Today, I got out of bed. It was dark in the dormitory, as no one had turned on the lights yet because some people were still asleep. Every weekend morning is like this. I slowly grabbed the handrail and climbed down from the top bunk, trying not to make any noise. Then I turned on the small desk lamp, which is orange. I always feel that it is more comfortable than the white fluorescent lamp in the dormitory.
At the desk, just like every morning, I mindlessly checked the new messages on my phone and deleted various junk messages sent by apps one by one. Although there is a delete button, I always browse through them before deleting. It's not because I'm afraid of missing any important messages, maybe it's just a habit.
The room was so quiet that I could hear my own breath and the creaking sound of the bed board. No one was talking. I instinctively reached out and rubbed my hair—it was a bit oily, maybe I should wash it. I walked out of the room and smelled the damp earth in the air, probably because it had rained. I stood in front of the sink and washed off the oil on my hands that I had just touched, listening to the sound of water flowing. Maybe I should apply some loose powder, anyway, I won't go out on weekends. But suddenly, I became worried about my hairline, so I took the shampoo and went into the bathroom, taking a shower. After washing up, I pushed open the heavy glass door. The room was still dark, with only two desk lamps on.
I took out a facial towel from the shelf, threw my underwear and socks into the basin, and soaked them in water and laundry detergent—I always feel that soaking them like this is more effective than rubbing them with my hands. Finally, after finishing my morning routine, I sat back at the desk. My roommate next to me also woke up, and suddenly I didn't know what to do.
I picked up a list that I had prepared before going to bed last night. It listed several things I need to accomplish recently, excluding final exam review. On it, I wrote down a book I want to read in January, titled "Unnecessary Passion". I remember I bought it because I was attracted by the title and cover. I had never heard of this book or its author before, so I think it's fate. I opened the book and started reading the preface. The author described the language of the book's author as "mixing calmness with passion, and weaving sarcasm into sadness," and told many stories about the author.
I wasn't very interested, nor did I find it boring, so I continued reading. I read the first essay, which should be a random piece, titled "This is Really a Foreign Land". Although I couldn't resonate with the author's identity as a "foreign student in the United States," her writing was infectious, not intense, like watercolor paint diluted with too much water, giving a faint gray-green hue to every detail in her story.
After finishing the first piece, I closed the book. I couldn't find any extra bookmarks in the drawer, so I took out an extra card from a tarot deck and put it in the book. The card is called "Lunalapin". I know "Luna" means moon, and the main characters in this deck are all little rabbits, so "Lapin" probably means rabbit in Latin.
Reading essays and novels is quite different, I realized. Essays don't have the captivating storytelling like carefully arranged stories, but you can feel the author's thoughts in their plain language. It won't give you too much dopamine to keep you reading, it's like meeting a stranger in a cafe who has some common topics with you, and both of you say something that resonates with the other person, and then one of them's coffee is ready, so they naturally leave. After that, maybe they will savor the conversation on the way home, but no one will jump up happily while walking.
This kind of reading experience is like a cup of lightly brewed tea or honey water, not as delicious as usual, but unexpectedly good.
The last roommate also woke up and turned on the lights, so I turned off my small lamp. It was almost noon, and I still hadn't said much. I put on my shoes and went out, estimating that I could pick up a package and buy lunch in time. As usual, I took out my earphones and decided to listen to some different songs today, so I opened the popular playlist of "Gao Wu Ren" (a band).
The idle time on the way is always boring. Besides moments and QQ Space on my phone, there is no media that interests me—I can't possibly open Bilibili to watch videos while walking. I have also had several experiences of angering my friends because I was absent-mindedly chatting with them while walking, not taking it seriously. Plus, it's not convenient to type while holding things in my hands, so I just put my phone in my pocket. It's good to think about things during this time, but I always forget what I thought about while walking.
Back in the dormitory, after having lunch, I thought about playing a game, so I opened "Don't Starve" and spent some time defeating bosses and decorating my base, then logged off. It was a little past 2 o'clock. I thought it wouldn't be bad to make this time a fixed game time in the future.
Because it was the last day to submit assignments, besides procrastinating on my final exam review, I didn't have anything else to do. So I opened WSL and Visual Studio Code to start working on my C programming assignment. I was struggling with pointers and structures, and my head was getting dizzy. I thought it was probably because my mind wasn't clear, and my other roommate was also coding, complaining and grumbling, with a hint of arrogance that almost every second-born boy with an older sister has. It always made me feel disgusted, even nauseous, from the bottom of my heart.
As I wrote this, I couldn't help but think of that idiot who made me a fool for four years before. He was also his family's younger brother, and he has two older sisters. I can't be sure if all parents favor boys over girls, nor can I criticize these "youngest boys in the family" for being too arrogant in a childish way. But I can't deny that these people haven't left a good impression on me.
Maybe I should go to the library, but it's too late now, and I no longer have the mood to do my homework. Anyway, it's the last time, and it seems that my C programming teacher has never checked the assignments, so I closed the code editor, took out the leftover snacks from yesterday, and continued watching the unfinished episode of "The Big Bang Theory" during lunch.
I have a strange habit. My break time is always tied to my eating time. As soon as I finish my snacks, I naturally turn off the video and start doing something else. But today, I don't have much to do, or maybe I should say, I don't feel like doing anything. The items on my list and the several books I haven't reviewed make me feel unmotivated.
I pushed open the door to the balcony again, turned on the faucet, and washed away the oil stains on my hands. I found that the clothes I soaked in the basin this morning hadn't been washed yet, so I simply rubbed them with my hands, wrung them dry, and made some space for them on the crowded clothesline. I returned to my room, took out the book again, brewed a cup of jasmine-flavored coffee, climbed onto my bed, turned on the bedside lamp, and started reading the second essay of the day.
Unnecessary passion, just like this book, today is indeed a cold day. I don't feel it's particularly exciting, nor do I feel bored to the point of wanting to tear my scalp off. I haven't spoken much, and I haven't even chatted with my online friends. This day without highlights unexpectedly deserves to be recorded.
Unconsciously, I took out the card that I had used as a bookmark before and examined it. I searched on my phone and found out that "Lapin" does mean rabbit, but it's not Latin, it's French.
Diary, January 7, 2024