Imagination

Days seem to repeat, day after day.

If life is just simple repetition, it must be empty and meaningless.

I try hard to find different elements in each day, to live today differently from yesterday.

I’ll have lunch earlier or later, take a random path to walk, and stop to look at the contrast between the fallen yellow leaves of a tree and the gray wall behind it. Passing by a high-end hotel, I catch a glimpse of a lady elegantly enjoying her meal behind a square dark glass window. But I don’t envy her. I’m gradually realizing that the external satisfaction from food is fleeting.

This morning, I got up, opened the window as usual, and took a deep breath. The morning air is marvelous. I look at the houses across the street, the trees, and try to find something novel in these everyday surroundings. Indeed, the apartment building in front of me—when viewed as a whole today—has a very intriguing arrangement of windows. I even want to draw it. Downstairs, at the three-way intersection, lie a few cars—blue, yellow, gray. They look like three pet dogs. Although I don’t like dogs, they seem quite earnest, and I feel like drawing them too. Why not draw them? I really went inside, picked up a notebook, and started sketching, though poorly.

Today is a special day. But still, I feel something’s missing.

It suddenly occurred to me that something called imagination is missing from my life, from my view of life. Exactly.

I plan to see everything with a bit more imagination tomorrow.

Even if it’s just a tree I’m looking at, with imagination, it can be anything. This way, life should be interesting, and my creations should be interesting too.