As with previous years, the arrival of a new year follows the winter, with summer seamlessly succeeding spring, devoid of any transitional phase.

Within the room, fresh bedsheets have been installed. Beside the refrigerator, two lilies purchased from a supermarket have been added to a half-filled water bottle of beer. On the desk, several books bought last year, which had remained unopened, have now been unsealed. Over the past week, I have begun reading Sally Rooney's "Normal People," finishing it within the subsequent three days. I came to know about this book through a report article. Music continues to be a long-time companion; apart from March, when Khalil Fong left, I have repeatedly cycled through his final album "Dreamer." The music I've listened to this year differs from that of past years in style, yet without exception, each piece seems to arrive at just the right moment.

The liturgical celebrations in the church have returned to the same readings as a year ago. Just past Easter, Pope Francis returned to his father's house on April 21st. Despite visiting the church more regularly than ever recently, allowing myself ample time for reflection and maintaining a certain degree of silence, life's issues have been resolved in recent times. Photographs taken in the past remain in the iCloud album; upon revisiting the journey of the past year on an inadvertent midday, I found my memories to be shallow, akin to a dream lacking logic.

Flipping through the last conversation in chat records often fails to yield a tone that matches the mood at that time, as letters written to friends were ultimately left unwritten. Much of what was once said remains suspended in a position devoid of temporal coordinates. Life further advances into new journeys; I have resumed morning runs and a more regular routine.

One day, Z, who had not been in contact for a long time, called me. It felt like finding a passage back to the past. On the drive home, I listened to Wu Bai's "Tear Bridge"...