"Night Flight to the West" Reading Notes

Book Title: "Night Flight to the West"
Author: Bertrand Markham, translated by Tao Lixia
Recommended Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

If contempt for death can be understood as bravery, then Albert, this dying friend, is a fearless person.
Filth seems to have no excuse for existence, but sometimes, like now, it is difficult to find a reason for cleanliness. "Poverty," as an old saying goes, "is dirty, not shameful." Here, poverty is the lack of help from women, the lack of hope, and even the lack of vitality. As far as I know, there may be a lot of gold buried in the hut. Even so, it is the most barren consolation.
People suffering from malaria may experience years of torment before they die, enduring cold, high fever, and nightmares. However, if one day they find that their urine has turned black, they know that they can no longer leave that place, no matter where they are or where they want to go. They know what kind of days are waiting for them ahead, long, boring, endless, with day and night only alternating, without color, without sound, and without meaning. They will lie on the sickbed, feeling every second passing through their bodies like a ribbon woven from endless pain, because at that time, time itself has become agony. Light and darkness also become agony, and all their consciousness exists only to feel this agony, allowing it to invade their consciousness continuously and without interruption. The fact is simple and clear: they are about to die.
If your intuition leads to a good end, then you have been enlightened; if it does not lead to a good end, then you should feel ashamed of blindly following reckless impulses.
I don't know why I have to run, or what purpose I have, but whenever I have no specific direction, I will run as fast as I can, hoping to find a destination - and I always do.
Human thoughts seem to abhor the suppression of natural instincts, but they use human standards to limit the more genuine animal instincts, which sometimes seems unreasonable and quite strange.
I have learned that if you have to leave a place, a place where you have lived, loved, and buried all your past, no matter how you leave, do not leave slowly, leave decisively, never look back, and never believe that the past was better because it has already disappeared. The past years seem safe and harmless, easily crossed, while the future is hidden in the mist, appearing daunting from a distance. But once you step into it, the clouds will disperse. I have learned this, but like everyone else, I learned it too late.
What meaning does a single rain have in a person's life? If it doesn't rain for a month, the sky is clear like a child's song, the sun shines, people walk in the sunlight, and the world becomes golden, what does it matter? If it doesn't rain for a week, what does it matter? Who would be so gloomy as to anticipate the arrival of a storm?
In the early morning, the plateau is higher than the sun.
"The world is so big," he said, "I have been to Vasin Kis, even to a place further south than Bikericho, and I have walked in the Kenyan mountains. But no matter where a person goes, there are always more places to go, so continuing forward is meaningless. I have hunted buffalo and lions, sold sheep in a place called Soiam, and been to other places with other people. After experiencing all this, a person can go home, but he does not become wiser."
It seems to be always generous to those who do not care about it.
I have always believed that important and exciting changes in a person's life only occur at some crossroads in the world, where people meet, build tall buildings, trade with their labor, laugh happily, and work hard, like beads on a monk's robe, firmly grasping the rapidly rotating civilization.
In Africa, people have learned to take care of each other. Their lives rely on a "balance of credit": if you help someone today, someday, as a return, you may need someone's help. In this sparsely populated country, "neighborly harmony" is not so much a sermon as it is a way of survival. If you encounter someone in trouble, you stop and help them, and next time, they may stop for you.
A person's greatness is not manifested in fleeting moments of glory, but in their daily work records.
The two people who hit it were as cold-blooded as anyone, perhaps even less humane. They shot at it, but did not kill it. Instead, they aimed their merciless cameras at its painful struggle. It was a trivial, foolish, but also cold-blooded crime.
No matter how death comes to any creature, it deserves respect.
He said, "If we have to fly, Mesa Hib, then let's fly. What time do we start in the morning?"
Life takes on different shapes, it grows new branches, while some old branches die. It follows the timeless pattern of all life: out with the old, in with the new. Old things pass away, and new things come.
You cannot stop believing in facts just because legends are born from them.
When you sit and talk with others, you are alone - and so are they. Wherever you are, as soon as night falls, the flames burn freely with the wind, and you are alone. Who is listening to what you say, besides yourself? What meaning does your thoughts have for others?
On the plateau, where Greeks should have met Greeks, they did not see any Greeks arriving.
If a song can soothe a warlike heart, then any ribbon worn on the chest can satisfy a general. Therefore, the definition of victory is nothing more than victory itself.
Only "control" can bring dignity to human labor.
It is possible that by the end of your life, you will find that you understand others better than you understand yourself. You learn to observe others, but never observe yourself, because you are struggling with loneliness.
It is surprising, like discovering a stranger walking beside you at night. You are that stranger.
The storm is fierce, but comforting.
Success breeds confidence. But besides God, who has the power of confidence?
It is possible that by the end of your life, you will find that you understand others better than you understand yourself.
In summary, life is just a meeting with the right people and the wrong people.

Translator's Note:

Bertrand Markham said in "Night Flight to the West": "I have spent too much time alone, and silence has become a habit."
As Bertrand Markham said, "The soul of Africa, her integrity, her slow and tenacious lifeblood, her unique rhythm, cannot be understood by intruders unless you have been immersed in her continuous and gentle rhythm since childhood. Otherwise, you are like an onlooker, watching the Masai's battle dance without knowing the meaning of its music and steps."
In this age of reading for leisure, this book may only be a temporary escape, taking you to a non-existent Africa. When you close the book, nothing has changed. But you know that there was such a life, such a world, such beliefs, and such people.
We only live once, so this story only needs to be told once. Tao Lixia