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On September 1st, the day before
school started, a 13-year-old boy jumped from 8th floor and killed
himself after being scolded by his parents for spending too many time with his
cellphone. This news, along with a video of the grief-stricken parents crying
over the body, flooded our wechat moment and the parent’s groups. From the
screen, the paralyzing despair of the mother and the heartbreaking howl of the
father seemed to materialize and suck out of the air.

Many left comments, trying to find out the
reason. As if by doing so, we could finalize this terrible accident. So we were
eager to blame, blame the boy for being too weak, blame the cellphone for being
so addictive, blame the parents for being too harsh, and blame the school or
the society for ignoring the kids’ mental health. We blame this and we blame
that, because it is an easier thing to do. For example, it would be easy for me
to say: “How could he give up his life so easily when someone is trying so hard
to live?”

I didn’t say that because I remembered
those moments in my life, when I also saw this world through a distorted
reality or precisely, a distorted cognition. I remembered those moments where I
felt as if all the colors had drained out of the life and when I stared into
the future, there was nothing but an endless dark tunnel full of uncertainties
and fears. I was there, so I knew how easily we could snap at a certain moment.

I guess for everyone, there are moments in
life you would feel vulnerable and helplessly, there are moments you are simple
too tensed up to breath.

And when you were there, the last thing you
need in the world was the pointing figures, or even the well-meant suggestions.
All you need was probably just a moment of peace, non-judgment, no criticism.
Just to know that somebody was there, listening with an understanding ear. That’s
probably all it takes to save you from that horrified, distorted world.