Droom （Dream）/ 梦
During a free talk with friend Jan one weekend, I said that in the face of history and nature, people are just like those grasses that are green in spring and yellow in autumn. But Jan said, he believed that people are rather like the dusts that are blown by wind here and there.
I have always in mind some boring questions which I could seldom find right answers. What am I doing now? What have I done for others? What am I living for? What kind of life should I have? Is life really something like a dream as people all said? I know that many people wouldn’t think about these questions while some would not have the desire to think about them, because this kind of thinking may probably bring helpless or negative feelings.
I remember in a Dutch website of artists, once someone had raised a common topic like this: what is art? I made an answer as this: Art is something and art is nothing. We know that art comes from the emotional needs of people. It is not a substance, but you can see, can hear and can feel it. The form of arts is only something like a materialization externalized on the emotional needs of people. The emotion of people would exist or disappear upon the existence and disappearance of people. Most of artists like to over value themselves. They think they are more important then others in this world, as they are dealing with an extraordinary job and considering unusual problems… As a matter of fact, the real difference between artists and ordinary people is only the division of work. In the past I often reminded myself to make efforts, to struggle forward and try to become someone like those great artists. Now I would ask myself why should I act like that? What will I be even if I success? I did choose the job in my life, and once I made the choice, I would do it well. To be or not to be so great seems to make no sense to my life. By the time when I am blown away by wind like a dust, recalling my life, I would say it is OK as I have tried my best in my life and the process of my trying is satisfactory.
Nothing is great or forever in this world. And no one is more important than ordinary people. Everything will eventually turn into dust, blown away by wind, and finally be forgotten.
