The school decided to hold online classes.
Chinese and English were taught to the entire grade together.
Among over a thousand people, I found your name.
Your avatar was Shaun the Sheep.
I changed mine to a blade of grass.
Well, little sheep need to eat grass to grow tall.
"February 15, 2020—Sunny—Saturday"
Sometimes I get really frustrated.
Why couldn't I be in the same class as you.
At least with online classes.
We could be together.
Theo was playing games with people from another class.
Asked me if I wanted to join.
I asked him why I would skip physics problems to play games.
Theo said: Bea is there.
Fine, I surrender.
"February 16, 2020—Sunny—Sunday"
Alright, through careful calculation and some tutorial videos.
I've now mastered this skill.
"February 17, 2020—Sunny—Monday"
Theo asked why a grown man like me was playing the healer class.
What's so embarrassing about that.
As long as I can stay beside her, anything is fine.
"February 18, 2020—Cloudy—Tuesday"
I started looking forward to game time every day.
The only solace in this painful and endless winter break.
Shortly after the pandemic broke out in 2020, our school decided to switch to online teaching.
Everyone joked that the imaginative essays we wrote as kids about future students not having to go to school—this pandemic had turned that dream into reality in its own way.
I grabbed two phones: one my mom's old phone and one mine. The old phone was for the online classes, my phone for playing.
Afraid of getting called on by the teacher and being told to turn on the camera, I stuck a tiny turtle charm over the camera lens.
As soon as class started, I'd righteously start playing on my phone.
There were over a thousand people in our grade. English and Chinese were taught to the whole grade together, so every time we had those two subjects, it was always lively, with everyone's names displayed right there in the participant list.
When I was bored I'd search for unusual surnames in that sea of names.
My online class avatar was Shaun the Sheep, grinning and making a peace sign.
I remember our history teacher for online class always teased, "Come on, that black sheep, answer the question."
Our history teacher was a woman with a bad lower back, always wearing a cardigan over a sweater, smiling no matter what happened. In high school I really liked asking her for help with questions; she was gentle and patient.
When we graduated she even wrote solemnly in my autograph book, wishing me a brilliant future.
In the blink of an eye, it feels like ages since I last saw her.
I wonder if she still remembers me.
Some teacher once said that three years is like the harvest season for crops. They're like farmers sending off batch after batch of thriving grain. Though reluctant, they can only bid farewell.
People learn to grow through separation, again and again.
I was always playing games during class. My childhood friend and I, along with other classmates—some we knew, some we didn't—often played together. There was someone who was really good at the game, their avatar was a little blade of grass, someone we didn't know who kept inviting us to rooms. My childhood friend kept making fun of me, saying that grass avatar and my online class avatar looked like a couple's set.
The five of us played together often. Four of us had our mics on talking, and only the grass stayed silent.
Whatever character I played, the grass would follow obediently beside me and heal me. I always thought the grass was a young girl.
So it was Lucas!
Later, as academic pressure mounted, I hadn't played games in a long time. And I hadn't seen the person with the grass avatar in a long time either.
If it weren't for these diaries, maybe I would never have remembered that little blade of grass again.
"February 20, 2020—Sunny—Thursday"
I've been learning to cook lately.
I often see you eating sweet and sour pork from the first-floor cafeteria stall.
The first dish I learned was sweet and sour pork.
If you prefer it sweeter.
I'll add more sugar.
If you prefer it more sour.
I'll add more ketchup.
If I never get the chance to make it for you.
Then eating the same food as you once in a while.
Is also a kind of having you, I suppose!
"March 1, 2020—Sunny—Sunday"
It feels like ever since online classes started.
My sense of time has grown blurry.
It feels like so long has passed.
The last time I saw you was during finals when you were jumping around on the balcony.
What about you.
Have you already forgotten my name.
My face.
Forgotten I exist.
"March 13, 2020—Cloudy—Friday"
Blanket Girl.
Happy seventeenth birthday.
Did you eat cake?
Did you make a wish?
Did you eat longevity noodles?
Were you happy?
"March 20, 2020—Cloudy—Thursday"
The pandemic has gotten much better.
The school announced classes would resume on April 13.
This long winter break that stretched from deep winter into late spring.
But dawn is coming.
Today I went to the street to buy some study materials.
I was lucky.
Ran into you at that bookstore.
The space was cramped.
Only three rows of shelves, crammed full of books everywhere.
Two aisles.
We faced the same bookshelf.
Through the gaps between the books.
I could catch a glimpse of your face.
