After the Wuhan Virus outbreak on Jan 21st, I had a pain chest and it became so severe that I thought I might die. On the Spring Festival Eve, I deliberated what should I do in the next 14 days (it’s the incubation period of the Wuhan Virus) and the answer was writing as much as I can, like leaving last words. And they are my last words if I really die in 14 days.

For years, I want to prove I’m alive. I know it’s strange, but I have this notion: if this world can’t hear me, I basically don’t exist. Maybe I just read too many celebrities’ tales in childhood. In most of my life, I, clearly know it but hide it, think I’ll be “somebody”, either rich or famous or successful in any field. I can’t imagine my life ends as a “loser”, i.e. have nothing to be proud of. I know many people would say “you have a happy family”, or “you are good in studies”, or “you’re respected by your friends and colleagues.” Let us be true to ourselves: they are nothing, just comforting words.

Luckily, after 4 days, I felt my chest became much better, as long as I don’t read news about the Wuhan Virus (I doubt it’s a kind of mental malaise). Thank God, I now have a longer life. But living in a short life and leaving nothing is always a possibility for me, and it scares me. Without the Wuhan Virus, I may be killed by a flowerpot that fell from the 11th floor, or by a car that driven by a 21-year-old youth who chatting with his girlfriend. I’m not a leading character in fiction, and my life is not promised to have triumphs. Time is always not enough. I should do more things, more valuable things. I should try my best to contribute to this world, to leave marks on its strong walls, to prove a woman named “Tan Tan” has lived a while on this tiny blue planet.