In the right occasions, Beethoven’s sonatas change to feathers, sucked into me through my ear canals, tickling a part of my brain, teasing it, titilating it, licking it, and fading away without a fair explanation. I cannot turn it off in such scenarios, because the music dictates to me to go on. 

My skin has a tingling sensation in response to the guests. I kind of hope the guests would leave, because I have work to do, but it is not up to me. The notes dwell on me, like parasites, with a quick analysis of my nutritional status, they get to decide how long they will live upon me. I sit there, waiting for the results, and somehow enjoying the uneasiness. 

I admit that it is my fault to let the music in, because I executed my free will to search for it, click on it, and plugged my airpods into my ears. I take full responsibility for this attack, in fact, I should say, I am a part of the attackers. Should my volition be stronger, I would’ve sent Miles Davis into my brain chamber. He tinkers with his trumpet like an acrobat, and his friends mess around with percussion. Their music is always harmless. 

My weakness facilitated this event. The feminine part that I decided to forget finds its home, and accuses me of misogyny. I didn’t explain, because I know I am guilty. I recall the woman in my body, she has a lot of grievances, and asks me where she can officially file those complaints. 

I direct her to the exit of my mind, because I am an escapist and never wish to confront disappointment. When I look at the glasses in front of me, I don’t want to see myself. I want to see through the glass as if I were impalpable. I want to see the leaves with multiple shades of green. I want to see the bees piercing into the flowers and flying against the wind. I want to sail, and get lost in the middle of a tempest, be drawn into the bottom and see orpheus looking at the sun. I need to tell him , don’t look back, she is right behind. I want to be the eyes of all whose eyes are looking at my direction, and I, too, will not look back, because they will tell me, whatever you hope to follow you is right behind. Whatever you do not wish for is not there. 

If ever, hard work finally permits me to be robotic, I will be able to click on the piano keys the same way as I click on the laptop ones. But now, it is reversed. My computer keyboard evinces its musical quality, and as composing on a piano, I am composing on a machine. A naive, nihilistic, monstrous, dirty, disgusting, despicable device. It uses me as a function, it inputs Beethoven, and I spit out texts. It stores them, quietly burning its electricity. I know, after all, all those who care about anything at all, do not survive death. 

Sometimes I am not sure what I am training myself for. Why did I come for a master’s program? To learn to be a good writer. Am I a better writer? No, I am a much worse writer. What is it that I am learning? I am learning an authoritative structure, a hierarchy, a methodology. I am learning an artificial system that organizes the world to a tidier comportment. 

What is the point of organizing? In times of frustration, I often think about it. I used to hate it to the point that I would scatter my things back after cleaning my room. What about now? I am not sure. Although the first step before debunking anything is to understand it, I am not sure if I am still up to debunking it, seeing how intertwined I am with that structure. Sometimes I am even attracted to it, willfully diving into its comfort, enjoying the dream that is collectively woven by generations of smart people. 

And I am bearing the consequences of my behavior all the time. I read more literature review than literature, and I smirkingly indulge in oversimplifying everything I have the pleasure of observing. Feeling smart is alluring, because it argues against my obvious dumbness, and legitimizes my existence. 

The “-ism”s are like lighthouses, pulling strayed navigators closer, and hinting at something absolute, eternal, and certain. The more desperate a sailor is, the eager they are towards the point of the light. I am that sailor, angered by my lack of talent, driving full speed to the end of my ability to write anything at all. 

This is my confession.

One song by the Eurovision contestant Tommy Cash saved my unfortunate squandering of 2 hours on that program. A Chinese understands the post-soviet cynicism combined with the emergence of consumerist frenzy more than anybody else. Well, the population from the former USSR probably also has that reminiscence, but who beats those who still live under that condition and see no possibility of an alternative chance?

Mass production and grand narrative are the combination that everyone wishes they could avoid, but some people unfortunately cannot, and the artistic consequence of that is irony, and irony only. Obscenity, violence, jokes, and indecencies are all ironic. Pretty butterflies and serene sunshine are never ironic. People from such conditions don’t deserve inherited metaphors. They must create new ones. 

Jokes of course are destructive. The art of jokes is that it is never for sure to be destructive. They evoke two interpretative possibilities, or more, and audience form alliances according to their interpretations of one joke. This is almost as accurate as separating them by political opinions. 

The ultimate symbolic joke is Gopnik. Three strips. Slavic squats. Who’s to say that is a parody for the Russians? Absurdity doesn’t belong to any one nation. It aims at every collection of individuals that hopes to upgrade something by destroying it. 

United by music – is it possible? Sure, when we are replaced by machines, which subscribe unanimously to a set of good music by the law of the holy algorithms. 

