Yu's footprint

It’s a bad title. If I were you, I won’t like it. It makes me think about a long boring list of goods and things. As an unprofessional traveler just like me, you can find a lot of unimportant things in my bag. You’ll find a heavy Bible; I believe I may need it when something happens. For example when I fail to find my way, God will be easier to recognize that I’m His people and send me an angel. You can also find a pile of modern world’s productions ---- my DV’s charger, my cellophane’s charger, my MP3’s charger... I hate long black wires, but I have to play a role in this hi-tech tragedy ---- they are always lying in my bag in a mess and reaaaaally make me crazy. This is not the worst. Finally you will find a group of heavyset guys. I also don’t understand why I have to carry so many books. Most of time I only holding them in my hands, admiring their colorful covers, spelling the writers’ names, and then putting them back into my bag. I’m always not in mood to read them, but I still keep carrying them! It’s just like a woman always goes out with a boring guy because she believes she should dating. Sounds ridiculous! When I put down a book on my table of the train to Luoping last month, it cought my neighboring passenger’s attention. It was a book about the history of love and sex in Europe. The reason I carried it with me was that I felt if a book described how the people flirted 300 years ago in a historical way, it must be an interesting travel companion. A young couple who were sitting right next to me stared the book cautiously and kept silent during the whole journey. They must thought one who study this on the train should be some kinds of freak, and they felt the topic of my book had some kinds of relationship with them and this made them worried. But actually I even didn’t touch the book for one second.

There are thousands of times I wanted to carry some more useless things on my way. For example, instrument.

Since the day I decided not to be a violinist, I felt I killed a way to survive by my own hands. I felt I was a murderer. I murdered the chance or excuse to play violin when I didn’t want to do my homework, I murdered a good job I could choose in the future, and the most important, I murdered my longtime hobby. My feeling about this didn’t stop until a guy in my school quit class and went away with his guitar. From that moment, going away with my violin slided into my mind. I dreamed to go to an unfamiliar place and played music there. I wasn’t sure if I had courage to stand in the middle of a square and played violin, but I admired those artists who did that. Always confident, always free, always share their music with others. I had so many ideas, like play a same song in different places and make a record of that, or just travel from one place to another with my violin, add music to my journey.

But up to now, during all my travels, among all my packages, there’s no space for a violin.