moxigejuan

[moxigejuan]

On Thursday night, I left the nightclub and rode my bicycle back to school. The hot air gradually cooled down as the lush plane trees embraced the dim yellow lights. There were still a few people gathered in the bars along the street. It felt like everything was the same as before, yet somehow everything had changed.

I had ridden my bike back to school from Changle Road many times before. But this time, I didn't have that exhilarating feeling. I didn't know why I used to feel that way in the past.

On December 31, 2021, I wrote the following passage:

"It seems like there's no real sense of the New Year until the DJ announces there's only half an hour left, and then I remember it's not an ordinary night. Tonight, there's an interesting song playing, with magical synthesizer sounds accompanied by a cold female voice reciting the names of Shanghai streets: Huaihai Road, Wukang Road, Xiangyang Road, Julu Road... Amidst the cheers like waves, many memories come together. This is my fourth year in Shanghai. It seems like every New Year's Eve, the clubs play post-punk and new wave music. In this city, I've seen The Jesus and Mary Chain live, encountered opera singers on the streets; I've walked out of art galleries, crossed the sparkling river, and seen the bustling and solemn high-rise buildings. The things I once fantasized about, longed for, are happening. In the new year, I look forward to a vaster and more distant future."

That night, my friends and I had Thai food, and when I returned to the dormitory, I felt bored again, so I went to Dada alone. Back then, it seemed like I didn't think about anything. I naturally assumed that these things belonged to me and would always belong to me. The feelings of freedom and brilliance, there would always be something better, something fresher waiting for me. I didn't have to search for anything or anticipate anything; at the next corner, I would run into them.

Then came 2022.

It seems like I always bring up the pandemic lockdown. But I will bring it up again and again. Since it's not allowed to bring it up elsewhere, I will write about it here repeatedly until I emerge from those days that felt like being shredded by a blender.

I was locked in a cage for a very long time. During those days when I couldn't step outside the door, when I faced a one-square-meter desk all day long, I began to contemplate the concept of "freedom."

One day, I was let out, but I had no strength to wander around. My body was still healthy, but I felt weak. I watched others as if nothing had happened, and I didn't understand. I even doubted myself.

Many things have no answers. Do these cages always exist? Are we just occasionally locked inside and occasionally set free? We don't know when we'll be locked inside, when we'll be released. Were those moments of happiness I thought I had ever truly mine?

The refrigerator that stored the things that made me happy seems to have broken down. The contents inside slowly decayed. I don't need to open the door and clean them out. I don't have anything new worth collecting.

[moxigejuan]

I have always been reluctant to show my vulnerable side in front of my family. It's hard for me to say why, but they seem to have a hard time accepting the negative parts of me.

Dad's panic on the phone made me at a loss. I immediately started trying to control my emotions and say something to comfort him. Even though seconds before, I was the one looking for comfort.

As I got older, my relationship with my parents confuses me more and more. My mother probably thinks that I have no advantages, or she has never thought about this issue herself. I have always felt that my father has the most confidence in me in the whole family, but he seems unable to accept some of my negative emotions.

I think it's a little unfair. Or it means that their way of looking at the problem is relatively one-sided. Any achievement or progress I make, they all come with a price. I am constantly draining, my physical health, my mental health.

I rarely feel that I have any ability, I just keep pushing myself. Dad said, don't push yourself so much. But I got all of these at such a price.

I don't like people telling me not to think so much. But if I don't want to so much, why should I do it? With the bright sunshine and breeze outside the window, why can't I go out for a walk? Why should I complete these meaningless assignments in the room?

Dad asked me some questions. In summary there are two questions, what happened and why am I like that. I don't know how to answer these two questions.

In fact, I didn't hide anything from him. It's as if nothing happened. I told him about my latest assignment. He said don't take it so seriously. But I didn't even have the energy to do it.

Why am I like this. I don't know why I am like this. It all seemed to happen suddenly. I remember I was writing that thesis in mid-April. I spent a lot of time writing it, and the quality of the finished product is not bad. It wasn't as bad back then as it is now. Just over a month has passed.

Dad asked me how the other classmates were doing. That's pretty much my worst fear. I was locked up in the dormitory and in the isolation hotel. I heard the words again and again, "Everyone is the same as you." This is not a consolation, but a doubt. Why can others do it but I can't.

