Error & Debug: An Ordinary Person's Journey of Self-Debugging

(Originally titled “Some Meaningless Thoughts”)

Note: This essay reflects my personal views and is offered for reference. If anything here causes offense, I apologize.

Lately, I've had more free time, and with it, more quiet moments to think. I've also become increasingly aware that many things have changed as I've grown older. I once came across a line online: “Unlike during the day, when reason tends to prevail, the mind becomes more emotional at night. Don't make major decisions at night.” I agree.

Human beings are extraordinarily complex creatures, so complex that it's hard to put that complexity into words. We can see a person's outward appearance with our own eyes, but their inner world—their character, values, attitude toward problems, and ability to solve them—is much harder to truly understand. As I've gained more life experience, I've also grown more comfortable accepting the ordinary person I am.

// Chapter A · Error

I didn't truly begin to understand myself until after thirty. Contrary to the saying that by thirty, a person should have found their footing in life, I hadn't. I had neither started a family nor established a career. Now it's 2026, and I'm only a few steps away from forty. Looking at what I have today, I realize that not much has changed over the years. By society's standards, I'm just another unremarkable ordinary person.

“You're not getting any younger. Why aren't you married? Is something wrong with you?”

“You can never earn enough money. Start a family first, then build your career.”

“If you marry too late, your parents won't be young enough to help look after your children.”

“If you don't get married, your family line ends with you.”

I've heard remarks like these countless times since graduating. They make me physically uncomfortable, and even now, they haven't stopped. Fortunately, my own family has never put that kind of pressure on me. My parents understand me and have never interfered with my decisions, giving me an enormous amount of freedom.

Still, there's no denying that my parents are growing older. Their bodies are less able to withstand physical strain, their hair is gradually turning white, and their memories are slowly fading. These are changes I can see with my own eyes. Every time I return home for a holiday, even a few short days together bring new realizations.

Last June, when I went home, my father told me in advance that he planned to go to the old family house the next day to tend to the crops. He asked me to come and help. I agreed.

The next day, I rode my electric scooter to the old house. Weeds had overgrown the entrance, and a notice from the village committee warning that the house was unsafe had been posted on the wall. I stood there for a while, suddenly realizing that this place, once more familiar to me than anywhere else, was slowly becoming something that existed only in my memories.

Looking at the old house that had witnessed my childhood and growing up, I realized that my parents were growing old, and that I was long past being the child who could take everything for granted.

Every time I leave home and head back to my own life, I'm left with a lot to think about. I know my parents have their own worries, yet they haven't forced me to make any decisions. Instead, they've chosen to bear those worries quietly. But carrying that pressure alone, year after year, can take a significant toll on both the body and the mind.

I hope they, too, can learn to accept that their child is an ordinary person. Everyone has their own path in life. Sometimes, all we can do is live well in the present.

// Chapter B · Debug

What does “living well in the present” mean to me? That depends on the person. I've stopped regretting my own ordinariness, and I no longer want to define myself through other people's eyes.

Living well doesn't have to mean accomplishing something extraordinary. One Saturday, when no one had invited me out, I cooked myself a bowl of noodles, cleaned the house, and went for a run in the evening. Outside the window, day gave way to night, and then to another morning. Suddenly, I thought to myself: this isn't so bad. No one is waiting for me, and there's nothing I absolutely have to do.

This very “emptiness” is proof that I have the freedom to shape my own life.

What do I mean by “other people's eyes”? Gender expectations are perhaps the clearest example. Society has always had a set of preconceived ideas about what men and women should be like. In my view, these expectations often become constraints, even shackles. Still, I can't deny that they've influenced me to some extent.

Take my own situation, for example. I'm approaching forty, yet I haven't married or established a family and career. In other people's eyes, this seems to invite all kinds of suspicions. Is something wrong with my health, my sexual orientation, my finances, or my appearance? Is there something about me that doesn't fit the mainstream?

If I don't respond to these suspicions, people may interpret my silence in one of two ways: either their suspicions must be true, or I simply don't care what they think. Most people seem to assume the former. After all, that makes for better gossip.

There's another, more subtle kind of judgment. It doesn't tell you how to live your life; instead, it dictates what kind of person you're supposed to be. By conventional standards, a man should be decisive, assertive, and emotionally restrained. Show too much sensitivity, and you're seen as less masculine.

One Chinese New Year, when I was still at university, I was riding my electric scooter with my younger sister to visit relatives. It was drizzling, and I was going too fast when the tires slipped and we fell.

My sister froze in shock. I patted her, trying to help her regain her composure. Later, at our relatives' house, someone remarked, “That's a boy for you. He stays calm in a crisis and knows to look after his sister first.”

I could only smile wryly. What that person saw was a boy behaving as a boy was expected to behave: staying calm and taking care of his sister. What I remembered, however, was the moment of weightlessness as we fell, and the fear that surged through me once I realized what had happened.

I don't agree with the idea that personality should be determined by gender. Decisiveness and courage are not exclusive to men, and sensitivity has never been a flaw. A person can be brave and still feel afraid. They can take responsibility and still admit to being vulnerable. These things are not contradictory, and they should never be dictated by gender.

Everyone has their own personality and their own way of expressing themselves. The world should never insist on a single standard for everyone.

I can appreciate the goodness, kindness, and beauty in the world with my emotions, while also facing reality and making decisions with reason. Emotion and reason are not in conflict; both are part of who I am. I don't need to change myself simply because one side of me fails to meet someone else's expectations.

Returning to the question of marriage and career, most of my close friends have married, established their careers, and started raising children, while I remain on my own. Faced with these differences, I'd rather take an honest look at my circumstances and what I truly want than rush into a decision simply because I'm getting older and everyone around me has already made theirs.

Last month, I met up with some old friends. The conversation revolved entirely around mortgages, school districts, and extracurricular classes for their children. I had little to contribute, and I didn't particularly want to contribute anyway.

After the gathering, the group chat remained lively, but I found myself joining the conversation less and less. It wasn't that I'd grown distant from my friends. Our lives had simply begun to move along different tracks.

So when it comes to the important decisions in life, I'd rather weigh things carefully than follow the crowd simply because everyone else is doing the same.

// Epilogue · Run

Debugging complete. Time to run the program again.

• Perhaps we truly begin to understand ourselves not when we finally find a flawless answer, but when we stop demanding that we become one.*

The result of this run is nothing earth-shattering. I'm still the same ordinary person, still on my own, still making my way along my own path. The difference is that I no longer feel the need to prove anything to anyone—not that my choices are right, nor that I can be perfectly fine on my own.

• Accepting my ordinariness is not resignation. It means reclaiming the energy I once spent explaining myself to others and putting it toward living my own life. Life has no single right answer. The answer I seek lies in the moments I choose to live with care.*