Reading

I said my diary is very similar to the “Progress Reports” written by Charlie, but writing it doesn’t necessarily make one improve. It’s more about observing one’s own life cycle and seeing which stage one is currently in. 17:39 Finished reading Flowers for Algernon Yesterday, I read about two-thirds of the book and wrote a letter to Huanhuan: Seeing True Love Is a Difficult Thing. But after finishing the book, I had more thoughts. I pondered the differences between the same person named Charlie at an IQ of 185 versus 68. I reflected on how society overlooks individual lives and existence, from small things like the purpose of brain surgery to larger issues like various experiments, policies, and wars in society. This world is full of selfish people, and harm caused by selfishness is everywhere. On different scales, each of us could be a victim like Charlie, or we might inadvertently become perpetrators. ...

Dear Huanhuan, “If you were Charlie, would you choose to undergo the surgery?” you asked in your last letter. At the time, my answer was no—ignorance is bliss. But after reading most of the book, I’ve begun to reconsider—this time, through the lens of love. In the first half of Flowers for Algernon, I had always believed that Charlie’s mother, Rose, was the only person in the world who truly cared for and loved him. I even mistook his father Matt’s calm demeanor for indifference. When everyone else had given up hope that Charlie could ever become “normal,” I was moved by Rose’s relentless determination—whether she was scolding Charlie, pleading with doctors, or arguing with Matt. ...

Dear Zhuzhu, Recently, my work has started to slow down. I really love this grounded feeling of focusing intensely to finish tasks and then leisurely sending emails. Today is Friday, and we’ll be seeing each other soon. Just thinking about it makes my heart play Like Sunday, Like Rain uncontrollably—haha, I’ve been completely obsessed with this song lately. I want to share with you a book I just finished: Flowers for Algernon. By the end, I was sobbing uncontrollably, secretly shedding “little pearls” again. ...

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