Not being like everyone else can be defined as a failure. This kind of thinking can appear in any situation. For example, why can't I be as happy as others.

This feeling drives me to despair. When I longed for understanding and comfort I got doubts. why. I'm not even allowed to be depressed. I can only be happy, complete all my tasks efficiently, and meet everyone's expectations of me. As ludicrous as it is intellectually, long-term brainwashing and domestication have produced remarkable affect, when I'm depressed I panic. I began to wonder if I was too mentally fragile or too incapable to handle these tasks as calmly as others.

Seems like an endless loop. When I'm depressed I doubt myself and it makes my depression worse. I shudder to hear my family bragging about my accomplishments to others. Only I know that there is an abyss behind it. It seems that I had a vague premonition of this before this. There will be a day when it will run out.

[moxigejuan]

1

I opened my health code. I saw a harsh red on the phone screen. I was shocked, in a second, I became a "wanted criminal".

New messages are constantly popping up in the WeChat group. The campus is blocked, it can only go in but no out. The one-time-out-of-school-a-day rule lasted less than two weeks. I feel hopeless —— it's starting again. The next time I walk on the street, I don't know when it will be.

The red code on the phone made me even more nervous. When are they coming for me? Where will I be sent? Quarantine closed or square cabin? I was reminded of all the things I saw on social media, people being asked to board buses, no one knew where they were going, no one knew how long they were going to be in the bus, no one knew when they would be back. People were picked up in the middle of the night and put on buses to nowhere.

I told my roommate about the incident. I was afraid that it would implicate her and force her to be sent to a place for isolation as well. My roommate told me that she doesn't mind, don't worry, and if I don't want to, I don't have to take the initiative to report.

After a while I got a call from the CDC. A little hope was shattered, and I couldn't hide it after all. The people from the CDC told me that it was a close contact, asked me where I was at that time, and told me to wait for the notification. Waiting. I can't ask anything because I won't get any answers. Everyone claimed it wasn't their job to tell me what to do next. Wait, obey, all I have to do.

For a moment I thought of running away —— but where could I go? All public places will require a health code. I have nowhere to go. Will I sleep on the street? They know my information, they can find me no matter what. Will the school expel me if I run away? Will I be detained? I'm still sitting on a chair in my dorm, but I've been caught and I've lost all the freedom my social identity has.

The CDC called again. It is the Center for Disease Control and Prevention of Huangpu District. They asked me if I had been to No. 158 Julu Road on October 5, and I confessed my crime. It was the night I went to the club.

I recall the dim lights of nightclubs, rows of bottles on the bar, glowing in the light. I can't remember what the wine tasted like that day, I just remember that I'm not happy with that hard-won freedom - it could be taken away at any time. Behold, it is now. It seems that everything is "as expected".

I sat there, staring blankly at the messages on WeChat. After that, I got a call from the school stuff. I told him that I was a close contact, and he said that since this is the case, I will be arranged to isolate on campus. I'm a little more relaxed, I don't have to get on a bus that doesn't know where I'm going.

I started to pack my things. I carried almost nothing, and it didn't make much sense to bring anything. I brought Yukio Mishima's "Confessions of a Mask" with me, as if I brought a container for my soul.

I pushed the suitcase and went downstairs. I was told that one of the school's isolation points was full, and I stood there waiting, along with about a dozen other students. I heard someone joking to her friend: "Why are you here?" Some people just have an unearthly optimism, I thought. I think of the lush sycamore trees on the street, the pedestrians passing by me, the busy stores and small restaurants. The outside world. That line of life that was once part of my life now seems to have become a kind of handout, and I'm allowed to occasionally come out of the prison and look outside. Why wasn't I locked up all the time? I can't figure it out either.

We were taken to another group of places. The school security guard told us to follow him from a distance. A large group of people dragged suitcases, like livestock being grazed on a farm. Waiting again, I looked around at the people, most of them were staring at their phones, and some of them were talking to their fellow travelers.

We waited until 12am at night. I was glad that I wore a warm coat, and I probably knew in my heart that I needed to prepare according to the standard of escape. We were finally allowed into the isolation point - an empty student apartment building. I thought I'd be in bed soon, however we had to go through the complex check-in process one by one with only one staff member.

