An Ordinary Sunday

Existence is living an ordinary, plain, and simple life. Every day is just a day; sunrise and sunset are the same for everyone, regardless of wealth or employment, with time being equal in length. Life is lived according to one's own conditions and will. A day is like a story, and life is a storybook. Everyone assigns different meanings to life. An ordinary day means living groundedly. The magical volume of life constructs existence within daily living. In ordinary days, we can arrange our own space and time, embrace ourselves, and feel great happiness. Everything is a gift from heaven and also our own seeking. To be aware of existence is to have an elegant day. Time exists in space, and days revolve within this space-time. Living well as nature dictates, every activity writes scenes and marks for life. Each day is itself, existing in consciousness and unconsciousness, flowing with awareness whether planned or not. Each day has its own lessons. Between knowing and not knowing, we construct each day. Indeed, Rome was not built in a day. Bits of life shape the energy and consciousness of life. There is no other way. Existence is a gift from heaven. Fulfilling oneself completely, every day is a good day.

For many people, an ordinary Sunday is not ordinary because it is a rest day. We do not rush for a living, nor are we bound by time. It is a day to properly embrace ourselves, enjoying family life or gatherings with relatives and friends. These ordinary two-day weekends become extraordinary days in people's lives. For me, every ordinary Sunday involves waking up early to practice Qigong in the forest with friends. Practicing Qigong in the forest has been my Sunday ritual of existence for decades (our group chose Qigong instead of going to church). As long as it does not rain, we almost always attend this "clapping exercise" ritual. We bathe in the forest, enjoy the phytoncides, and slowly walk along the forest paths in meditative silence, circling the entire forest. This takes about 90 minutes. Finally, we do warm-up exercises to stretch body and mind, share insights, and conclude the weekly ritual.

In the afternoon, during this elegant and leisurely time on an ordinary Sunday, without special arrangements, I live a slow-paced life in Paris. Before the summer vacation, in June, every community holds clearance second-hand markets. This Sunday happened to be our community's event, resembling a community carnival. With the fine weather, I went strolling at the market with my family. Various household items and countless stalls filled the scene. In this globalized small-town setting, especially in the Paris Chinatown, exotic flavors and bustling excitement were inevitable. I met neighbors and acquaintances, chatting idly, which became part of the market ritual.

After visiting the community clearance second-hand market, taking advantage of the beautiful time, I went to Tagore Street. I wandered around the green and lush Miró Garden located in front of the apartments and the Thirteenth Arrondissement Art Village. Although the garden is small, the environment is beautiful, with particularly charming plants and flowers and a unique layout. It is a place where we often walked in the past. Inside stands a memorial statue of the Indian Nobel laureate poet Rabindranath Tagore. Perhaps the poet once lived here, and there is a street named after him. Even this garden is named after the Spanish painter Joan Miró. The alley near the art village is named Chagall Alley. This shows France's unique respect and remembrance for celebrities in the arts and literature. No wonder Paris is called the City of Arts, with so many artists exerting their energy and dedicating their artistic achievements here. Paris is a cradle of artistic creation, enriched by artists.

On the way home, passing through the high-rise buildings of the Chinatown, I saw a square where a Vietnamese singing community dressed in Tang suits or traditional Vietnamese attire was joyfully dancing and singing Vietnamese love songs. From afar, they looked like a group of Vietnamese people, but upon closer inspection, they turned out to be a French-formed Vietnamese lyrical song club. This was truly surprising. Is this the effect of globalization? Simply appreciating it satisfied people's curiosity. Under this unexpected surprise, this is Paris, isn't it?