每当学习的时候，如果耳机里没有传来中文的音乐，我会觉得自己好像已经经历完了我被配给的所有轮回，在最终的审判过后，被扔进了外国的虚无。

所有不是我的语言所讲述的东西，都停止了打动我的能力。它们曾蛰伏在我的机体之内，等待着一个征服我的机会，盼望着一种文化的交流能把我升华为一位骄傲的世界公民。然而，在我一头撞进这文化的沧海中，它们窒息着我的松果腺，把我的活力淹没，给我贴上了文化交流者的标签，把我原本合身的外套取下。

有时我会因为这种痛苦而哭泣，但是这样的宣泄好像又与我个人无关。远方的家人在衰老，对这件事我无能为力。我生活在一个温柔的小窝里，身体的舒适让我感到前所未有的痛苦。连这舒适都是一种外国的舒适。这样的悲伤像是掉进了深井，你知道井里也有井里的活法，甚至，那井是多么的安全！它那么深，把风雨遮挡在外。可我知道，井是不对的。

我训练着自己用正规的文法写作，我明白，那是一种与机器学习相同的算法。只有那样，这种苦行才有着继续的能力，靠着理性的伟大动力，向前，向前。我自愿在头顶戴上信息锅，吸取那富有魅力的宇宙信号。它们将我装饰得前所未有地高尚，并剥夺了我做一个人的权利。

今天给姥姥打电话，我说最近怎么样，姥姥说她还行，但是姥爷咳嗽一直不好。姥爷的咳嗽从我去年回去就很严重，也不是感冒的原因，是一种慢性的状态。有时突然间咳嗽起来，好久都停不下。

姥姥埋怨姥爷糊涂，也说了好几年。姥爷是一个很潇洒的人，有点脾气，年轻的时候走遍中国，在家呆不住。我跟他的性格很像，在家呆不下来，非得出门，什么都不干也要在蓝天下面待着。对这样的人，双腿是很重要的。姥爷几年前坏了腿，精神就掉下来。姥姥说姥爷这一阵老是睡觉，她不想让他睡，姥姥觉得睡多了人就愚钝，但是姥爷好像没有动力起来。

有时候他又清醒得不得了。姥姥说，姥爷不看表，睡够了就起床，有时候夜里两点，有时候还没过午夜，他睡够了，就从床上起来穿上衣服坐在沙发上。姥姥如果睡得沉，根本也不知道。等天亮了才发现姥爷在沙发坐着，也不知他坐了多久。

姥姥说，这就是老了，没劲吧？

我似乎总在更加悲伤。我不愤怒了，我很少生气。我能理解周围发生的大部分事情，包括我自己曾经百思不得其解的部分。我无法愤怒了。我知道了自己的有限性，我也知道了别人的有限性，我知道了时空的有限性，我知道了自己的位置，所以我变得悲伤。

这些很难再去讲，毕竟悲伤是很无聊的。愤怒很有传播性，也很有娱乐性，是交朋友的催化剂。我在想，两个在同一场景一起愤怒的人，但凡他们那时有连接的渠道，他们一定会交个朋友，这是人之常情。

悲伤就不一样了，它那么的个人，那么的温柔，像一块医用棉布，包裹在我的身体外延，它保护者我的感官，让我不再有痛感，也让我不再狂热地爱上什么理智不允许的东西。它是说不出来的，因为不好听。聊悲伤的人让人感到遗憾，感到怜悯。谁也不想做被怜悯之人，除非情况必须这样不可。但凡不成为怜悯的对象，那就不要这样，不然谁的心里都不好受。

我的衣服也变成了很软的材料，配合着我的悲伤。我不再去穿那些硬挺的酷酷的夹克了，也不穿那些沉重的带有淡淡膻味的皮衣了，我穿羊绒、粘纤，我穿极细的棉料，我穿软塌塌掉在我身上的毛衫，它延长出的软毛蹭着我的肚子，让我感到那么的舒服，那么的悲凉。

我学了很多的东西，越学就越悲伤。学习多美好啊，让人充满了神性，求知多高尚啊。我在高尚使命的阴影下悄悄地悲伤，希望有一根极细的针能穿透这棉布，刺痛我的身上，让我流出血来，让我哭出来，让我喊叫，让我去玩了命地跑，让我自负地站在山顶认为自己如此伟大。我希望这样，但我已经没有这样的能力了。

我是一个很爱干净但是可以包容一定混乱的人。上帝讲，干净就在神圣的旁边，这话我是认同的。一个不干净的厕所于我就像犯了重罪，所以在公厕如果看到有人没有打扫干净，我也会全部整理干净再用。但混乱就不一样。

