A Dragon Boat Festival with Myself

The Dragon Boat Festival is one of China's traditional holidays. It is celebrated in memory of Qu Yuan, a poet who lived more than two thousand years ago. Today, people often mark the occasion by eating zongzi, watching dragon boat races, and spending time with family.

This year, the festival was combined with the weekend, giving us a three-day break. As I sit here on the final afternoon of the holiday, having just finished brunch, I find myself wanting to record what the past two days have felt like.

In short, they have been wonderful. I haven't socialized with anyone. Instead, I've spent the time quietly living my own life, fully immersed in it. There is something deeply satisfying about that.

The First Evening Alone

Food

The holiday officially began on Friday. By the time I finished work on Thursday evening, my husband had already left to visit his family. As for me, I had been feeling physically exhausted and was starting to develop mild cold symptoms, so I decided to stay home and rest.

Before leaving work that day, I ordered the ingredients I wanted online. After getting home, I prepared dinner for myself. That evening, I pan-fried some mackerel. I first fell in love with mackerel during my first trip to Japan. Since then, it has become one of my regular meals—not only because I enjoy the taste, but also because it's rich in omega-3 fatty acids. I steamed a bowl of rice, topped it with a box of stirred natto and a pasteurized raw egg.

Then I turned on the TV and enjoyed a quiet dinner by myself. I've always liked watching television while eating dinner.

Reading

Before going to bed, I read Kawabata Yasunari's The Dancing Girl of Izu. Earlier this year, I also read his The Old Capital, and during my second trip to Japan, I read Snow Country. I don't quite remember what drew me to Japanese literature this year, but aside from those, I've also almost finished Murasaki Shikibu's The Tale of Genji.

I even tried learning the Japanese syllabary at one point—I think the initial motivation was wanting to understand the lyrics of a few Japanese songs I liked. Unfortunately, after getting through about two-thirds of it, I stopped one day and never really continued. Perhaps I'll pick it up again when the interest returns.

After finishing my reading, I turned off my alarm clock, and the night settled in.

The First Day

Zongzi and Childhood Memory

The next morning, I prepared brunch. Since it was the Dragon Boat Festival, I steamed two zongzi for myself.

I grew up in northern China, where zongzi are usually sweet, made with glutinous rice and red dates. My earliest memory of zongzi goes back to elementary school. One afternoon after class, I met a woman selling them by the roadside. She was a friend of my parents. When she saw me, she smiled warmly, reached into the box she was carrying, and handed me a zongzi.

Years later, I heard that she had gone south for work to earn money for her son's future wedding. Somehow, whenever I think of zongzi, I still remember her smiling as she handed one to me.

In southern China, savory zongzi are more common. The first time I tried one filled with salted egg yolk and pork belly was at a relative's house during lunch before my high school entrance exam. I fell in love with it immediately. So naturally, my brunch consisted of two salted egg yolk and pork belly zongzi. They were delicious.

No Plan, Just Following What Comes

After eating, I opened Graphic Colour Layout, flipped through a few pages, and completed some very basic exercises. Then I wandered around the apartment, sat for a while, and did some housework. It rained on and off throughout Friday, so I eventually decided not to go out. Around five in the afternoon, I started preparing dinner. I used to dislike cooking because it felt troublesome, but these days I find myself enjoying the process.

After dinner, I decided to treat myself by scrolling through my phone for a while. One hour disappeared almost instantly. Then I exercised for an hour, spent some time doing random things, and before bed stood in front of my bookshelf trying to choose what to read next. At first, I picked up Dostoevsky's The Idiot. But since I had only read a small portion before, starting again would mean beginning from page one, and I didn't quite feel ready. Instead, I chose Tolstoy's War and Peace. Reading Tolstoy always feels like a pleasure. His writing is simply extraordinary. One thing that is different this time is that whenever I encounter a detail I don't fully understand (often a translation issue), I can ask AI and get an explanation immediately. It makes reading much smoother.

