I happened to read this article one year ago on someone’s blog, it was the last part of a novel, called, blossom all over the city. Besides its excellent phrasing, I was captivated at once by its exquisite desciption of the status of a woman’s heart. And somehow today I read it all over again, and charmed for the second time, so I decided to try to translate it into English. I know you can do better, just post up yours and I will appreciate it.
(The following is the original translation by Felix of the last part of the novel, except the poem as the introduction.)
Since we left one another,
floating apart like clouds,
Ten years have run like Water — till at last we join again.
And we talk and laugh again just as in earlier days.
Except that the hair on our heads is tinged now with grey.
–Wei Yingwu (Tang Dynasty)
The bustle world of vicissitudes where we wander and seek, along with sorrows, return if with true love would be the fortune befell, and vain the foretell. The paths which we’ve been strolled through was like the evidence that there have been thorns along the way. But because of one man, we’re willing to face with the worse without complaints. Have you ever asked yourself that whether man like this ever existed in your heart?
Someone, whom I have already forgotten, once said:"You will cry if one day you can look into my heart, for inside you are everywhere, and I shall be the same for I am no nowhere." This is really frustrating. To be lone because of the yearn, and tender the love, perseverant the dream, tortured the wait, all these have caused countless of neglected romances.
We used to believe that being stubborn for its own sake, but turned out to realize that it were the youth and feels which we could not finally get over. Would that be enough to had been in love with a pair of eyes, grasped someone’s hands and satirized on his clumsiness? You probably would laugh and say that you was only in love with the wane of your own life.
It must be the deepest page that is the most precious, on which you wrote down, after experiencing all the laughs and tears, that the best choice doesn’t mean to choose the best. So please let your memory sedate the sorrows if there’s still any.
The life of a woman, as the fruit, would not be ripen eventually due to a trivial negligence even has been cautious for a life time. Or be that as it may, it was driven by the time, reluctantly, and plangently. It always tries to go back to the days of bitter, and loath to land but prefer the solitude on the branch. Still its taste is bitter though ripen after the worldly themes.
We’ve hurried through many stories of our lives and there are unerasable memories deep inside the experienced souls. Nonetheless, let all be gone with the wind, for the realistic future will tell us more.