DATE
4/14/25
TIME
10:40 PM
LOCATION
Oakland, CA
如果遇见
If We Met
(建议用耳机观看mv / Recommended to watch the music video with headphones)
DATE
4/14/25
TIME
10:40 PM
LOCATION
Oakland, CA
如果遇见
If We Met
(建议用耳机观看mv / Recommended to watch the music video with headphones)
DATE
4/14/25
TIME
10:40 PM
LOCATION
Oakland, CA
如果遇见
If We Met
(建议用耳机观看mv / Recommended to watch the music video with headphones)
Part One
如果我可以遇到6岁的我，我会对她说，谢谢你，撑过来了。你战胜了你强烈的自毁情绪、愤怒、怨恨、报复意愿。你想把整个房子烧了，你想大家一起去死，谢谢你没有，我知道，你完全可以做到。你知道煤气在哪，你知道怎么打火。
如果我可以遇到8岁的我，我会说，谢谢你每次极度压抑、也会努力找到方法平复你的情绪，即便你在楼梯间烧报纸、你看着报纸的灰烟飘下去，你也没有任何的感觉。你希望烧的不是纸，是你自己。你可以背着你的爸爸把女生带到家里、对她上下其手，你知道如果你不是小孩的话、你会被判刑的、知道吗？你以为你早熟就可以乱来吗？（笑）
如果我可以遇到10岁的我，我会说，你知道自己会写作、但你模仿成年人积极向上、百废待兴的样子，真的太奇怪了。别装了，你根本不是好学生。你是antagonist。你反社会、反组织、唯恐天下不乱。你总喜欢找人麻烦，没事寻衅滋事、也只在遇到得罪不起的人才稍微乖点，每天欺负你爸，虽然他都活该。他不是治不了你，是太爱你。但他也活该被你治。
如果我可以遇到12岁的我，我会说，初中不会是你想的那样，你也别尝试接着装了、到了高中也不会有区别、只会更差，不会更好。抑郁是不分年龄的，那时候的你并不知道、实际上，你还需要再多15年才会知道。
如果我可以遇到14岁的我，我会说，这一年的你遇到了很多很让你困惑的事。Nothing makes sense. 你不知道发生了什么，为什么会发生这些事情、为什么你好像被唤醒了一些以前不知道的东西、并且开始有一定的能力去执行一些你想做的事情。你会对一些人产生一些奇怪的情感，但后来你发现、那不是情感，是好奇。而对你真正重要的人，你一直没有辨认出来、直到很久之后。你会开始对一切失去兴趣，你会一直想要找可以让你开心的东西、但你找不到。你想走，你开始计划走。你以为逃避这里，就可以逃避自我毁灭、但你逃不开你自己。
如果我可以遇到16岁的我，我会说，祝你好运。有时候知道的更少反而简单。这一年你的变化会很大，你会开始松散、展开、理解、拥抱自己，虽然你仍然锋利、拒人于千里之外，但至少你不会拒绝自己。
如果我可以遇到17岁的我，我会说，你虽然还没成年、但你已经大一了。所有人在派对看到你喝酒都一副看热闹的不嫌事大、没人敢跟你说太多，谁叫你underage。你被一个叫Midori的人过度保护，她自称是你的大姐，你会开始有点烦她、以至于人家后来来上海上班的地方找你、你也懒得搭理她，这个人后来竟然在netflix的《love is blind》日本版成功结婚了。这几天你们又联系上了，虽然你俩ig互关了，但你要她转发你的博客链接、她不发（笑）。可能还是你先成为导演比较靠谱，这波流量蹭不了了。
Part Two
如果我可以遇到18岁的我，我会说，你成年了，你认识的人给你整了个超大的派对、除了过量饮酒、还有一些你并不想知道的事情被你看到了、你感到有种明明不关你事还是被喂了屎的恶心。好像所有人都比你更兴奋你成年，你想，这帮人想喝酒还非得拉我当借口吗？你看到大家各自成功和自己想回家的人回家，你更加确信，这个派对就跟我没关系、都是她们自己想弄、你就单纯看个热闹。好像每次这个热闹看似和你有关系，但其实没有。
如果我可以遇到刚开始学物理的我，我会说，证明自己要有个限度、这是你最差的科目、就算是为了跟你妈赌气也太过了，你喜欢抽象、喜欢概念，但那不是物理专业干的，物理专业无非是从业和研究，两者都不是你想要的。
如果我可以遇到刚开始学心理学的我，我会说，这门学科会在未来对你有长久的影响，你会开始做越来越多顺应内心好奇的选择，你会开始走你应该走的人生剧本、请保持开放的心态，继续前进和尝试。
如果我可以遇到刚开始跳舞的我，我会说，虽然你小时候很讨厌学民族舞、但它给了你一个接触到你自我表达的桥梁，你再也没跳过名族舞、你在大学跳的也不是民族舞。第一年之后你已经不再想参加演出活动、但排舞开始比跳舞本身更有趣、这个兴趣留下了你。
如果我可以遇到刚开始和男人约会的我，我会说，谢谢你抱有开放的心态、尽管你还是不喜欢男性性器官、但你在努力、谢谢你。虽然你告诉midori你比较喜欢女生、她非常homophobic的跟你说，你不要想、不想你就不喜欢。现在想想，难道她也喜欢女生（笑）？
Part Three
如果我可以遇到刚开始接触艺术的我，我会说，这不是该被束之高阁的、也不是遥不可及的，它是生活的一部分，是城市里的公园、是人们呼吸的停顿。我常常说，如果人没有艺术，那跟行尸走肉有什么区别。已经被剥夺了现实、不必连想象的空间都剥夺吧。
如果我可以遇到刚开始接触政治的我，我会说，你可能会觉得没有善良的政治、没有合理的战争，但在知道很多事情的后果之后，我不知道你还不能不能拒绝理解会使用政治的人，以及是否可以原谅某些把政治使用到极端摧毁人性的地步的人。
如果我可以遇到刚开始接触电影的我，我会说，你没错、不必自我怀疑，按部就班就可以了。
如果我可以遇到我，我会爱她、就算没人爱她。我会原谅她，接受她，告诉她，你没错，你很好、你没有问题。我会陪她，我会看着她，我知道、会好起来的。
如果我可以遇到你，我会爱你、像我爱她一样；也希望你爱我，像我爱你一样。
Part One
