Quiet

At the age of 34, I was at home in Beijing, standing on the balcony and looking down. There is a constant flow of traffic downstairs, in the distance there are tall buildings with thousands of lights on, the smell of cooked porridge wafts from the kitchen, and the sound of my husband's sleeping breathing can be heard in the bedroom. I have a house, a car, a stable job, people who love me, and a home that can protect me from wind and rain. In the secular sense, I seem to have everything I need to "settle down and live a happy life". But only I know how long and how far I have traveled for the word "settlement." When I was 7 years old, my father passed away, my world collapsed, and my home became a smoky casino. I stood among a group of ferocious-looking adult men, clutching a handful of crumpled change and not even daring to cry. At that time, all I imagined about "settling down" was just a corner where I could have a peaceful sleep without scolding or fear. When I was 12 years old, I lived in school, and when I was 18 years old, I took the train north. I studied hard, from undergraduate to PhD. I thought that if I ran far enough and became strong enough, I would be able to settle down. I stumbled between two relationships, using a little warmth from others as a life-saving straw, thinking that if I caught one person, I would be able to settle down. It wasn't until later that I almost lost all my savings and almost destroyed everything I had worked so hard for, that I finally understood: The place I have been looking for for the first half of my life has never been a house, a city, or someone's arms. But myself. This place where the mind is at peace is where the body is at peace.