While watching a video, I saw Teacher Liu Xiaoyan talking about the word "affection" (n. emotion, influence). She said, "You must not believe that you should be an emotionally stable person, or a person without emotions, but rather leave the people and places that make you emotionally unstable." Coincidentally, my mood hasn't been great lately (actually, this article has been delayed for a long time, and I haven't had the heart to write 🥲), so let's talk about this matter.
In life, I believe my emotions are quite stable. To what extent? During the college entrance examination, I felt nothing; even when someone I liked left me, I could only face it calmly. Perhaps this isn't emotional stability; most of the emotions caused by various things have been suppressed by my rationality to a sufficient degree. This leads me to think a lot when I occasionally do something emotional, considering various situations, and I often only act when I can accept the worst-case scenario (I can't accept parting, so I won't choose to confess). OK, everyone experiences various emotions. I remember in "Under One Person," there is a character on Nathan Island who can release people's various emotions, flowing out from the seven orifices; the more emotions flow out, the heavier they become, pressing down on you and making it hard to extricate yourself. Yet, the emotionally stable Zhang Chulan released a lot of emotions...
Excitement, disgust, irritability, happiness—these always fill our thoughts to varying degrees, washing our souls and leaving traces. When encountering some outrageous things, I occasionally vent to friends. Some unpleasant things make me feel bad, and I choose to take a long sleep. My emotional stability allows me to be in a good state to face the upcoming life, preventing one incident from turning my life into a mess and giving me the ability to calmly face problems.
I once wished to be a "distinctive" person, like the characters in anime, always passionate and a foodie thinking about food wherever I go. It seems that I could always express what I want to say without feeling inappropriate because "I" am like this. But the reality is that there are many shackles in life due to considerations, and most choices are to remain silent or say something else. I don't want to discuss how different personality types approach things; everyone has their distinct personality. What one does or says is a matter of probability, indeed...
Emotions are like the sea; sometimes calm, sometimes turbulent. In the past, I always believed that emotions should have a rare stability—just like the calm state during the college entrance examination, or the calmness when facing the departure of someone I liked. Rationality seems to always bury too many stones for emotions, allowing one to stand straight and avoid temporary emotional fluctuations. However, the more I suppress those emotions that are about to burst forth, the more I feel that sometimes releasing them may be necessary, just like that character in "Under One Person" who can turn emotions into entities; perhaps the rupture after emotional release is the true existence.
I find that releasing emotions does not mean losing control completely, nor is it synonymous with emotional deviation. It is more like a method of self-adjustment when facing the repression and accumulation of frustrations in life. When something truly becomes unbearable, or when the long-accumulated mental burden reaches its limit, occasionally letting go of the shackles of rationality and allowing those long-suppressed emotions to explode may bring a long-lost sense of relief. Imagine, when you "release" all your unhappiness and all kinds of negative emotions, accompanied by crying, shouting, or even a silent sigh, you might welcome a light and blank period, like the fresh air after a heavy rain, allowing you to take a deep breath and reorganize your thoughts.
For me, most of the time, I prefer to maintain stability because emotional stability adds a sense of control to life, allowing me to respond calmly to various challenges. Stable emotions build a solid defense line for me, preventing me from collapsing instantly when faced with unexpected setbacks, enabling me to gradually find the crux of the problem. However, deep down, I also understand that completely suppressing emotions is not a long-term solution. After all, people are not emotionless machines; occasional emotional outbursts can lead to a deeper understanding of myself. This release, whether through deep late-night conversations with friends or an occasional solitary walk, makes me realize that emotions need both protective stability and appropriate venting.
Therefore, I began to try adjusting my strategy: when facing most trivial and stressful matters, I still choose to remain calm, using rationality to stabilize my emotions; but when those deeply buried feelings accumulate to a certain extent, I allow myself to experience that brief release—not self-destruction or indulgence, but a way to bravely face the true inner voice. Just like sometimes in the quiet of the night, an accidental cry might help me see the warmth, fear, and longing for the future that have been overlooked by rationality. Perhaps it is through this process that I learned how to find a delicate balance between stability and release, preventing emotions from overflowing uncontrollably while also not allowing the inner flame to be extinguished forever beneath the ice of rationality.
This exploration has gradually made me understand: emotions should not only be suppressed or released arbitrarily, but should be an art of the heart. They need to be stabilized at the right time so that we can face life with a clear mind; at the same time, they also need to be released at the appropriate moment, allowing our spirits to heal and be reborn. This is both a way of self-healing and a sincere return to the colorful emotions of life.
"I can't see through
I can't let go
I can only silently endure being manipulated by emotions..."