If I could meet my 6-year-old self, I’d say: thank you—for surviving. You overcame your intense urge for self-destruction, your anger, your resentment, your desire for revenge. You wanted to burn the whole house down, you wanted everyone to die together. Thank you for not doing it. I know—you totally could have. You knew where the gas was. You knew how to light a fire.
If I could meet my 8-year-old self, I’d say: thank you for always trying to find ways to calm yourself down in moments of deep repression. Even when you burned newspapers in the stairwell and watched the gray ash drift down, you felt nothing. You wished you were burning—not the paper—but yourself. You snuck girls into the house behind your dad’s back, and touched them. Did you know, if you weren’t a child, you’d go to jail for that? You thought being precocious meant you could do anything, didn’t you? (laughs)
If I could meet my 10-year-old self, I’d say: you already knew you could write, but your attempts to imitate the optimistic, upward, go-getter tone of adults were just plain weird. Stop pretending. You were never a good student. You’re the antagonist. Anti-society, anti-structure, an agent of chaos. You always liked to pick fights, start trouble for no reason—only behaving when the person couldn’t be offended. You bullied your dad every day, though he kind of deserved it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t discipline you—it was that he loved you too much. But still, he kind of deserved to be defeated by you.
If I could meet my 12-year-old self, I’d say: middle school won’t be what you think, and you can stop trying to pretend—it won’t get better in high school, just worse. Depression doesn’t care how old you are. You didn’t know that back then. In fact, you’d need another 15 years to know that.
If I could meet my 14-year-old self, I’d say: this year, you’ll encounter many things that confuse you. Nothing makes sense. You won’t know what’s happening, or why. Something old in you will feel awakened, and you’ll begin to feel like you have the power to act on the things you want. You’ll develop strange feelings for certain people, but later you’ll realize—it wasn’t emotion. It was curiosity. And the people who really matter to you—you won’t be able to recognize them until much, much later. You’ll begin to lose interest in everything. You’ll keep looking for something that brings you joy, but you won’t find it. You’ll want to leave. You’ll start planning your escape. You think running away from here means you can escape self-destruction. But you can’t run from yourself.
If I could meet my 16-year-old self, I’d say: good luck. Sometimes, knowing less makes things simpler. This year, you’ll change a lot. You’ll begin to loosen up, open up, understand yourself, embrace yourself. Even though you’ll still be sharp, still push everyone away—you’ll at least stop rejecting yourself.
