Unknowingly, I have been writing summaries for four years now. It is May 7, 2025, and I am writing these words with a slight sense of loss, immersed in the atmosphere of post-holiday syndrome, reflecting on the past and the unregrettable April. Indeed, the louder the flag is raised, the more thoroughly it falls—what was supposed to be the April summary completed during the May Day holiday is now being awkwardly rewritten amidst the white noise from the computer case, but it is only two days late, which is a huge improvement compared to previous years.
Rewind to April 20, Sunday, the Grain Rain. I can hardly remember how I spent that day, probably attending a boring large group meeting. The following workdays marked the last complete week before the May Day holiday, and the office was filled with a restlessness more intense than during Qingming, with almost no one focused on work. Consequently, errors on the computer screen emerged endlessly, but a week passed without any significant improvements, so we gave up.
Thus, the end of April slowly slipped away, and the sunshine of May should shine on the journey, not on piles of documents. During the May Day holiday, my travel destinations with Bao were County J and City W. According to the plan, this was a perfect route for off-peak travel and reverse tourism, and indeed it turned out to be so; there were not many tourists in these two places, sparing us the pain of crowds in major scenic spots. The urban area of County J is relatively niche and ordinary, but the ancient town did not disappoint. The cobblestone paths wind and twist, and between the white walls and black tiles of the old houses, a few wildflowers occasionally peek out, as if time had taken a nap here and accidentally leaked some vitality upon waking. I carried my backpack, holding my phone and an umbrella, and strolled around with Bao, finding a few good chestnut cake and Xuan paper shops. In the end, we had one cake left uneaten, probably because we were too full from the beef soup and honey snow.
After that, we moved on to City W, similarly avoiding the crowded Fantawild and instead visiting places suitable for leisurely walks, such as museums, libraries, and zoos. The bronze and jade artifacts in the museum's display cases glimmered with a dim light, like illustrations jumping straight out of history books. Among them were many food vessels, reminding me of the idiom "Zhong Ming Ding Shi," which refers to ancient nobles dining luxuriously with bells and cauldrons. I wondered if there are still people living such lives today. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the library, sunlight illuminated the pages of books, making them translucent. We found a corner, each with a book, quietly flipping through the pages. Suddenly, I felt that such an afternoon was more precious than checking off any tourist attractions. The zoo had a few scattered visitors; flamingos stood on one leg in shallow water, while tigers and lions were sleeping. The liveliest place was the monkey mountain, where many monkeys jumped around; the most beautiful was the peacock, which attracted admiration. In the evening, we indulged at a small crayfish restaurant, and the next day we also enjoyed the locally famous spicy hot pot. The line was long, but the taste was indeed worth it.
On the high-speed train back, the carriage was filled with tired yet satisfied travelers. I gazed out at the rapidly retreating scenery, thinking of the Country Garden I didn’t have time to visit and the Fantawild I gave up on due to the crowds. Life is probably like this; plans can never keep up with changes, but those unexpected twists and turns make memories more vivid. Just like those places I didn’t get to visit, they are not regrets but reasons to come back next time.