我在完全规整的空间是没有任何能力的。不只是创造的能力，也没有了活着的能力。我没办法说服自己起床去煎一只鸡蛋，我没有了做一个人的能力。我只想静止在那个完全规矩的空间，甚至不如死了才好，这样一切都更规矩了。我做不到活在全是规矩的环境里，这是我用了很多经验才意识到的事情。

我试过把书籍按照类别整理出来，分门别类，我就再也不想去读那些书了。分类已经耗尽了我对它们所有的耐心。反而如果随意将各种书散落在家里的不同地方，我会逐渐，像一只搬运米粒的蚂蚁一样，慢慢把它们读完。

我常因为持续受教育而感到自己似乎获得了更多的理性，但也常常在四望生活环境时明白，自己只不过是那个无法舍却本能的，喜欢一些混乱的，喜欢制造混乱的，喜欢散发混乱的人和事件的，常常为不混乱而懊恼的青年。档案柜是我最害怕的地方，看到它，我以为我已经死了。

这几天要在学校的系统选课，又要来计算一次各种学分。按理来说，受到了这么多年的教育，理应对行政事务十分熟练才对，可我依旧在做这些事的时候感到十分痛苦。我想，这也是一种被惯坏的表现吧。

聪明的学生可以更有效率地安排自己的生活，但这效率二字不论何时都让我恐惧，反而不想做事。比方看到学校课程模块的要求，一旦想到我可以更有效率地念完学位，压根连学都不想继续了。我遇到过很多聪明的人，聪明的行事风格，聪明的生活理念，全部都让我感到疲劳。似乎聪明二字已经成为了人类文明至高无上的伟业，但凡有节省时间或金钱的事而不为就成了蠢货。一切的行为都又了更加开化的做法，人想着法子要证明自己虽然曾是猴子，但是不会总是猴子。这比认为自己一直是猴子还要滑稽，我都不免要为此感到伤心。

计算机专业的课程是效率生意的推手，我们学习各种算法，将数学无底线地庸俗化，更好的算法就变成了证明聪明的脑袋的物证。让计算机更快地做事，人就获得了永垂不朽的纪念碑。转头想想，这些事真的要做吗？

全球的文明概念都由西方定义，其他民族的文明都成了奇花异草，可以拿来给西方的凯旋门装饰门面。人若想在这样的大潮中保留人的味道，就立刻成了耽误效率的傻瓜。人工智能的壮举让大家又一次欢呼着笑了出来，幸福就在眼前。而笨拙的我，还在为计算学分而烦恼。

I’m going back to China for the Chinese new year tomorrow and it feels very surreal. I don’t really know if I am happy to be in Switzerland, because I oftentimes find myself having opposite opinions on it within the time span of a few days. This is a completely new perspective to me because I usually have a firm opinion on my living environment as soon as I stay there for more than a week. But Switzerland is different. 

I guess it has something to do with two directly different parts of my personality. I am a complete nerd when it comes to hobbies. I dig deep. Switzerland is a heaven for that. The subjects I am studying are all my personal hobbies, which creates a little world for me, and it doesn’t even require me to set foot out of my little room of like 25 square meters. Yes, speaking of that, I am living very cheap, which I don’t care, on the contrary, I enjoy it, because when I immerse into my hobbies, space stops to make sense to me. My mental space expands infinitely, and my physical space stops to exist. I often feel like a brain functioning transcendentally when I study my beloved subjects. It is very organismatic, and yes, I just created that word. 

But I love people, that I can not change either. I don’t like myself when I spent time with myself for too long that I don’t even make efforts to interact with people in real life. I believe in connection, and that is something I think is more important than intelligence. To be fair, I don’t even study for intelligence, I know I am smart enough to learn what I like as much as possible, and that’s enough. I don’t need knowledge to improve my intelligence. I study for fun, and I don’t think there is any meaningful outcome in the pursuit of intellegence either. We are creatures who don’t even know what made us what we are, so there is no point in proving oneself. If I prove myself to be better, I am just proving some contingence to be better, and that is not my merit. Love however, is a whole different topic. I believe that human relation and love is always a nobler pursuit. But when I get too deep in study and research, I sometimes forget about it, because research is just too much fun. Sometimes when I raise my head in the library after 10 hours of reading and enjoying myself, I realize I have detached myself from a world that is genuinely worth being in. I’ve reduced the importance of physical space to nothing. I don’t like myself being like that. 

So there’s this dilemma. I like Switzerland for that it provides me an envoronment that I can really have fun with my hobbies without interruption. But I don’t like if for creating for me an ultra comfortable and self-sufficient environment that I don’t have a lot of motivation to meet people anymore when I am already having great fun. 