If I could meet my 17-year-old self, I’d say: even though you’re not legally an adult, you’re already a freshman in college. At parties, when people see you drinking, they act all entertained—no one dares to say much, because you’re underage. You’re overly protected by someone named Midori. She calls herself your big sister. You’ll start getting annoyed by her—so much so that when she comes to Shanghai for work, you can’t even be bothered to see her. And somehow, this same person later gets married on Love Is Blind: Japan on Netflix. You recently got back in touch, and though you both follow each other on Instagram, when you ask her to repost your blog link—she doesn’t (laughs). Maybe it’s more realistic for you to become a director first. No clout to piggyback off this time.
Part Two
If I could meet my 18-year-old self, I’d say: you’re an adult now. Someone you know threw you a massive party. Aside from drinking too much, you also saw something you really didn’t want to see—something that wasn’t even your business but still made you feel like you’d been fed shit. Everyone else seemed way more excited about your coming-of-age than you were. You thought: do these people just want to drink and need an excuse to use me? You watched everyone successfully go home with whoever they wanted, and you became even more certain—this party has nothing to do with you. It was their idea, not yours. You were just there watching. It feels like every time, something looks like it’s about you—but it never is.
If I could meet the me who had just started studying physics, I’d say: you don’t need to prove yourself to this extent. It’s your worst subject. Even if you were doing it to spite your mom—it’s not worth it. You like abstraction, you like concepts, but that’s not what physics as a major is about. Physics is about careers and research—neither of which you want.
If I could meet the me who had just started studying psychology, I’d say: this field will have a long-lasting influence on you. You’ll start making more and more choices that follow your inner curiosity. You’ll begin to walk the script you were meant to live. Keep an open mind—keep going, and keep trying.
If I could meet the me who just started dancing, I’d say: even though you hated learning traditional dance as a kid, it gave you a bridge to self-expression. You never danced traditional again, and what you did in college wasn’t traditional dance either. After the first year, you stopped wanting to perform, but choreography became more interesting than dancing itself. That interest stuck with you.
If I could meet the me who had just started dating men, I’d say: thank you for keeping an open mind. Even though you still don’t like male genitalia, you tried—thank you. You told Midori you liked girls more, and she, being incredibly homophobic, told you, “Just don’t think about it—if you don’t think about it, you won’t like them.” Looking back… maybe she liked girls too? (laughs)
Part Three
If I could meet the me who just started engaging with art, I’d say: this isn’t something to be locked away or kept at a distance. It’s a part of life—it’s like the parks in a city, or the pause between people’s breaths. I often say: if people don’t have art, what’s the difference between them and the walking dead? We’ve already been stripped of reality—don’t let them strip your imagination too.
If I could meet the me who just started engaging with politics, I’d say: you might come to feel like there’s no such thing as “kind politics,” no such thing as “reasonable war.” But once you understand the consequences of certain things, I don’t know whether you’ll still be able to refuse to understand people who use politics—and whether you’ll be able to forgive those who wield it to the point of destroying human nature.
If I could meet the me who just started getting into film, I’d say: you’re not wrong. You don’t have to doubt yourself. Just go step by step.
If I could meet me, I would love her—even if no one else does. I would forgive her, accept her, tell her: you’re not wrong. You’re good. You’re not broken. I’d stay with her. I’d watch her. I’d know—it’s going to be okay.
If I could meet you, I would love you the way I love her. And I hope you’d love me the way I love you.
Part One
If I could meet my 6-year-old self, I’d say: thank you—for surviving. You overcame your intense urge for self-destruction, your anger, your resentment, your desire for revenge. You wanted to burn the whole house down, you wanted everyone to die together. Thank you for not doing it. I know—you totally could have. You knew where the gas was. You knew how to light a fire.
If I could meet my 8-year-old self, I’d say: thank you for always trying to find ways to calm yourself down in moments of deep repression. Even when you burned newspapers in the stairwell and watched the gray ash drift down, you felt nothing. You wished you were burning—not the paper—but yourself. You snuck girls into the house behind your dad’s back, and touched them. Did you know, if you weren’t a child, you’d go to jail for that? You thought being precocious meant you could do anything, didn’t you? (laughs)
If I could meet my 10-year-old self, I’d say: you already knew you could write, but your attempts to imitate the optimistic, upward, go-getter tone of adults were just plain weird. Stop pretending. You were never a good student. You’re the antagonist. Anti-society, anti-structure, an agent of chaos. You always liked to pick fights, start trouble for no reason—only behaving when the person couldn’t be offended. You bullied your dad every day, though he kind of deserved it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t discipline you—it was that he loved you too much. But still, he kind of deserved to be defeated by you.
