Original link: https://www.justzht.com/2023-4-26/
It’s been a long time since I typed on the blog on the iPad. It seems that the last time I posted a blog like this was one night four or five years ago. I sat on the side of the sleeper car and wrote my Day. One then sends it out. The carriage was pitch-black, and only the snoring of sleeping people and the distant whistle of other trains could be heard.
Then coincidentally, after several years, I was lying on the bed on the other side of the ocean to write my blog, and then I heard the whistle of the train in the distance. I don’t know if it’s CalTrain or BART. It seems to be my first time. Notice that there will be the sound of trains at two o’clock in the middle of the night in the Bay Area. Naturally, I will sigh that time has changed. After all, I am not the same as I was a few years ago, and the world is not the same as it was a few years ago; but the sound of the whistle is still comforting, and it seems that I can hear it. For a person like me who is afraid of restraint, there is always a sense of peace of mind in an environment that keeps moving.
However, this layer of imagery is also easily broken. In this so-called country on wheels on the other side of the ocean, I have never taken the Caltrain a few times, and I spend most of my time in cars. To go to work, to drive; to buy groceries, to drive; to go to the dentist, to drive; to go to McDonald’s in the middle of the night, is also to drive; the whistle of the train thus becomes something that has no image but lacks actual connection—it can be said that apart from the similar sound, I The train I miss is completely different from the train experience here, and I don’t know whether I will project my emotions for some old things onto other things that are similar in shape but completely different in core. .
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