16:5625/9/2025

Notes

                                       This chair is much lower than D, making it far more comfortable to sit in. There are noticeably fewer joggers now, and a shrill alarm sounds from behind, followed by a roaring noise. There are also far fewer people out walking. This occasionally gives me the attention to observe someone closely—though to be honest, I often hesitate to do so, fearing my staring might make them uncomfortable. So I only glance occasionally, quickly recording every detail I can notice. For instance, two women walk their dog in the distance—a gray Schnauzer. They appear leisurely, moving slowly, one dressed in brown, the other in white. A gust of wind carries debris from the trees against the light, likely pollen, glistening in the sun. Behind me came the creaking sound of some vehicle passing by, sounding as if it might fall apart at any moment. People sometimes walked by in groups, other times alone. More often than not, they passed by one at a time. This reminded me of some very beautiful memories from when I was alone, which cheered me up considerably. Because it suddenly made me feel like I was living life rather than merely documenting it. But delving into all this made it hard for me to truly live in the moment. More often than not, I’m an observer. 
                          The view from this chair is wide open—looking up reveals a vast expanse of blue sky, while the surrounding canopy offers little obstruction. Were it not for the frequent sounds of vehicles passing behind me, I’d feel life moving at a slow pace. I can’t help but imagine what this place would be like if no one else were here. Another gust of wind arrives, becoming one of the few moments worth celebrating. I’ve seen countless people pass by, yet I truly can’t remember any of them. 
                           At first, I was absorbed in the constant flow of sounds, footsteps, cars, birds, voices, and in trying to keep up with their directions, overlaps, and rhythms. Yet over time, sound alone began to feel repetitive, even dull, which pushed me to widen my attention. I started noticing how light flickered through leaves, how people moved and interacted, and even how my own body responded to cold or the height of the bench.

“Despite the seeming randomness of individual occurrences, their recurrence and rhythm exposed an underlying order so rigid that it felt uncanny rather than harmonious.”

                           Rather than staring down at my keyboard, I truly prefer turning my face toward the wind, letting it blow my hair back. I’ve grown familiar with every sound here—the crow’s call just now was one of them. An electric bicycle zoomed past me. 

“Yet I quite enjoy these rhythmic sounds—bird calls, footsteps, cars behind—each lasting the same duration, each interval between bird calls and footsteps consistent. Every sound has its rhythm, even the timing of their appearance. They blend together so naturally, as if programmed. These irregularities are part of a larger system. Even what I’m doing follows this pattern—sitting on each bench for the same duration, staying for the same amount of time. Those minute variations no longer matter.”



                     


Bench_E