When I turned off the lights, I started feeling a little scared. Even with earplugs in, I could still hear faint sounds around the apartment. I knew perfectly well that nobody else was home, but I couldn't stop worrying. Eventually I got up and checked every room, making sure the doors were locked. I lay back down. Still scared.

I don't remember how I finally fell asleep, but when my husband isn't home, I feel less secure somehow. Part of me always worries that some ghost—or something I couldn't explain—might suddenly appear and frighten me.

The Second Day

Learning to See Again

The next morning, I steamed some sweet potatoes and vegetable buns, washed some grapes and blueberries, and boiled two eggs for brunch. Then I opened a collection of cover designs by Mendelsund.

Some time ago, my husband gave me a box of crayons. At first, I felt nervous because I couldn't draw at all. I've always been somewhat insecure about creativity. Ever since childhood, I loved literature and language, yet I often believed I lacked talent in those areas. Compared with subjects like mathematics and science, where I seemed more naturally capable, I assumed that literature and history belonged to people with gifts I didn't have.

I can no longer remember exactly why my husband bought me those crayons. Perhaps this is a reminder that I should keep a journal more regularly, because my memory isn't great. But that gift opened up an entirely new way for me to express myself, and I've genuinely enjoyed it. After more than twenty crayon drawings, I received a box of colored pencils and became interested in learning more: perspective, light and shadow, color theory, and other artistic fundamentals. I'm not sure whether it was my husband's encouragement or simply the fact that drawing relaxes me, but I seem to have developed a real interest in it. I now find myself paying closer attention to everyday life—the way light changes across objects, the subtle shifts of shadow, and the details I used to overlook.

After closing the book, I looked out at the blue sky beyond my window and wrote the following words on a piece of paper: "I've realized that what drives me isn't success itself, but the desire to live a colorful and meaningful life. I'm willing to make courageous changes and devote myself wholeheartedly to exploring the world."

A Walk in Xishan

Since the morning, I had been debating whether to visit the National Art Museum of China. I opened review apps, checked visitor numbers, and read comments. I've lived in Beijing for almost ten years and have never visited the museum. In the end, I decided not to go. The round-trip taxi ride alone would take about two hours, and somehow I didn't feel ready.

Instead, I rested at home, watched part of an interview program, packed my things, and took a taxi to Xishan National Forest Park, which is close to where I live. I walked around for a while, found a place to sit, and quietly observed the scenery in front of me. With a pen and paper in hand, I tried to record some of my thoughts and observations. I still prefer nature. The only downside is that Beijing is such a densely populated city—even the parks can feel crowded.

After achieving my modest goal of getting some exercise, I took a taxi home. That evening, I cooked myself a steak, some mushrooms, and scrambled eggs with onions. After dinner, I finished watching the interview program, spent some time on my phone, read a little, and went to bed.

What Solitude Revealed

On the third day, I puttered around the apartment for a while, then sat down and started thinking about writing this blog post.

What surprised me most was that I never felt lonely. When I'm by myself, I become more aware of my thoughts, feelings, and emotions moment by moment. I noticed that sometimes when I was doing one thing, another idea would suddenly appear, and I would immediately switch to it. I didn't follow a strict schedule. Instead, I treated the entire holiday as an experiment, waiting to see what I genuinely wanted to do next.

I also noticed that my stomach often feels tense. Almost any thought involving other people seems capable of triggering that tension.

When I thought about returning to work tomorrow and the end of my time alone, I felt unexpectedly reluctant. If possible, I would gladly spend even more time by myself.

What I've discovered is that when I'm alone, I naturally take care of household chores, learn new things, spend time on my phone, and yet rarely criticize myself. Instead, I observe my behavior consciously. I develop expectations for myself. I notice the movement of my thoughts and emotions, the tension in my stomach, and even my fear of being alone in the dark.

But beyond all of that, I still have the whole world. And I still have myself.

I hope I can learn to relax a little more and embrace each new day as it comes.