If it is not evening, but in the afternoon, you can see the old lady living on the first floor next to the stairwell. She usually sits on a rattan chair to bask in the sun. Next to it is the small courtyard belonging to her family. There is a loquat in the small courtyard. Trees and unknown ordinary flowers, as well as a cat who is always lazy. One night I did not close the window. The cat came in through the window. It took me a lot of effort to drive it out. Since we moved to her upstairs, her sleep quality has not been very good. Sometimes she will come up to negotiate with us in the middle of the night. She talks about something in a vague language. , You can only grasp her point of view in a few words that you can hear clearly. For a period of time after she negotiated with us, we would pay attention to our behaviors, but after a few days, we would surely return to the old ways. I haven’t seen this old lady come up again during this period of time. Maybe she succumbed, maybe she is used to it. Whenever I walk into the stairwell and see the old lady sitting on a recliner, I will apologize. Pay attention to the expression on her face at a glance, but what she always shows on her face is an expression that is hard to call it an expression, perhaps hidden under the wrinkles and difficult to distinguish.
For a period of time, I was afraid of getting old. When I was fifteen or sixteen, I thought it was almost time to live to twenty-four and five. But in a blink of an eye I was already twenty years old, and there are still four or five years left, and I don't even know if it is enough.
During the recent period, I always think of the past. In the low period of emotions, these memories can easily occupy my brain. In that poor town, wearing a school uniform, my face is covered with floating flesh. I spent my adolescence happily. At that time, I was obsessed with the touch and confusion of youth, passing notes with the girls at the next table, listening to young and ignorant songs, squandering my sweat on the school playground, confused For those young sorrows. Moving forward, my memory was frozen in a small town, and in the school where my father worked. At that time, the summer evenings were not as long as they are now, and a few simple games easily consumed the time until the school rang out from the parents’ call, and the few of us children went home obediently, burying the unhappiness and joy of the day. dreaming.
The girls at that time also looked sturdy and full of power. Whether it was the sun-tanned skin or the cheerful laughter, they exuded the true power of youth. In the face of such power, any adolescent love seemed beautiful. Although they were always pretending to be secretive and cautious at the time.
Even the evening contains infinite tenderness. I will never forget that one afternoon in junior high school, the dust generated by sweeping was raised in the classroom. I lay on the balcony, finishing my homework while listening to the boys and girls around me. The sunset glow is like a small orange river flowing on the horizon. After the filtering of memories, the tone of that scene in my mind becomes more charming.
In the community where I rent a house, most of them are elderly people. I can often see old people gather together in twos and threes. Most of the men are discussing social news and stock market trends, while the women are talking about their parents. The nostalgia for youth can not be seen on their faces, maybe those memories appear in a more secret time, a more private night. Youth, I was on the verge of entering society in a blink of an eye. The resistance to growth made me afraid to accept the changes that would happen to me next. It's better to set the clock back and let me spend my youth again, as long as I spend it again. It's good.
When watching "Caramel", I thought of something else. The crazy old lady undoubtedly touched me the most. Nostalgia for adolescent love can produce such a powerful force, and the other beautiful girls passed by It's their own process, but in a blink of an eye, they will also get old.
In the face of those memories, growth seems not even worth mentioning. The girls bid farewell to their youthful appearance, with mature arrogance on their faces, swelling chests, high heels on their feet, and silk dresses to show their figures, but The beauty is gradually gone, replaced by the fear of youth, the weak hand trying to seize the time, the sanitary catty discarded in the toilet with blood.
At the end of the film, two old ladies walk hand in hand on a quiet street, one has just emerged from the cruelty of time, and the other always carries the fantasy of youth. "We are sugar, sweet to sad." The caramel that can be melted over time is no longer sweet and greasy, it may be bitter, and it is more likely that it is discarded somewhere, and together with the hair of youth, it is forgotten. .
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