Jude is different.
Her abrupt and intense farewell to this world was something I had never imagined.
From kindergarten to university, as children grow up, parents transition from strangers to acquaintances, and even friends, through their children's interactions. It's a special kind of fate.
Even though we became friends with the parents of our children's friends, we still address each other as "so-and-so's dad" or "so-and-so's mom," as if to add a special attribute to this social relationship.
Judy is different. She is a parent, and we call her Judy. She is herself, with a name and a surname, not just someone's mother. She is called Judy, and she stands out in her own way.
Judy is beautiful, often travels for work, and at one point, I thought she was a flight attendant. Our families, connected through our children being classmates and friends, always seem to run into each other.
I remember the first time I met Judy, she knocked on my door asking if her son was here. I said he should be playing with my son at school. I invited her in to sit for a while, but she said she had to go back.
My daughter and I played badminton at the doorstep, and we often saw her and her son walking by, occasionally stopping to exchange greetings and a few words.
Judy is different. She has a respectable job and a seemingly happy family. I really can't understand why she did what she did.
Lu Xun once said, everyone's joys and sorrows are different. No one can truly understand another's pain. Her choice must have had its reasons, but from now on, we will never know.
After days of high temperatures suddenly subsided, night fell, and news of an approaching typhoon spread, with the air filled with the impending storm. Occasionally, a few raindrops fell in the yard, and I couldn't tell if it was the air conditioning condensation or my tears.
My wife was very upset when she heard the news. She had tried several times to bring Judy into our small courtyard, to bring our circle of friends closer, to have all of us parents gather for tea, chat, complain about our children's grades, and share bits of our lives. However, she always seemed busy, perhaps she was refusing.
Everyone has their own life to face, with eighty percent of it being bitter. If there was a small courtyard, with a few chance encounters, coming together to talk and share, life's difficulties may not diminish, but for those who want to end this painful and helpless life, it might make it a bit easier.
Judy is different. At five in the morning, by the river, with no one around, the dust rose as cars passed by. Not far away, a group of people hurriedly walked by, with sorrowful expressions.
In the drizzle and gusty wind, the birds were silent, and electronic cannons deafened the ears. Four people carried a coffin in a hurry. I never thought she would bid farewell to me and this world in such a way.
Despite our brief encounter, I never managed to remember her face, as if she had never truly accepted this world, always floating in it.
Everyone who knew her said that such a gentle and beautiful girl could be so desperate about life. In the cold dark night, she gave up all attachment to the world.
Isn't what people call depression just deep despair towards this world? But no one knows why Judy's despair arose, her story, only the wind knows.
I believe, in her final moments, God must have sent the wind to tell her that there might still be some beauty in this world, but she refused.
A feeling I had never experienced before, clear and intense, like the rain before a typhoon, it gripped my heart. I knew, it was sorrow.
Because, Judy is different.