đź‘‹ O troupe of little vagrants of the world, leave your footprints in my words.
Thoughts feeds itself with its own words and grows.
Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way.
We, the rustling leaves, have a voice that answers the storms, but who are you so silent?
Dear Huan, Recently, our exchanges through letters have become fewer, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Most of the time, we’re able to openly and sincerely share our thoughts with each other. However, there are things that our clumsy tongues can’t quite express—words on paper still carry a unique power. Lately, I’ve noticed that something seems off with you. I’ve asked you about it, and your response was that you’re worried about the upcoming separation we’ll soon face. That’s something I think about every day, too. But with you, I’ve also detected another subtle shift—something about the feeling of love, or the lack thereof. ...
I asked a seed, “How do you know when spring arrives?” When my paintbrush first dips into green, I know spring is about to come. I asked a stream, “How do you know where you’re flowing?” When I look at my tail, I know where my end will be. “But I’ve forgotten where my paintbrush is,” the seed said. “Can you help me find it?” “Of course!” So I buried the seed in the soil of the yard. ...
Dear Huanhuan, “If you were Charlie, would you choose to undergo the surgery?” you asked in your last letter. At the time, my answer was no—ignorance is bliss. But after reading most of the book, I’ve begun to reconsider—this time, through the lens of love. In the first half of Flowers for Algernon, I had always believed that Charlie’s mother, Rose, was the only person in the world who truly cared for and loved him. I even mistook his father Matt’s calm demeanor for indifference. When everyone else had given up hope that Charlie could ever become “normal,” I was moved by Rose’s relentless determination—whether she was scolding Charlie, pleading with doctors, or arguing with Matt. ...
Dear Zhuzhu, Recently, my work has started to slow down. I really love this grounded feeling of focusing intensely to finish tasks and then leisurely sending emails. Today is Friday, and we’ll be seeing each other soon. Just thinking about it makes my heart play Like Sunday, Like Rain uncontrollably—haha, I’ve been completely obsessed with this song lately. I want to share with you a book I just finished: Flowers for Algernon. By the end, I was sobbing uncontrollably, secretly shedding “little pearls” again. ...
Problem When managing images for a Hugo blog in Obsidian, using an image hosting service can be unstable. Without one, inserting images becomes difficult and maintenance is cumbersome. Common issues include: Path Confusion: Manual maintenance of the /static/images directory structure is required. Multi-language Adaptation: Duplicate configuration is needed for Chinese and English paths. Poor Development Experience: Frequent 404 errors occur during local debugging and file operations. Demonstration Direct rendering may result in errors due to incorrect paths, as shown below: ...
Dear Sister, Seeing the tears in your eyes made me realize how deeply saddened you are by Mom’s decision to move to Shuicheng. But it seems there’s nothing we can do. We’re constantly pushed forward by life’s unavoidable circumstances while trying our best to make the most of it. We’ve grown accustomed to being children, unwilling to face the separation of our big family, and wanting to keep it intact. You’ve always been the one who spent the most time with Mom and Dad, so of course, you’re also the one who finds it hardest to let go. ...
Dear Zhu Zhu, It’s been a long, long time since I last wrote to you. Recently, we read Mr. Lao She’s “On Writing” together, but my flaws and habits still need improvement. I hope that each letter I write to you from now on will show a little progress! This letter has taken a long time to write, and the longer I spent on it, the more I wanted to add new things. So, just take a casual look at it. ...