We were told two people one room. I looked at the classmate in front of me. She was very beautiful and had a very cheerful personality. She kept talking to the people around her. She must be from the acting major. It seems a problem to me. Although we are from the same college, it seems that they are not from the same world at all.

It was almost 1am in the morning when we finally arrived. The staff impatiently pointed to the mountain of bedding piled up on the floor behind them, telling us to take them and go upstairs. I opened the door of the room. The room was spacious, much bigger than our dorm. Two beds on one side of the room and two desks on the other. In the middle is a wooden floor and a large open space. The accommodation conditions of international students are much better than those of ordinary students, which I knew before. I didn't expect it to be this good.

My new roommate is still sending constant voice messages. I lay on the bed, looking at the strange ceiling. Outside the window is the West Zhongshan Road Viaduct. Still some people are free. I wonder. I'm locked up here, and my health code is red. I can move physically, but socially, I'm in an electronic cage.

2

At 7am the next morning, I was awakened by a violent knock on the door. People outside the door yelled "Breakfast!". My heart is full of anger, we were able to sleep in the early hours of yesterday, why can't they leave breakfast at the door and leave? Why do they have to wake us up? We will see breakfast when we open the door. Not only was I deprived of my liberty, I was deprived of my dignity. They can make trouble for me in any little thing, make me feel uncomfortable, I can't fight back.

Another classmate came after lunch. She said the rooms were full and now they asked three people to share a room. She went to the cot under the window and sat down. There was only one chair in the room, and I ate my lunch sitting on the cot. I was very irritable thinking that I would still have to sit at a desk to study in the afternoon.

"Why is there only one chair?" the girl who came with me the day before complained. I walked straight out the door and took the elevator to the first floor. The lift was not facing the front desk and I was still undetected when I went downstairs. I scanned the first-floor rooms, entered a cluttered room, and picked up a chair. When I got back to the elevator, they saw me. "How can you go downstairs??" the staff member yelled at me. "You can't take that chair!"

I stood in the elevator and she stood outside the elevator. I looked into her eyes and pressed the close button hard. The elevator door closed, and her face disappeared through the elevator door. I saw the elevator start to go up, and I leaned against the wall, relieved. She did not catch up. I ran away and I got the chair.

I walked into the room, "I took another chair." I said calmly, picked up a tissue, and wiped the dust on the chair carefully. This is my prize, I thought. I couldn't run away, I couldn't fight back on bigger things. But just like they don't want me to be comfortable with any little thing, I won't pass up this "harmless" opportunity to cause trouble for them.

[moxigejuan]

I'm really sleepy, I don't want to do my homework, so write something.

I just had to fill in my passport number when filling out the online application for a business school in France. I suddenly remembered that when I applied for a passport in December last year, the policy was "do not apply if it is not necessary", unless there are special reasons. After searching a lot of strategies on the Internet, I took a thick stack of supporting materials-graduation certificates, transcripts, language scores, and the material requirements of the school I was going to apply for. I sat in front of the passport processing staff, testified consistently under vigorous cross-examination: I'm going, I can go, I'm going right away.

Maybe some things should not be forgotten. Perhaps some things should be documented in as much detail as possible.

I think the biggest impact of the year-long lockdown on me is that I can no longer trust my emotions and perceptions. All my feelings are negated: when I can’t go out, I shouldn’t feel the pain, I have to maintain the original work efficiency as usual; when I think the policy is unreasonable, don’t question it. There are always corresponding "reasons" for our policies, and we must be considerate and support them. The lockdown is over, let them pass, and stop talking about what happened.

This incident reminds me of some elders. They have richer life experience and should have more mature methods of dealing with various problems. But most of the time, they are still disorganized and constantly entangled in trivial matters. But on some other values, they can unconditionally persist.

It seems for many people, the secret of life is to keep forgetting. Floating vaguely in the river of life, it seems that it is not easy to run aground in the dangerous shoal. Don't think about it, let the past go. The same goes for things that haven't happened yet. anyway, it will pass.

Last August, at home. I told my parents that I felt very painful. After three months of Shanghai's lockdown, I never felt better.

Dad said: "I don't understand why you are like this. Isn't everyone going through that kind of life at the time? Why can't you bear it?"

My pain is defined as vulnerability. I am ashamed of my vulnerability.

When I feel pain, I should feel ashamed.