Before returning to my home country, it was a period of waste-like days. I tacitly allowed myself to be as wasteful as possible. Consuming countless electronic junk, spending hours in the same position, going crazy in a wasteful manner. Only those music-related schedules set on the calendar long ago would pull me out of the wasteful life for a few hours. I couldn't imagine I could be so wasteful, nor could I imagine that upon returning to my home country, almost overnight, I gave up almost everything. I started planting plants and vegetables, learning how to make audio circuits, cooking from breakfast to dinner every day, and revisiting books I couldn't finish before. That's how I lived for a month, passing through the damp rainy season in the south.
Soon after, the tour schedule written at the beginning of the year on the calendar once again pulled me out of this kind of life. From the Sakura Dance Hall to the Angzhi Fan Club, tomorrow to the next door, every place was filled with emotions. Perhaps in the UK, because I was an outsider, each performance was almost only about music, and social interactions were more concise. Even if there were any shortcomings, I might not necessarily care about them, and when I got home, I became a waste, not wanting to think about anything at all, although even so, I still couldn't fall asleep.
Upon returning, there arose a need to satisfy my self-esteem, not like the driving force of making music, but because of a deep sense of inferiority, coming from a casual remark from my parents and once closest friends, which was understood as mockery in that moment of reception and kept repeating in my mind. At times, even when doing things I was originally curious about, I was filled with such annoyance and self-doubt. Unable to relax and purely pursue anything, only the life and death of the plants at home could bring me some solace. At this moment, I am in a small rundown hotel in Wenling, missing the Persian red grass and cold water flowers at home, worrying about the chicken feathers that have been sprouting for a long time but never growing.
An old friend sent a message today, asking why I refused to see her. She said I was too rational and heartless. I haven't enjoyed socializing with people for a long time. I've given up, don't want it anymore, my heart always screams, go to hell. Today at the Ping-Pong performance, a guest sang a birthday song, and I hummed a line, go to hell. I hate those who treat things that others love as background, and of course, when that thing is music, I become more sensitive. At this point, the other person being a good person has no meaning to me. But when I see many people constructing their music in a similar way, I feel a bit dissatisfied. When I encounter people who make music in slightly different ways, I feel touched. In this way, dissatisfaction and emotion intertwine, in towns, cities, various environments, mingling with people, those abandoned things impulsively return to me.
I want to face my foolish self alone, like a fool, doing things that are beyond my capabilities.