And I don’t like myself being contradictory either. This is probably my own problem, because making sense of one’s life is just another futile human endeavor. But I feel good when I am consistent. And when I feel good, I bring more love to others. When I feel like an absurd random person without a narrative, I feel very pathetic, and I try not to interact too much with others because my confusion might be an inconvenience. 

Yeh, I am totally ranting. Today I am finishing off some of the administrative tasks and buying gifts and planning for tomorrow’s flight, suddenly I don’t wanna go. I wanna just stay in my woman’s cave and continue doing what I have been doing. It’s just so aluring. At around 4 pm I really hoped my flight gets postponed or even cancelled. But before today I had been really excited about the trip, because I didn’t want to be a solitary person living off of her hobbies only. And now, at night, I am not even sure which one I want more anymore. 

Life in China is really different. It is very secular and practical. People don’t get caught up too deeply in thoughts, except those who decide to be hermits. The Chinese wisdom is action. Knowledge is only considered noble when the person acts accordingly, otherwise people would laught at them for either being hypocrites or cowards. So I am always forced by myself to act back home. I want to be a brave woman. I want to do. I want to practice what I’ve learned. I want to act. I want to do whatever small to contribute to something that I believe is good to some extent. 

But the Swiss philosophy is different. Thoughts only can be considered worth pursuing. This is so seductive to me. God knows how comfortable I am when I sit in my armchair and start reading and thinking. My body even feels like a burden at this circumstance. 

I still don’t know which I like better, or if I even need to find a better path to decide on. What I do know is that this contradiction is valuable. If I haven’t had any big contradictions in my life, then I am one of those lucky brats who deserves to be put in front of a difficult situation. 

In two hours, I will finish packing my stuff, and start sleeping. Tomorrow, I will take on a plane, and a month later, I will come back. I have enough time to think about this contradiction, and I have enough time to live my life and dismiss this problem. After all, not all problems are worth solving, and this might be one of them.  

I’m thinking about causality a lot recently. What triggers it is I realized I haven’t got a lot going on that can cause something in my life. It’s very predictable. Everyday I go to the university, continue doing something I left with the day before and that’s it. This is a closed society, here, the city I am living in. I am not used to it at all, still, after one and a half years of trying. I try to like it, and in fact, I do for the most part. But this kind of like is by default, because there isn’t a forseen alternative. I have the opportunity to use my time on something I like and am good at. I don’t need to deal with too many social interactions. But on the other hand, unpredicability is the poetic side of life. I gave that up and part of me is yearning for it.

I was trained by the metropolis to let loose. To focus on what I can control and let chance take over those I can’t. It was a beautiful philosophy of life, with the delicate balance between me and not me. From one point there can be ten weighted edges, and although my personality leads me to choose the one of my preference, the environment could push me to picking one from the other nine. Some different decisions, albeit small, like the choice of dinner, could lead to life changes; and some albeit big, like choosing education, can look trivial when time goes by. One cannot estimate the capacity of causality among choices, and that is the art of metropolis life.

Thus I am extremely adroit at making small decisions. I’ve trained myself to adopting a decision-making procedure that is both practical and efficacious. And when the decision is proven to be bad, I don’t cling too much to it. At the end of the day, I can always say that I’ve immersed into life.

But here I’ve taken on a whole different strategy. There aren’t a lot of decisions to make, and if there are any, they are mostly not triggers of anything unexpected. There are conventions on everything, based on what the predicability is high on all fronts.

A direct consequence of this kind of society is that people can feel trapped. Although we don’t know if we have free will, but the appearance of free will is not easily felt in this society. We don’t feel we are free by following convensions. We feel free by coming up with our strategies for unique situations. Admittedly, it is very rare for any situation to be unique, which is, not experienced by anyone else in the entire history, but that doesn’t make following other’s coping mechanism a better idea for everyone. In fact, solving problems independently is one of the strongest sources of pleasure, and it makes one mentally and phisically robust.

Thus spoke me. Sometimes I get this subtle feeling of floating above this society instead of being in it. More often, I have a stronger feeling of being an actor to play out my pre-destined role. This is what feels like in this kind of environment. When events have high predicability, one can easily jump out of their position and think what actually is going on here. A streamlined life. A 9-5 actress. Mostly I can go forward with an automatic force, or inertia. The friction is so small that the initial force can make one go strong for quite a while. During this time, life is on auto-pilot. It gives me a lot of time and energy to go metaphysical.

If metropolitan life is art, then small city life is for drudges. Incidentally, I admire a lot of nobel drudges. Even more so than artists.