing me with dust with a cold and surprised look, as if the original seating order in the hall of human thinking was disturbed by a new human-shaped thing: they had to arrange a temporary seat for me at the end, on the one hand, they restrained themselves from driving me out of their hearts, on the other hand, they speculated whether such an arrangement was reasonable.
But why should I fit in properly? I know the inherent connection between my body and the former world: the water I drink comes from the rivers and rain of that world, the fibers and fats I eat come from the lives of that world that are equally vibrant and alive as me, and everything I can touch, smell, and see, doesn't it all ultimately belong to the credit of that world? However, my soul is not there. It cannot bear the chaos, hunger, darkness, pain, and other unbearable things. It escapes like a bird, flying to a higher place. Isn't the treetop three feet above my head enough? Aren't the lights in the house and the bright temples enough? Isn't the cloud in the sky enough? I have never walked so seriously in the night, stayed on the road of the campus, as if I really could walk out of what I see, touch, and think, bend down, embrace that world that sits at the end of the hall of divine thoughts under the rain of flowers, in the wind and sunshine, and sit calmly without being humble. If one day my soul falls into your arms like a kite with a broken string, please don't think that I will disturb you in any way, identity, or means. I just want to touch you like my tears. I know this is the only way I can be devout.