Ruins

My co-workers at Max Planck must feel very strange, why I loved to visit historical cities so much. When I was in Goettingen, Lena's parents seemed to be very surprised about my interest in such a small town. I couldn't explain very well this kind of feeling, so I just said I wanted to know more about German history. Cities like Berlin and Cologne indeed have certain appeals, but walking on the narrow streets surrounded by buildings several hundred years old was another kind of enchanting experience. It took me a long time to think about why old buildings and cultural heritage sites appeal to me. Here I jot down some abstract, probably a bit nonsensical, notes on what has been on my mind. In essence, I was looking for some cultural and historical ruins, ruins that seem to be destroyed by time but apparently not.

One example is the Heidelberg castle. The whole palace ruin sits on a steep hill, overlooking the old town of Heidelberg and the Neckar river. Pieces and layers of constructing stones and bricks scattered among the wildly grown grasses, and broken pillars stand solemnly under the red sky during sunset. When the night comes, the moon, who has witnessed so much in ages, grins for a second, and then quickly hides behind the clouds, casting a profound shadow over the ruins.

Time manifests its power and leaves its traces on earth through historical ruins, leaving scars and uneven tomography. If there were no ruins, then something called yesterday would be meaningless, and if there were no yesterday, there would be no need to mention today and tomorrow. Looking at ruins, you feel its stubbornness, like a tragic hero who's unwilling to die. Looking at ruins, you feel its sufferings, like the trying past of the people and their country.

Even though ruins are like a dying old man, they nonetheless display an unspeakable beauty. Through their weathered faces, you see the power and noble acts of our ancestors. Through ruins one see the magnificent essence of one's culture. There is no need to renovate the ruins. Such act would be unnecessary, for it would be like an old woman without wrinkles on her face or an old man without white hairs-it would be strange and unfitting.

Whenever I see a ruin, I feel like watching a tragedy. I do not, however, mean that tragedy only brings sorrows, for without tragedy, there would be no soul-stirring strains, and without soul-stirring strains, there would be no sublime beauty. Everest is sublime because its deep and freezing snows cover countless bones and remains of those adventurous spirits. Life is sublime, because it's addled with separations, bidding farewells, and disappointments.

Ruins are important, because they are the symbols of civilization. They give us perspectives, about where we came from, and where we are going.