[Nov 15] I have this series of (objectively boring) events happening today, but they made me happy, and I tell you why. A first friend of mine, Mr Jiang the coder, was getting married; he was a classmate of mine in the EE department, and worked in Google now.
I was not willing to attend the wedding banquet, because I am afraid of all the small talks on my future plan. But the first message received today saved me; a second friend of mine, Ms Shi the erhu instructor, asked me whether I wanted to go to a concert for free in place of her, as she could not go. She had to attend an awards ceremony.
I nevertheless wanted to send the red envelope to Mr Jiang; so, I handed the envelope physically and left, going to the concert. Then, it occurred to me in the concert, I forgot to mark on the envelope that it was indeed for Mr Jiang, the groom, and the receptionist will not tell. Will he get the money? I was so poorly versed in social conventions that I often chose to be alone.
It was a premiere concert of newly commissioned pieces in Chinese style. Composers stood up to receive applause after their pieces were performed. It struck me another time, seeing this, that I always had wanted to be a composer, an amateur one, yet I lacked the talent and time. I had sometimes pictured that I shall work during the day and compose music at night. And the vision looked so distant and vague, I thought, in the blackness in the concert hall, in front of the spotlight.
The concert ended, and Ms Shi messaged me whether I enjoyed it. “I prefer a more modern style.” I wrote. “Have you been composing music lately?” she asked. (I acquainted her only once at a recital of another common friend of ours, where I said I sometimes compose music.) “Haven’t for some time. Will you help me if I write an erhu piece?” I asked. Sure, she replied, showing genuine interest, and sent me a file which explained erhu’s ability. This cheered me up, so much that I was immediately in a whimsical mood, imagining erhu melodies in my head.
Several years ago, I recalled, I said to a third friend of mine, Ms Wen the flautist, that I will write a flute sonata and ask her to try it out. She studied in Paris at present. Months ago, intending to bring up the matter, I wrote some melodies and messaged them to her, and she didn’t reply.
Then, Mr Jiang messaged me to thank me for my envelope. “I will perhaps ask you, some time, how it is like to work at Google.” I wrote. Anytime, he wrote.
Later, a fourth friend of mine, Ms Huang the pianist, messaged me, remarking that she was getting married (too), and invited me to watch the live stream on YouTube, and Ms Wen, our common friend, was also invited. Amused, I messaged Ms Wen, mentioning the flute sonata. She replied instantly, urging me to complete the piece. I wished to dedicate the piece to her, I wrote, if it will indeed be done. It will be an honor, she wrote, and she had found a piano accompanist.
This was how I, somehow, reconnected four friends, within one day. These were trivial matters, and they made me laugh, in the same way you earnestly believe a flaw to be grave but it may very well be immaterial, or an air to be serious, but be lighthearted, as when a cook gave you eleven meatballs instead of ten, or a stapler failed to penetrate the last page. It was like this I was having this unfounded epiphany on the street, in the rush hour in the evening, in a warm wintry breeze. Things, at least some of the times, are going to be okay. It is a common shortfall of ours to forget happy times when we are sad, which we nevertheless must try — as sad times when happy.
Sketchbook 