I’m writing this post to capture a feeling — though I can’t quite define what it is, nor come up with a proper title. So, let’s just call it Snapshot, like those untitled Chinese poems of the past (wuti, 无题). I don’t know if anyone will ever read this and feel like they’ve gotten to know me, but I hold on to the faint hope that somewhere out there, someone might stumble upon this — and realize that, once, a person tried to document a fleeting moment of his life.
By the way, I’m writing this in IntelliJ IDEA. I assume if you’re reading this, you probably found it through GitHub or a similar site — which means you’ve already figured out I’m a programmer. So yeah, no surprise there. Speaking of IDEA, the AI code completion tool keeps suggesting words while I type. I didn’t disable it — it’s actually kind of amusing to see what the AI thinks I’m about to say. At the very least, it makes writing a bit less boring. Haha.
I used to think of myself as a nihilist — someone who believed in nothing, cared for nothing, someone who simply stood apart and observed. But after a year of working, transitioning from postgraduate life into a full-time job, I’ve started to feel the real weight of what I once called “nothingness.”
Even the things I once thought I was passionate about now feel like dry sand slipping through my fingers. Without the water of hope, it drains away — quietly, steadily — and with it, my energy, my life. I’m beginning to truly see the power society holds. No matter how mentally resilient you think you are, there comes a point where you must yield — morally, legally, or emotionally.
Back in university, I didn’t think too much about the meaning of life — and honestly, I didn’t need to. I was young, studying computer science — a field that felt full of promise. My parents were healthy, and life was stable. I called myself a nihilist then, but in truth, I had never really suffered. I had never truly stared into the void.
That said, if you asked me whether I felt happy back then, I still wouldn’t be able to give a clear yes — not even now, looking back. And if I had been asked in that moment, my answer might’ve been even more bleak. It’s kind of funny, but also quietly sad.
I know, from some future perspective, I might one day look back on this current phase of life and consider it “a good time.” But standing here, as I am now, I still can’t offer a positive answer. Haha. I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say anymore.
Maybe what I’m really getting at is this: to become a true nihilist — especially an existential one — takes immense courage, hard-earned experience, and a kind of weathered wisdom. It reminds me of that old poem:
少年不识愁滋味，爱上层楼。
爱上层楼，为赋新词强说愁。
而今识尽愁滋味，欲说还休。
欲说还休，却道“天凉好个秋”。
As a youth, I knew not the taste of sorrow, yet I longed to ascend high towers —
Just to craft verses, pretending to grieve.
Now I’ve tasted every shade of sorrow, I hesitate to speak of it.
And when I do, I simply say, “What a fine autumn chill.”