The Weight of Apathy

Upon returning home, I tossed my backpack onto the sofa and simply reheated the lunch I had prepared myself, settling into my post-school dinner routine. Though my neighbor, a kind older sister, often invited me to eat with her, I preferred the familiarity of dining at my own home. My cooking was far from exquisite, and the dishes were simple, yet I ate in quiet contentment, feeling utterly at ease. I coveted this solitude, thus cherishing my meals taken alone.Two newlines:As I ate, I opened my phone and received the school club directory from Haihai. Beyond the basic club names and descriptions, it meticulously detailed each club’s recent activities and performance, as well as the current number of members, their grades, and names. It was an undeniable boon to receive such a meticulously detailed document.Two newlines:I immediately sought out the club with the fewest members and the shortest history, ideally one founded by students from the current year. Such clubs, after all, were typically the most impulsive and superficial—the perfect choice for my defeat. And indeed, there it was. My gaze settled on a club with only three members, not only founded by first-year students, but with both other members also being first-years. Without a second thought, I copied the club’s name and sent it to Haihai, informing him that this was the one.Two newlines:My father harbored a passion for race cars, devouring magazines about various supercars daily and bingeing related videos on streaming platforms. His profession was a driving instructor, and while he couldn’t afford a supercar himself, he occasionally struck up friendships with wealthy apprentices, indulging in the thrill of driving their expensive luxury vehicles. My mother loved music, with an unexpectedly eclectic taste that spanned folk, classical, and even electronic genres. She naturally gravitated towards a career as a sound engineer, and through her work, she often sent me photos of herself with various singers and production teams.Two newlines:In essence, both my parents pursued careers aligned with their passions. My father seemed to find joy even in overtime, rarely spending time at home; if he did, he’d return in the dead of night, only to leave for work again after I came home from school. My mother, meanwhile, traveled extensively across the country with her team, primarily communicating by phone. Their conversations often drifted to trifles, but I could always hear the genuine happiness in her voice. Yes, my parents often remarked on their good fortune; while they hadn’t achieved immense wealth, their passion had led them to work they truly loved. These two aspects fueled each other, leading to complete immersion, to the point where they sometimes forgot they had a son.Two newlines:Indeed, my parents possessed a passion that allowed them to disregard, even defy, life’s hardships and injustices. They weren’t like me, or rather, I couldn’t be like them—incapable of harboring such fervent interest in anything, lacking any drive to propel me forward. The myriad wonders of the world lay before me, yet each appeared so dull, so hollow, meaningless, devoid of any gravitational pull. I simply existed, living one day at a time, never needing surprises, accidents, or changes. I merely lived, and that was enough. Even when I eventually entered society, I would undoubtedly choose a repetitive, mindless job, earning a fixed salary, without overtime or ambition, day after day.Two newlines:I loved nothing; I merely lived. Thus, I made no effort to converse with anyone, to forge connections, to create relationships or memories, much less to join any club. Looking out, the world offered no interest, and the more I pondered, the more this truth resonated. We grow, we contribute, we strive our entire lives—yearning for what? I had no answer, nor could I find one in others. In the end, I could only choose to ignore it: ignore the world as an external entity, ignore this cage sculpted in human form. Yet, I knew that one day, I would be unable to bear the solitude, and reach out to the sky, gently, oh so gently, to hurt and be hurt by others.Two newlines:After dinner, I sat on the sofa and switched on the television, randomly selecting a channel just to fill the quiet room with some sound. Then, I drifted into a daze, contemplating my feelings, trying to find a reason to strive, a goal to fight for, so I might understand what others understood. But each attempt invariably ended in failure; I found nothing—nothing meaningful, nothing enjoyable—in this world. Even when I watched TV or played games, it was merely to pass the time or distract myself, ensuring I could get through another day uneventline:’Ah, could I then say that living itself is meaning? Spending each day on purposeless, valueless, unproductive endeavors, slowly wearing away the time I have to live—is that meaning? Can it be described that way? I presume not; this cannot be meaning. This world has no meaning, so no matter how I ponder, how I search, I will never find it. Yet, I persist, clinging stubbornly, as if to tear a piece from this world, hoping to gain something from it.’Two newlines:I rose from the sofa. My heart remained calm; the incomprehensible lines from the drama failed to register. The riddle within me was still unsolved, and perhaps it would remain so, accompanying me to my grave. For now, I didn’t care about it; I would find a way to ignore it. So, I turned off the television, grabbed my keys and phone, and headed out the door.Two newlines:I went for a walk, wandering through the streets and alleys, hoping to find something to distract me. The city I lived in was vast, but the area I resided in was sparsely populated. As I walked, I passed the familiar curbs, the worn-out pavement, the stray cats and dogs I’d seen countless times, the parks and children, the towering buildings and humble shacks, the overflowing trash cans and the grimy sewers—everything seemed predestined to exist even before my birth, seemingly imbued with meaning, yet utterly devoid of it.Two newlines:It was utterly dull. Every scene that met my eyes was as exceedingly dull as I was. If I were an interesting person, would the world through my eyes become interesting too? I couldn’t know, and I was tired of my own self-interrogation. The sky was darkening, and though much time remained, I decided to go home and do my homework. After that, I’d play a few rounds of Pokémon battles before going to bed.Two newlines:However, on my way home, I encountered something. I saw a girl, bent over, head bowed, searching for something on the path. As I drew a little closer, she turned to part the roadside bushes and grass. Only then did I notice she was wearing our school uniform.Two newlines: