青春的歌声不老，且行且珍惜

The news of Khalil Fong's death after an illness came suddenly. Another singer I often listened to in my school days was gone, reminding me that time keeps passing and life is truly unpredictable.

I wonder whether others feel the same way: the songs we love most, and still play over and over, are mostly the ones we heard while we were in school. Perhaps those songs were genuinely well written. Or perhaps they became so intertwined with the memories of our youth that we can never quite let them go.

Somewhere in my subconscious, I still imagine the singers I love as the young people they were in their songs. In reality, however, even the members of S.H.E are now in their forties. Jay Chou and Stefanie Sun are both 46, A-Mei is 52, Michael Wong is 54, David Tao is 55, Steve Chou is 56, and Richie Jen is 58. We have all grown older, so how could they not have aged as well?

Many years ago, I remember reading a line in a book by Kevin Tsai: “If you admire an idol, be sure to attend one of their concerts. Go in person. See them with your own eyes, and look closely. A life on stage may last a very long time, or it may vanish in an instant. You do not know which kind theirs will be.”

I kept those words in my heart. From then on, whenever an artist I loved performed and circumstances allowed, I went to see them. The resonance and emotion of a live performance cannot be replaced by a recording. Looking back now, I feel it was deeply worthwhile. There are still artists I love whom I have never had the chance to see live, and I hope to make time for them in the future.

This is true not only of the famous people we admire. Everyone we encounter deserves to be cherished. On the long journey of life, meeting one another amid the vast sea of people is already a profound connection. Think of all the classmates and friends you have known since childhood whom you never saw again after your final goodbye—and may never see again in this lifetime.

Master Hongyi, Li Shutong, once said: “How do you know that meeting in this life is not meant to make up for an old regret? Perhaps this encounter is something you begged for in a previous life. Whoever you meet is someone you were meant to meet. Every encounter is a bond—either a gift or an ordeal. A bond begins when I see you in a crowd; it ends when I see you disappear into one. Companionship is the repayment of a debt, and departure means the debt has been repaid. All you can do is treat people sincerely while they are with you and let them go calmly when they leave.”

Connections are unpredictable. The meetings and partings between people follow their own course. All we can do is cherish the present; then there will be no need for regret.

Why is happiness so difficult for us to feel?

Because we keep longing for what we do not have, overlooking what we possess, and missing what we have lost.

Shi Tiesheng once wrote: “When all four of my limbs were healthy, I often complained about how terrible my surroundings were. After I became paralyzed, I began to miss the days when I could walk and run. A few years later, when I developed pressure sores, I started to miss the previous years when I could sit peacefully in my wheelchair. Later, when I developed uremia, I began to miss the days when pressure sores were my greatest problem. Still later, when I needed dialysis and was conscious only for short stretches, I began to miss the time when I merely had uremia.”

The health, family bonds, and friendships we have now—everything that seems ordinary in daily life—will one day be lost, including life itself.

We may take these things for granted, but they are immensely precious.

Sipping freshly brewed herbal medicine while nursing a cold, I find myself missing the version of me who was rarely ill before the pandemic. Perhaps the greatest wisdom time teaches us is to live in the present. In this life, cherish every step along the way.