You were picking out workbooks.
Seeming a bit hesitant.
I picked one that suited you.
Didn't know how to tell you.
Pulled the book out in front of you and hurried to the checkout.
You saw what I bought and bought the same one.
I felt relieved.
That one is the best fit for your current level.
After buying the book, I watched you walk further and further away from me.
It seemed like so many times, it was just like this.
There's a piece in our Chinese textbook from the Book of Songs—"Jian Jia."
I've always felt that liking you
Is just like what this poem describes.
Tracing upstream to pursue the one I love—the path is treacherous and long.
Tracing upstream to pursue the one I love—the path is steep and arduous.
Tracing upstream to pursue the one I love—the path is winding and perilous.
To go against the current and pursue the one you love most—the road is dangerous and long, rugged and difficult, crooked and perilous.
Because I fell for you.
I found the courage to overcome all obstacles.
"May 5, 2020—Cloudy—Tuesday"
During evening self-study, the homeroom teacher played a movie in the classroom.
It was a recent commercial film.
I didn't really want to watch it.
So I went out to get some air.
I stood in the corridor.
Looked up and saw you crouching on the balcony gnawing on a chicken leg.
All the exhaustion of the past few days suddenly vanished.
I couldn't help smiling again.
Writing these words to you every night.
Always with a smile too.
You don't have to do anything.
Just exist.
And you make me so happy.
"May 18, 2020—Sunny—Monday"
I remember last time I saw you, you were cheerfully munching on a chicken leg.
Today why are you crouching on the balcony crying?
Did you trip again because you weren't watching where you were walking?
Homesick?
Someone bullied you?
Couldn't solve a math problem?
Sometimes I feel guessing what you're thinking
Is harder than the last sub-question of the final math problem.
No solution to this problem.
Deeply troubling, unsettling the mind.
I folded the scratch paper in my hand into a paper airplane and flew it in your direction.
Carrying the love I couldn't say out loud, and the wish that you keep getting better and better.
I went back to the classroom, not daring to look—afraid the wind hadn't carried my feelings to you.
Just keep flying, fly as high as you can.
The sky holds my affection. I entrust the wind to deliver these unsigned thoughts to you.
Just keep flying, Blanket Girl. I also hope you can soar freely in the sky like this paper airplane.
I'm willing to give you everything. Airplanes should fly among the clouds.
Not be held in my hand.
Blanket Girl, dragons should be hidden in the clouds.
Quelt Girl, maybe you caught the airplane, right!
I caught it, Lucas. The paper airplane that flew over, I held tightly in my hand.
You see, I caught your love.
I couldn't stop myself from answering in my heart.
The worn notebook, simple words, describing time and again the longing for me, missing me, loving me.
[Note] Shen Congwen, "Moonlight Melody": "Dragons should hide in the clouds, you should hide in the heart."
"June 1, 2020—Sunny—Monday"
Little Bea.
Happy Children's Day.
"June 7, 2020—Cloudy—Sunday"
Because of the pandemic, this year's college entrance exam has been postponed to July.
I don't know when the pandemic will end.
This semester, our two classes have PE at the same time.
I often see you lying on the grass sleeping.
I look over when playing ball too.
They say I'm distracted.
Say I'm still thinking about the second method for the last physics problem.
I think that's strange.
I'm not a freak. Why would I be thinking about that stuff?
I just can't help thinking about you.
"June 24, 2020—Sunny—Thursday"
Playing ball at the Sports field in the afternoon.
Saw you wandering around outside the court.
I don't know if you could see me.
Even though there were so many people playing basketball.
When I saw you coming over.
I didn't dare look at you anymore.
Even my footsteps felt unnatural.
After making a basket, I instinctively looked for you.
Couldn't see you.
Fine!
Actually, a little disappointed.
"June 30, 2020—Sunny—Tuesday"
The seniors were holding a flea market.
The teaching plaza was packed with people.
I didn't go down to look.
But I saw you from the balcony.
Every time there's a crowded occasion.
I instinctively search for your figure.
Sometimes I feel like I'm sick.
"July 1, 2020—Light rain—Wednesday"
Today a young cousin called me.
She's still tiny. Last time I saw her she had just started walking.
Now she can already talk.
I heard her on the phone stumblingly saying, "Brother, I miss you."
I laughed and replied.
Little kids just directly say they miss you when they miss someone.
I don't know why, but the older you get, the better you get at hiding your emotions.
In the words left unsaid.
Between the lines, nothing speaks of longing.
Yet every line is filled with missing.