So detached from myself and so present in the world.--Albert Camus
Four months later,finally,I begin to write down my thoughts about this film.
“That helplessness,that realization for boding of being adrift in the sea,with no buoy,no safety net,when you thought you’ve been the one throwing the buoy.”
This world has too many demands on us.Students are expected to be diligent,polite and well-behaved.Teachers are expected to be patient,caring and good-tempered.However,nobody really knows the standard of morality,I mean,it is we human who build the moral code,right?Anyway,people feel constrained about this situation.And they want to get rid of it,but the result is failing,failing and failing again.
“I feel...trapped,like that cat.”
I feel pushed.The waves come and you are in a dilemma of going ahead or death.It is so crowded a path that nobody really cares about you and your inner world,even your closest friends and family members.What they care is whether you move on or not,but not how hard you are while struggling upward.
So we set up our guards.We are trying to build a wall to defence,to face others and even ourselves.Lacked in a sense of security,those walls go higher and higher.They have to ways to go:knocked down or awakened.
It is reasonable.And it is cruel.
Moreover,it is being accustomed by most of us.
Why we definite ourselves as human:a creature different from animals?
An aspect of that difference is that we do shoulder more pain.Even sometimes there’s no point to be painful.From this point of view,sorrow is a kind of treasure that is particular human world.
Honestly speaking,I hate the feeling of being helpless.We all feel pain.Anyhow,we both know we are kind of addicted to sorrow,we needn’t to do anything but keep being sad and enjoy it.Likewise,in someway to say,death is not the salvation,because the escapement from the reality is the easiest way to choose.
Heavy wind blows in DJÉMILA. Le vent me façonnait à l'image de l'ardente nudité qui m'entourait. Et sa fugitive étreinte me donnait, pierre parmi les pierres, la solitude d'une colonne ou d'un olivier dans le ciel d'été.
“我仿佛融进了这搅得我载沉载浮的风力，由少至多，终至于不能分辨：哪是我的血脉搏击，哪是这大自然无所不在的心脏的强烈跳动。这风仿佛正在按四周炽热裸露的形象塑造着我。我变成乱石堆里的一员，大风飘逸的拥抱赋予我圆柱般独立不羁的气势，或者如盛夏晴空映衬下的一株橄榄那么孤傲。......白昼将尽，万籁与光照均在自天而降的灰色大幕中渐渐消失，我也不再观赏天空。”
我真的存在吗？
我的肉体的确存在于这世间，我的灵魂却是如此孤僻。
倘若我死去，我将如何被葬礼上的悼词遗忘？——罢了，难不成占据着这世界的空间的时候，有人可曾把你记起？
村上的行文被评价有种“距离感”，同样的，我们力图认识的事物和实际的事物之间，总有无可跨越的鸿沟，我也不会成为谁，因为某种意义上，我不曾存在过。想必《风》中“我”特地保存的牛胃里的干草也是如此，在胃里翻滚，最终保持相当完好的形象脱离原体（嘿，干草本来不就不属于牛胃么！）。
“把生命的突泉捧在我手里
我只觉得它来的新鲜
是浓烈的酒，清新的泡沫
注入我的奔波、劳作、冒险。
仿佛前人从未经临的园地
就要展现在我的面前。
但如今，突然面对着坟墓
我冷眼向过去稍稍回顾，
只见它曲折灌溉的悲喜
都消失在一片亘古的荒漠，
这才知道我的全部努力
不过完成了普通的生活。”
I have forgot much,gone with the wind.
