After so many years, I don't have much impression of the content of this documentary with almost no plot. The only thing I remember is the first line of the movie: "The migration of migratory birds is a story about commitment." The reason why I can remember it, and Not because it touches the heart, but because of the sixteen-year-old girl's romantic imagining of the word "commitment" and her aesthetic paranoia about the alienation of language—and more importantly, she didn't understand what it meant at the time. When I think of Jacques Behan afterwards, I think of this quote, a bittersweet burden, warm and incomprehensible, one that has been haunted for years and cannot be forgotten.
Later, in the car to visit Lao Yuan, I thought of this sentence again. Sitting by the window, watching the steep mountains on both sides, the mocking fields beside the mountains, and the surging river roaring past. "Migration is a story about promises", because with a promise everything makes sense, and migration is the fulfillment of it. After two days and two nights, I didn't feel the slightest pain, or the pain of my body became part of my happiness. The tired journey through the mountains and rivers seems to be redeeming a sincere relationship, like a pilgrimage on foot alone, all hardships and hardships are satisfied. So, every holiday, like a migratory bird, going across China, laughing and waving away with tears, singing Pan Yueyun's "Farewell and Goodbye" behind.
I really saw migratory birds last winter. In Kunming's Green Lake, the sky-filled red-billed gulls screeched past their heads, which are migratory birds from Siberia, and Green Lake is the end of their winter. It was the first time I saw such a flock of migratory birds. When I walked in, I was surrounded by whirling white wings, which made me feel overwhelmed. We bought bread, broke it into pieces, and threw it into the air to feed them, and we all lost our minds, shouting while tossing, tossing once, calling once, and calling a piece of red-billed gull. It is ridiculous, how can we humans feed these warriors who have crossed Baikal Lake, Siberia, Tianshan, Kunlun Mountains, and Hengduan Mountains! They do not rely on the power of steel or kerosene, and they cross Asia and Europe with one foot of naked flesh and blood. The wind, rain, drought and glaciers have all passed by themselves. Whoever throws bread crumbs by the lake never imagines what these little white birds have seen. In contrast, humans useless parasitic microscopic fungi without knowing it.
Tonight, I read "Migrating Birds" and found that "migration of migratory birds is a story about promises, promises to return" and then there are other words: "Thousands of miles of journeys and countless hardships are only for one purpose: to survive. Migration is a fight for life." In the heart of a 16-year-old girl, "promise" is only for love, so she naturally forgets the following lines, and is particularly obsessed with this sentence. I just couldn't understand why migration and birds were so related to love, thinking that love was only related to roses and candles. Now I find that there is actually a bird relationship between migration and love. And the relationship between love and roses and candles is not as good as that of birds. Birds have flown thousands of miles and countless trials and tribulations to survive, and a rose-colored candle will never end the majestic mountains and rivers that love has to travel.
The red-billed gull I saw last year should have returned to Lake Baikal by now, I wonder if it is all right.
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