On my way back from the Farmer’s Market I read from my WeChat Moments that a senior college student in my neighborhood, on the far other side of the earth, had disappeared, leaving a note saying that he was committing suicide.

I was holding this postcard, full of harvest and vividness, in my hand. I was breathing the cold fresh air. And although I did not speak much during the whole journey with Rose Scholar program members due to the shyness as a newcomer to Cornell, I enjoyed the trip.

The fragrance and juicy sweetness of the fruits are oozing out of the postcard. They are, however, made purely of flame-worked glass, which was something I hadn’t expected prior to visiting the Farmer’s Market as I had thought only fruits, vegetables, food and stuff were sold there. A fan of handicrafts as I myself am, I was more than amazed at the sight of the real artwork on display, far radiant than on the postcard per se.

I was about to sigh “what a sad contrast” concerning the incident happened just far away where I was from. But I held back, too afraid that this would give out an air of schadenfreude, which I meant nothing about. Sorrows happen not only back there, but in every corner of the world. And in the same time, joy and brightness is scattered around the Earth too. The feeling is too complex to depict by words.

I watched people coming and going by the little market pavilion. They are off their separate ways, minding their own business; they are living out their lives, and there was at least an air of calm and contentment on their faces, if not happiness. They are having fun, at least in this transient moment, with life. I guess that the artist doing the flame-worked glass must be loving her job, and in fact I had sometimes thought of making a living by designing and making dresses, rather than going my track on becoming an astronomer, which I always call as being “my dream”.

It was not because of I preferred artwork than astronomy; it was perhaps the difference in pressure. I am new, struggling to keep up, looking for research opportunities, worrying about graduation and PhD degrees, and often hating myself as not talented enough and sometimes even clumsy. Although I always tried to chin up and would not kill myself in any situation right now, I might render myself as slightly understanding what the senior student was suffering from.

This was life. Different life for different individuals, and sometimes resulting in striking and lamentable contrasts. I often genuinely feel that people here in Ithaca reaches more closely towards the essence of life itself. Living, doing things one enjoys everyday, and carrying on as the second hands tick on the calendar. Living with other people in peace and evolve in pleasant conversations, rather than regarding in fear the surrounding as full of predators and competitors. Completing works that one feels satisfied with and displaying them for admiring eyes, instead of toiling under pressure and hurling oneself towards the social-standard ‘success’.

I envy this mode of life. I will try to adjust my life philosophy more to the simplicity of this little town closer to nature. I feel helpless to the young man who was hopeless with life on the other side of the world–I now feel joy and pain mixing together in my heart and the feeling is hard to deal with. I can only hope that all is still well with the young man, and may nature bless Ithaca residents.

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