On the flight, finished all Chinese movies available. They are good. Some plots you know that are made up. But now you are more tolerate, the small things that are so true in an untrue story just make you sad the same. You know how this world runs. You don't comment on those imperfect things. They are all like this. That's fine. But now you can see the hidden glory. The precious small moments easily touch you. I guess that is what so called aging.
Your book is left in the luggage. You remember last year on the flight, a man sat in front of you was reading exactly the same book you read at home. Literature remembrance. An unpopular one. It was such a nice coincident. What would you do? Sat smiling. That was all. But you would remember that moment .
The last night, wandering in the streets around Pratter. Where was it? You checked the map, Ilgl platz or something. Three little boys were playing football in the small park. Old people sat around. The sun was setting.
At that time you didn't want to walk away. You wanted to sit there forever.
'Marco!' Then an old grandpa called the boy up. He counted out three white candies to the boy: This is for Marco, this is for your brother ...and for... You didn't get the other two names. Actually You ccouldn't understand the language. But you knew exactly what he said. Then the boy ran to his friends and shared the candy. Then he walked away. He was not the real grandpa, just a neighbor.
And the first morning, wandering on the streets when got up too early. A tree in full blossom was a block away. You had to come over to it. When enjoyed your time under the tree with head up, a woman passing by stopped in such a cheerful voice: S
hoen? Sehr shoen. You confirmed. Then came the important part, she started to say: Das ist.... She would tell you what tree it was and its story if you could get the main sentence.
But that doesn't matter. It was a sunny bright happy morning. A morning you would feel you are blessed.
Global influence, or run something globally, that is what they expect you to do. But such a statement sounds so false. How could you impact globally, when the world is so big and people are living in so many different slots seldomly have any intersection? You could only do things locally. You live a very local life in this Babel tower world.
And you will remember the people you saw in the back row of musikverein nine years ago. You will remember the day you took a wrong turn and stepped on a wrong stair in that old little hotel. Girls were folding sheets there, talking, and the sun was shinning in. You could only went up the stairs silently, into the warmth of the moment, went on and on, and finally passed the moment without a word.
Nine years later, you are in the same city. You remember the sun spots on the white sheets. But you don't visit all those famous buildings and you aren't in the same hotel any more. And you won't try to find it. You won't.
Your book is left in the luggage. You remember last year on the flight, a man sat in front of you was reading exactly the same book you read at home. Literature remembrance. An unpopular one. It was such a nice coincident. What would you do? Sat smiling. That was all. But you would remember that moment .
The last night, wandering in the streets around Pratter. Where was it? You checked the map, Ilgl platz or something. Three little boys were playing football in the small park. Old people sat around. The sun was setting.
At that time you didn't want to walk away. You wanted to sit there forever.
'Marco!' Then an old grandpa called the boy up. He counted out three white candies to the boy: This is for Marco, this is for your brother ...and for... You didn't get the other two names. Actually You ccouldn't understand the language. But you knew exactly what he said. Then the boy ran to his friends and shared the candy. Then he walked away. He was not the real grandpa, just a neighbor.
And the first morning, wandering on the streets when got up too early. A tree in full blossom was a block away. You had to come over to it. When enjoyed your time under the tree with head up, a woman passing by stopped in such a cheerful voice: S
hoen? Sehr shoen. You confirmed. Then came the important part, she started to say: Das ist.... She would tell you what tree it was and its story if you could get the main sentence.
But that doesn't matter. It was a sunny bright happy morning. A morning you would feel you are blessed.
Global influence, or run something globally, that is what they expect you to do. But such a statement sounds so false. How could you impact globally, when the world is so big and people are living in so many different slots seldomly have any intersection? You could only do things locally. You live a very local life in this Babel tower world.
And you will remember the people you saw in the back row of musikverein nine years ago. You will remember the day you took a wrong turn and stepped on a wrong stair in that old little hotel. Girls were folding sheets there, talking, and the sun was shinning in. You could only went up the stairs silently, into the warmth of the moment, went on and on, and finally passed the moment without a word.
Nine years later, you are in the same city. You remember the sun spots on the white sheets. But you don't visit all those famous buildings and you aren't in the same hotel any more. And you won't try to find it. You won't.
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