The light hit the screen of my computer. Totoro, as Xiaoyue imagined, in a world where no one will be harmed and no one will die. The fictions we live on are also the dignity of our existence, the grains run over by the wheels, the grass seeds growing in the instant noodle buckets, the nail polish marks that can’t be wiped off the floor, the smelly room Grow quietly, grow up and die. The spring when the rain took over the smelly quilt along the tatami, the sticky hot summer when the baseball bat was waving, the winter when I was looking forward to my mother's return, and the New Year's Xiaoxue and Ming watching the plane together, all passed by in the same house and continued to cycle.
Even with my eyes closed, I can see the translucent red eyelids. Ming ran outside the neon lights, countless fates and possibilities circulated in his brain, in the dark and cold stairway, Ming and Shashi held each other's hands tightly, and they put Xiaoxue's little body next to the airport. In the pit of earth, they stood up for the baptism of adults.
They grow, crayons get shorter, coins are scattered. They died, in the looping game sound effects, in the shattered flower pots downstairs.
What I'm asking is that Shahi and we are only seeing this when we're supposed to be hurt, to realise ourselves with the natural realism of those four kids and make us feel alive. Let the tragedy prove the tragedy. Everything that the four children left behind in this house was only sealed on the silver screen. When the movie was finished, the room was cleaned. Are all traces gone? Life does go on. But I also believe that we do feel what they exude from them, not a rich, continuous, healthy and upward spirit, but a smelly, bitter taste in perception.
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