『She used to wonder if he really loved her. In bed he would say lovingly: You’re going to do exactly what I say now, aren’t you? He knew how to give her what she wanted, to leave her open, weak, powerless, sometimes crying. He understood that it wasn’t necessary to hurt her; he could let her submit willingly, without violence. This all seemed to happen on the deepest possible level of her personality. But on what level did it happen to him? Was it just a game, or a favour he was doing her? Did he feel it, the way she did? Every day, in the ordinary activity of their lives, he showed patience and consideration for her feelings. He took care of her when she was sick, he read drafts of her college essays, he sat and listened while she talked about her ideas, disagreeing with herself out loud and changing her mind. But did he love her? Sometimes she felt like saying: Would you miss me, if you didn’t have me anymore? She had asked him that once on the ghost state, when they were just kids. He had said yes then, but she’d been the only thing in this life at that time, the only thing he had to himself, and it would never be that way again. 』*
We made small decisions when we were young and it made our whole life turn out totally different from what we thought it should be.
We met different people, encountered awkward challenges, and morphed ourselves into “normal people” more by failures than by successes.
Some people would stay with us hence we met; however there are many more we would definitely pass by and won’t meet again any more in the future.
Life is like grasping sands with our open hands. The more we want to have the more we would lose.
To love and to be loved is neither a choice nor a destiny. Human life is pointless, anyway.
*：“Normal people,”by Sally Rooney
2019/7/23 Normal people Damakey
