At half past four in the morning, the world was quiet, the bread steamed with a purr, and the man in the world was— the steamed bun tapped my belly as it snored. Outside the window, the sky was just beginning to brighten; downstairs, the breakfast stall was already setting up its tables.

Suddenly I felt it was quite good. In moments like this, nobody talks to me, but it doesn’t feel empty. After thirty, happiness becomes especially concrete: adding five more kilos to my iron-pumping workout, the menthol-gel plaster cooling the strained trapezius muscles, and even the almost-dead pothos on the balcony sprouting fresh new leaves. Unlike when I was in my twenties, always trying to grab hold of some grand meaning, now I think, “eat on time + don’t get trapped in debt + a healthy steamed bun living a full eighteen years, and buns’ fate all the way”—that’s a perfect life. Staring at the market for so long, I finally understand: the one who can brake in time is the one who really knows how to drive; the one who dares to go all-cash is the real brave soul.

Okay, done. While the sun hasn’t fully come out, I’ll go back to sleep for a little while. #生活感悟 #Solo Diary