There is a kind of love that is great and sublime because it lets go, and that is a mother's love for her child.

In Eastern culture, raising children is for the purpose of preventing old age; it is believed that having four generations under one roof, with children and grandchildren around, is the fulfillment of life. However, beneath the seemingly harmonious surface of a big family, how many mother-in-law and daughter-in-law conflicts and female rivalries are there? As children grow up, I feel that Western society, which first respects individual space and lifestyle, and enjoys the retirement life of their small families, aligns more with the essence of human nature.

I have seen many videos online of Chinese aunties pairing up for retirement. Four or five old friends rent a villa in the countryside to enjoy retirement together. It starts off beautifully, but after a while, they end up in chaos over trivial matters. I do not intend to specifically refer to the 'Chinese aunties' demographic; perhaps foreign aunties have similar situations. Forgive my inherent shortcomings in English, and my laziness to improve, which makes my main source of information Chinese media. Within my current understanding, whether things last can be predicted by looking at the essence of human nature.

Life after retirement is like rivers merging into the sea, entering the time of an open delta.

I often walk my dog by the Fraser River, watching the logs that have been washed down the mountain by floods, floating in the river. They seem a bit desolate and lonely, but who knows that these sturdy logs have endured a hundred years of wind and snow, enjoyed sunshine and rain, and under the indifferent laws of nature, they lie there in solitude, drifting with the current. Isn't that the fulfillment and comfort of life?

I often choose to swim in the last hour before the swimming pool closes. At that time, the staff will put away the buoys that divide the pool, and the pool, after the lane markers are removed, suddenly transforms into a sea in my eyes, and I swim alone in the sea. I do not care about speed, nor do I count how many laps I swim in an hour. When the several clocks hanging in the swimming pool point to ten o'clock, the staff will announce through a small speaker: "The pool is about to close, see you tomorrow!"

When the time comes, I walk ashore, carrying the warmth of my 27-degree chilled, wet body from the pool, and dive into the sauna, allowing my body to suddenly elevate in the steam. Then I take a warm shower, enjoying the warmth of taking care of myself.

On my drive home, I open the car window and turn the radio to a volume that can cover the rushing wind, driving at a speed of 50 kilometers per hour on the empty highway, like a log, drifting with the wind.

The DJ of FM104.3 music station seems to have a telepathic connection with me every night when I return home, playing slow jazz that matches this speed, which I like. The improvisational performance sounds casual, yet it always revolves around a main melody, sometimes high-pitched, sometimes low. At the end, it suddenly soars to a high note that seems about to blow the saxophonist's instrument apart, but then drops down several octaves at the peak. It ends in infinite relaxation, as the music concludes and the audience disperses.

The people in the music also disperse. When a small family is established, and a couple has children, the world of two becomes a family of three, four, or five. As children grow up, chasing dreams and falling in love, they begin to form their own small families, marking the start of a new cycle of humanity. As an empty-nest mother, do I enjoy happiness in solitude, or do I feel aimless in loneliness?

I choose to be happy in solitude. Everyone perceives happiness differently; happiness is not comparative. For me, some happiness can be quietly obtained, such as listening to music or reading. Many times, I am alone. I knew from a young age that no one can accompany me for a lifetime. Even the most bustling gatherings have an end; the revelry may not truly bring joy; perhaps it is just a form that makes others think I am happy. I care more about the growth of my inner life. The beauty filter only removes a woman's superficial appearance; truly sophisticated beauty sees the essence and depth. All explorations, experiences, and attempts at inner life are, in fact, very personal and lonely.

Looking up at the starry sky, whether it is stars, planets, or even the moons of planets, they all run on their own orbits. Anyone who intrudes into another's orbit will either perish or be mutually destroyed. This does not mean one must be lonely until old age, but rather to learn to enjoy the time spent alone, drawing inner strength and growth from it, finding one's own orbit, and shining together when dancing in pairs.

So, when I become a retired mother staying in Vancouver, I made the following promises to myself:

From now on, I will take care of myself with kindness and gentleness.

I will exercise to ensure a healthy body for a good quality of life in my later years.

I will stop rereading the old chapters of my life and open a new calm river in my heart, exploring anything that interests me in tranquility without contention.

I will protect myself from anything that affects my emotions too much, freeing myself from all emotional relationships, soaring like an eagle, flying towards happiness.

I will get close to those who make me smile. Half of my life has passed, and I have the strength to distance myself from those who cause me pain.

As someone who cried easily as a child, even if I cry in the future, I will choose the posture in which I cry. I promise that when I cry, I will face upwards, letting the sunlight shine on my face, only for the heavens to see, not for others. I will never lose hope and faith in beauty, nor let myself fall into darkness. I will wipe away my tears, and after the heavy rain, the sun will shine brightly!