If I could meet my 12-year-old self, I’d say: middle school won’t be what you think, and you can stop trying to pretend—it won’t get better in high school, just worse. Depression doesn’t care how old you are. You didn’t know that back then. In fact, you’d need another 15 years to know that.
If I could meet my 14-year-old self, I’d say: this year, you’ll encounter many things that confuse you. Nothing makes sense. You won’t know what’s happening, or why. Something old in you will feel awakened, and you’ll begin to feel like you have the power to act on the things you want. You’ll develop strange feelings for certain people, but later you’ll realize—it wasn’t emotion. It was curiosity. And the people who really matter to you—you won’t be able to recognize them until much, much later. You’ll begin to lose interest in everything. You’ll keep looking for something that brings you joy, but you won’t find it. You’ll want to leave. You’ll start planning your escape. You think running away from here means you can escape self-destruction. But you can’t run from yourself.
If I could meet my 16-year-old self, I’d say: good luck. Sometimes, knowing less makes things simpler. This year, you’ll change a lot. You’ll begin to loosen up, open up, understand yourself, embrace yourself. Even though you’ll still be sharp, still push everyone away—you’ll at least stop rejecting yourself.
If I could meet my 17-year-old self, I’d say: even though you’re not legally an adult, you’re already a freshman in college. At parties, when people see you drinking, they act all entertained—no one dares to say much, because you’re underage. You’re overly protected by someone named Midori. She calls herself your big sister. You’ll start getting annoyed by her—so much so that when she comes to Shanghai for work, you can’t even be bothered to see her. And somehow, this same person later gets married on Love Is Blind: Japan on Netflix. You recently got back in touch, and though you both follow each other on Instagram, when you ask her to repost your blog link—she doesn’t (laughs). Maybe it’s more realistic for you to become a director first. No clout to piggyback off this time.
Part Two
If I could meet my 18-year-old self, I’d say: you’re an adult now. Someone you know threw you a massive party. Aside from drinking too much, you also saw something you really didn’t want to see—something that wasn’t even your business but still made you feel like you’d been fed shit. Everyone else seemed way more excited about your coming-of-age than you were. You thought: do these people just want to drink and need an excuse to use me? You watched everyone successfully go home with whoever they wanted, and you became even more certain—this party has nothing to do with you. It was their idea, not yours. You were just there watching. It feels like every time, something looks like it’s about you—but it never is.
If I could meet the me who had just started studying physics, I’d say: you don’t need to prove yourself to this extent. It’s your worst subject. Even if you were doing it to spite your mom—it’s not worth it. You like abstraction, you like concepts, but that’s not what physics as a major is about. Physics is about careers and research—neither of which you want.
If I could meet the me who had just started studying psychology, I’d say: this field will have a long-lasting influence on you. You’ll start making more and more choices that follow your inner curiosity. You’ll begin to walk the script you were meant to live. Keep an open mind—keep going, and keep trying.
If I could meet the me who just started dancing, I’d say: even though you hated learning traditional dance as a kid, it gave you a bridge to self-expression. You never danced traditional again, and what you did in college wasn’t traditional dance either. After the first year, you stopped wanting to perform, but choreography became more interesting than dancing itself. That interest stuck with you.
If I could meet the me who had just started dating men, I’d say: thank you for keeping an open mind. Even though you still don’t like male genitalia, you tried—thank you. You told Midori you liked girls more, and she, being incredibly homophobic, told you, “Just don’t think about it—if you don’t think about it, you won’t like them.” Looking back… maybe she liked girls too? (laughs)
Part Three
If I could meet the me who just started engaging with art, I’d say: this isn’t something to be locked away or kept at a distance. It’s a part of life—it’s like the parks in a city, or the pause between people’s breaths. I often say: if people don’t have art, what’s the difference between them and the walking dead? We’ve already been stripped of reality—don’t let them strip your imagination too.
If I could meet the me who just started engaging with politics, I’d say: you might come to feel like there’s no such thing as “kind politics,” no such thing as “reasonable war.” But once you understand the consequences of certain things, I don’t know whether you’ll still be able to refuse to understand people who use politics—and whether you’ll be able to forgive those who wield it to the point of destroying human nature.
If I could meet the me who just started getting into film, I’d say: you’re not wrong. You don’t have to doubt yourself. Just go step by step.
If I could meet me, I would love her—even if no one else does. I would forgive her, accept her, tell her: you’re not wrong. You’re good. You’re not broken. I’d stay with her. I’d watch her. I’d know—it’s going to be okay.
If I could meet you, I would love you the way I love her. And I hope you’d love me the way I love you.