One day, my friend’s three-year-old daughter wanted to tell him a story. He was very excited and eager to hear the story.
“There was a rabbit,” she began. “The rabbit kept running, and it ran very quickly.”
After a moment, he asked, “… and then what happened?”
“And then nothing,” she calmly answered.
Since when have we learned that a story should have a beginning, development of the plot, a climax, and ultimately an ending that gives a feeling of completeness? As if all other uneventful stories that lack the dramatic elements are not worth sharing.
Before we die, each of our lives is just another incomplete story. If we break down this incomplete story into individual sub-stories, we will realize that more often than not the sub-story is dull. I ate a sandwich yesterday. I watched a movie. I went to work early because of a presentation.
And then what happened?
And then nothing.
Even upon death, many lives may still remain incomplete. They are complete only in a sense that there is no more time for further development, but they lack the dramatic, eventful components that are required of stories.
But does our life need to be like a story for it to be worthwhile? Because time flies, we have become the rabbit — for the entire life, we keep running and running, and soon we will reach the end. There may be no climax, but who can really say that being ordinary is not bliss.
元若藍’s 半情歌 (Half a Love Song) from 《命中注定我愛你》 (Fated to Love You). A relationship that does not end up blossoming despite our wish is like a love song which is only half-way sung. We my hear the faint melody of the incomplete half lingering in the air — only do we later realize that the second part of the song has only existed in our heart.
