Distant Her 2024

W,

         I know there is an exceedingly high chance that you will never read or even receive this. Yet, here we are again, on the verge of this winter.

         Time has passed us by ruthlessly, bringing you and me back ceaselessly into the past, with all the ups and downs. I rarely project myself without knowing, into others, and with you, I always regret for doing such so little. I wrote to you before and annually about how I want to relate to your happiness, then it gradually evolved into a way of projection from myself towards a distant her.

         Upon my very last letter you received, I jogged down the sentence that in time, you will be a force to be reckoned with, and I am joyful to see that comes into reality on this very green earth. At the verge of every winter, and the tail of each fall, I, without exception, begin my quest of missing you. Simply because in my memory, you stand for that vividity against the bleak background and all the coldness.

         Here we are, at the present and for the future, yet being brought back again, ceaselessly into the past, I realized alas, like all the old annual letters ago, that I miss you as much as I want and desperately need to project my ideal self to you, a vivid, brave, and kind you. Maybe those are the parts that I need to constantly remind myself of, to anchor myself into.

         People, at the end of the day, rarely become what they set out to be, nonetheless, along the way they had faith, exercised courage, and were able to preserve hope. In the old days, I envy to have you around, your vividity for life itself, and your tenderness. Along the way, those envy and desires become, complicated. Years passed by, through time, only to find out that my envy was never addressed to you, but a version of you that I need to have, more so, a version of me that I desire from you. I envy those faith, courage and hope, and want to be so. Yet all I can do is to project myself into you, even a fictional you as which you constantly addressed to me “I am not what you think you are and not that good as you imagined”.

         The last time I wrote to you, I talked about imprints and compensations. Still, within those imprints, we see our desires, and beyond those marks and imprints, we heal and accept. Moving on and forward is always delightful. I no doubt envy that and feel happy for you. While imprints surely always influence the future, they are rarely forged there. It is never hard to distract or overlay oneself with new stimuli. Anaesthesia was nothing but always an easy way out. It is the constant nurturing that the bleeding heart and poisoned mind need.  

         When we striving too long under the present, moving forward too extensively into the future, those imprints and in turn, patterned actions, fuse within us. Through time and endless inertia, they inevitably become, complicated. And eventually, they fuse into our faith, desire, courage, complexes, and even hope. Within that cruel existential trap, it also entails why and how we can heal and re-nurture ourselves, via ceaselessly embarked back to the past.

         So we beat on.

       今年的冬天来得比以往都要早，往年这时，仅是秋风萧瑟，而现在却早已是冬的味道。风和寒冷没有味道，但人的回忆总有着味道，而味道恰又饱含回忆。

生命如同尘埃，微弱且无力，然而时常其中却需要展露一个人全部的生命力。故此全力飞舞既是奢望也是唯一出路。在挣扎中前行，在后悔中徘徊，在没有希望之中攫取能量，是我们面对外部一切的必经之路。在许久许久以前，我曾想象，可以有一座灯塔，一个原点，成为我的起点，定义我的道路，也是在那时，我亦曾想象，那个原点可以是你。然而时过境迁，物是人非，每当我开始怀念那些单纯的日子，总又会感叹一粒尘埃又怎可能照亮另一同样的渺小。于是我伤怀、再释怀；思念、再悼念。

语言开始变得模糊，主旨开始渐渐迂回，面对每一次的伤怀与思念；假想与悼念，我开始忘却你，同时却一直追逐她，一个从你的存在之中剥离出来的她，一个遥远的她。她是我想要成全的未来，是寒冬之中的希望，是萧瑟风中的无声誓言，是现在当中的未来，是过往之中的埋葬，是尘埃，是我想看到的生命本身，亦是一个我自己。

你和她都是我的印记，在过去，在现在，也会在未来。但随着一次又一次的回到过去，一年又一年的反思你我，那个遥远的她最终从你身上渐渐剥落，成为了另一个完全不同的光源，另一种生命，另一面尘埃。于是每年当我对案而坐，执笔写信，言词的方向在无意间亦开始变更。从那些成为我生命与人格一部分的印记之中，我也需要愈合与接纳，接纳的是曾经幻梦之中的我和你，愈合的是一路走来的无尽怀恋与悼念；而那个遥远的她却又不仅在我的过去与现在，那个遥远的她，在我尚未意识到的许久之前，已然成为了我想要获得与触碰的未来——一个从过去投射出的理想未来。

谢谢你，成就一个我所向往的遥远。谢谢遥远的她。

愿我们愈合。

最后的最后，仍旧和往年一样，

生日快乐。

-          John

-          2024.11.10