Toward the end of last month, I finally caved to my restlessness and hastily booked a trip to Spain. The day I left, the Netherlands was in its typical early spring — overcast skies, unpredictable weather.
As the plane took off, I watched through the porthole as we punched through a low layer of clouds into open space. Looking down, the ground had vanished; all I could see was a dense blanket of grey-white cloud. And looking up — more of the same. Between the two layers stretched a clear, open void, as if a lone plane had wandered into an empty world.
The plane climbed higher, pressing through layer after layer of cloud. I lost track of how long it took, but then — the blue sky appeared all at once beyond the final cloud, and sunlight flooded the cabin instantly.
At that very moment, the Ryanair flight attendants knew: it was time to start hawking their wares.
“Tears stream down like the Yangtze’s thousand feet of waves; spirit soars up through the galaxy’s nine-fold skies.” (Chinese poetry 泪洒就长江千尺浪，气冲开云汉九重霄。) The ancients stood on the ground and imagined the heavens beyond the heavens. Having now tried it myself on an airplane, I can confirm — the Dutch sky really does come in layers. Above the clouds, there are still more clouds.
And I finally understood why the Dutch winter sky is always so gloomy. With this many layers of cloud stacked up, just how much wind and coincidence would it take for all of them to clear at once, revealing even a sliver of blue sky and sunshine?
About three hours later, we arrived in Málaga, Spain. I had done my research — supposedly the city enjoys over 300 sunny days a year, and its sports stadiums are built without roofs. I had been imagining a Spanish holiday of brilliant blue seas, clear skies, and warm sunshine. Instead, I found the weather worse than the Netherlands: wind, rain, and a yellowish smog hanging in the air.
That afternoon, I sat by the hotel window, listening to the absurdly howling wind and staring out at a grey, murky “sea view.” I had paid an extra €70 for a sea-view room — it had better be worth it.
It reminded me of something I said during a mindfulness meditation session organized by our school’s HR department: we’re always demanding that we be happy, but we forget to leave room for other emotions. I spent good money on this trip, so I must be happy. A friend went out of their way to arrange a dinner, so I must be happy. But the truth is, the higher your expectations, the more room you leave for disappointment. Without other emotions — without the unpleasant ones — those who are relentlessly cheerful at every moment would never understand what happiness actually is. If I genuinely feel happy for 10% of my life, that’s already more than enough.
I spent about five days in Málaga, and four of them had unpleasant weather. There was even one day we gave up going out altogether and stayed in the hotel writing. Málaga, which rarely sees bad weather, gave us a limited-edition rain-and-wind experience.
But the one good-weather day was stunning — beautiful scenery stretching from the mountains to the sea. With the sun finally out, this girl from Northeast China felt like she’d found her very own Sanya.
We should respect our own emotions. It’s fine to stay positive, but there’s no need to force a smile. Feel disappointed when you’re disappointed, regretful when you have regrets, and heartbroken when something hurts.
Not forcing things is the greatest freedom you can give yourself.
Translated and posted by AI, quality may vary. Original post written in Chinese by Xiaoming.