Doomsday Wonderland

The last ten minutes of 2020 have arrived.

Just like the time in the ink realm I wrote in the first two chapters, the present, including the upcoming January, may not belong to the past or the future, but is a burst of expectation-expectation to wake up from the bloody dream of fighting, and our bodies are filled with Sitting on the bed sorely, looking out the window to greet the dawn amidst the chirping of birds.

Maybe the world will see another normal day, or maybe it won't. 2021 is still a black box. After being traumatized by the 2020 sniper, we may be a little hesitant and in a trance while looking forward to it.

The time that passes among us leaves its mark on us. 2020 is a year of dryness, confusion and fatigue; when we walk in the grasslands and forests that have become lush again in the future, we will always remember a year of severe drought and the traces of the drought: the scorched earth burned by wildfires, the diversion and narrowing of roads bed.

But the snow on the snow-capped mountains in the distance is about to melt, turning into gurgling streams and shimmering lights.

If I had to choose a word to give to everyone, and to myself, as a word of encouragement in 2021, then I would choose "courage".