Simba the Lion King： In the twists and turns of the road to glory

In 1995, at the age of 10, I was in the third grade of primary school and became the only team member in my class. My hobbies were collecting stamps, playing table tennis, painting, and watching cartoons.

At that time, the traffic in Chengdu was still smooth, and adults commuted in the city’s countercurrent on bicycles; bell dumplings cost 50 cents a bowl, and there were no strange food pairings; the distribution center of inferior clothing was not Kowloon Square but a commercial field. Through the low and dank tunnel, you can lead to a noisy Chunxi Road; near the stadium, there is also a bizarre building called the Future Flyover, whose stairs stretch wildly onto the sidewalk like octopus; KFC opened its first store in Chengdu, and the weekend queue was full of children. Then I took my father’s red Jialing motorcycle and passed the Workers’ Cinema on Jianshe North Road. I vaguely remember that the cinema was a light yellow rectangular building, which resembled the Great Hall of the People in elementary school textbooks. Perhaps in fact the cinema is not so grand and splendid, but childhood memories magnify the objects to the fullest. At the entrance of the cinema, in the midst of the sensuality of men and women, hung a large poster of "The Lion King". So, I watched my first animated feature film in the cinema.

The plot and impression of the movie have been forgotten at that time. The only thing I remember is the ticket price of 8 yuan, and the little lion Simba spoke the full Mandarin of Hong Kong and Taiwan. Then, like a blurry fragment, time flowed through sixteen years. My trajectory is like a lot of vulgar TV plots, with the plot of dog blood flowing. Fly from a small place to a big city, meet all kinds of people, learn to dress up, go from being open to anyone to being honest, and then fall in love, separate, hurt, and wait. In 2009, the traffic in Chengdu had become a mess. It used to take two hours to take a one-hour bus ride from south to north; bell dumplings had risen to five yuan a bowl, and N branches had been opened. You could choose a set menu of tens of yuan a piece, and the taste had gradually drifted away from your memories; various foreign brands had entered the commercial center, and the original down sweater of tens of yuan could be sold for 2,000 yuan; the future flyover had long since disappeared; foreign fast food was blooming in the streets and alleys. Workers’ Cinema, like the fate of many state-owned enterprises in China, went bankrupt, merged, auctioned, and demolished. A commercial and residential building of 8,000 and one square meters was built in situ, and the hot pot restaurant downstairs was hot. In 2009, at the age of 24, I came to the United States and lived in an old house with a group of alcoholic American students. My hobbies were playing PS3s, cooking, surfing the Internet and watching X-rays. And I always had the illusion that in the hustle and bustle of the country, time always passed wantonly slowly, and memories were like slow motion frozen frames in various scenes; while American life always passed by in a flash, because in the same rhythm, it seemed that yesterday just passed was any day in two years. When someone leaves your life, life loses its waves and heartbeat, and in a trance, time quietly floats away. On a street corner in the afternoon, I saw the poster of "Lion King", and a certain nerve in my brain seemed to be stirred, and I bought the ticket nervously. The same eight yuan, but in US dollars. Then I suddenly found that I was the only one under the dark dome.

The sun rose over the horizon, the meadows swayed in plain sight, the birds skimmed across the grassland, and the macaque lifted Simba. Then Simba called out in a strange but familiar tone: Dandy, Dandy… Sixteen years later, under the same starry sky, Mufasa and Simba nestled on the grassland, discussing the meaning of life. Suddenly, memories flowed like water from the closed valve, flashbacks flashed past, and the blurry images of childhood suddenly became very clear. In this one-man movie theater, my eyes suddenly blurred. Life is a cycle, and time is an hourglass in the cycle. This is not just a movie, but a memory. Those vague words will one day be deciphered. The memory sealed in the corner will one day be opened. Those no longer familiar names will one day be remembered. One day, on a rainy evening, that person will meet you on the street corner.