Growing up is a process of leaving regret after regret behind.

Recently, worries have been piling up: I stayed up too late yesterday, failed to wake up early, was late for a gathering and dozed off; I used my phone too much, resulting in overdue data charges, and couldn’t top up when my phone was suspended; the first half of my flight back to Chengde was cancelled, and only after communicating did I realize I hadn’t booked a direct flight and had to pay a cancellation fee; I rushed onto a bus at the stop only to find it was going in the wrong direction, and when I got off, my bus card was again overdrawn; I arrived in Yuhang District only to learn there was a rehearsal today, so I had to temporarily switch roles and fill in; my teammates had already figured out the longitude and latitude, but because Google Maps was inaccurate, we ended up taking a big detour with a large group of people; I just missed the last bus after getting off the subway, and when I rode a shared bike back to my doorstep, I found all the docking stations were full and I had to go further… No one probably wants to hear me complain, but listing it all out, I realize I’m quite unlucky (

Walking home beside the river, I quieted down and looked over it all. That was when I felt the weight of the words “growing up.” I am always trying to accomplish two things at once, yet I am forgetful too, so often I do twice the work for half the result while letting other people down. None of this has taught me humility. If anything, it has fed the vanity that longs for recognition and praise. Can someone like me truly live up to what others hope of me—and help them in turn?

Yesterday I finished Finding Paradise. It may not be as famous beyond gaming circles as its predecessor, To the Moon, but it resonated with me more deeply and brought me to tears. I will not spoil it here. I only hope that anyone reading this might experience for themselves the protagonist’s life of regret and loss. There is no Faye beside me, but I am surrounded by people who love me—and by that gaze, and that sigh, from heaven.

Suddenly I remembered something I once told another person: “No matter how busy you are, do not forget to look up at the stars.” I looked up. In the cold, empty air, the sky over Hangzhou was exceptionally clear; I could just make out the fierce eye of Sirius and the proud figure of Orion. When the moon grows dim, the stars become clearer. Perhaps we do not have to shine all the time.

After all, it’s those regrets that have made me who I am today.