Our protagonist had this series of (objectively boring) events happening today, as follows. They nevertheless made him happy, but he wasn’t sure why.
A first friend of his, Mr Jiang the hacker, was getting married; they were both in the electrical engineering department under advisor Professor Bingcheng, and Mr Jiang worked in Google now. He wasn’t in the mood to attend the wedding banquet, because he was afraid of all the small talks on his future plans. But the first message he received today saved him; a second friend of his, Tina the erhu player, asked him whether he wanted to go to a concert for free in place of her, since she couldn’t go: she had to attend an awards ceremony.
He nevertheless wanted to send the “red envelope”, or money gift, to Mr Jiang; he checked on the internet how much it should be, and counted bills to an amount more than serviceable considering they weren’t close.
He handed the envelope physically on the table and left, heading to the concert. Then it occurred to him, in the concert, he forgot to mark on the envelope that it was indeed for the groom, and the receptionist wouldn’t tell. Would he get the money? He was so poorly-versed in social conventions that he often chose to be alone.
It was a premiere concert of newly commissioned pieces in Chinese style. Composers stood up to receive applause after their pieces were performed. It struck him another time, seeing this, that he had always wanted to be a composer, an amateur one, yet he lacked the talent and time. He had sometimes pictured that he would work during the day and compose music at night. And the vision seemed so distant and vague to him, in the darkness in the concert hall, in front of the spotlight.
The concert ended, and Tina messaged the protagonist whether he enjoyed it. “I prefer a more modern style than a strictly pentatonic one.” he wrote.
“Have you been composing music lately?” she asked. (He acquainted her only once at a recital by Dengkai, another common friend of theirs, where he said he sometimes composed music.)
“Haven’t for some time. Will you help me if I write an erhu piece?” He asked.
Sure, she replied, showing genuine interest. Immediately she sent him a file which explained the ability of the erhu. This cheered him up, so much that he was immediately in a whimsical mood, imagining erhu melodies in his head.
Several years ago, he was reminded, he said to a third friend of his, Melanie the flautist, that he would write a flute sonata and ask her to try it out. She was now studying in Paris. Months ago, intending to bring up the matter, he wrote some melodies and messaged them to her, and she didn’t reply.
Then, Mr Jiang messaged the protagonist to thank him for his envelope. “I will perhaps ask you, some time, how it is like to work at Google.” he wrote. Anytime, he replied.
Later, a fourth friend of his, Cassandra the pianist, also messaged the protagonist, remarking that she was getting married (too), and invited him to watch the live stream on Twitch, on which Melanie, their common friend, was also invited. Amused, he messaged Melanie, mentioning the flute sonata. She replied instantly, to his surprise, urging him to complete the piece. He wished to dedicate the piece to her, he wrote, if it would indeed be done. It would be an honor, she wrote, and she had found a piano accompanist.
This was how the protagonist, somehow, reconnected four friends, within one day. These were trivial matters, and they made him laugh, the same way you earnestly believed a flaw to be grave but it might very well be immaterial, or an air to be serious, but be lighthearted, as when a cook in IKEA gave you eleven meatballs instead of ten, or a stapler failed to penetrate the last page. It was like this that he was having this unfounded epiphany on the street, in the rush hour in the evening, in a warm wintry breeze. Things, at least some of the times, were going to be okay. It was a common shortfall of ours to forget happy times when we were sad, which we nevertheless must try—as sad times when happy.
❧ November 15, 2020