At the age of three, I tightly held a lollipop in my hand, firmly believing that it was the most important thing.
At the age of five, I spent a whole afternoon catching that dragonfly. At that moment, it seemed like the most important thing.
At the age of seven, I looked at the certificate in my desk mate's hand with envy and a little bit of jealousy, thinking that it might be the most important thing.
At the age of nine, lying under the shade of a tree, the sunlight scattered on my face, a leisurely summer vacation was so important to me.
At the age of thirteen, I realized that the acceptance letter from a prestigious high school was important to my life.
At the age of sixteen, sitting in the classroom, a gentle breeze passing through, I stared at the ponytail of the girl in front of me and suddenly felt that continuing like this wouldn't be bad.
At the age of eighteen, I studied day and night, prayed to the gods, all for the sake of a university acceptance letter.
At the age of twenty-two, bidding farewell to campus, stepping into the so-called society, a job became the most important thing.
At the age of twenty-four, I had my wedding. I looked at the guests and my bride, who was not the same girl as when I was sixteen. I felt a bit regretful, but at that moment, my bride became the most important person to me.
At the age of twenty-five, I drank and chatted with friends, not understanding the ways of the world, thinking that face was the most important thing.
At the age of twenty-six, I anxiously waited outside the delivery room. The sound of crying broke the silence, and I knew that something more important had arrived.
At the age of thirty-three, burdened by mortgage and car loans, I felt that money was too important.
At the age of thirty-eight, my strong-willed father started seeking my opinion. At that moment, I suddenly realized that he had grown old.
Also at the age of thirty-eight, my mother no longer scolded me, but instead nagged and cared for me. I knew that she would also grow old.
Again at the age of thirty-eight, my son no longer clung to me. He had his own life with his friends. I knew that for the rest of his life, he would only continue to move away from me.
That year, I suddenly realized that time might be the most important thing in this world.
At the age of forty, looking at the messy medical examination report, I realized that I had never considered myself important.
At the age of forty-five, I lived half my life in a daze. While slacking off at work with a beer belly, I remembered my dreams from my youth and realized how important dreams were.
At the age of fifty, watching my son and a decent girl enter the realm of marriage, I squinted at my son on the stage, wondering if the bride was the same girl he fell in love with at sixteen. But I still felt that my son's happiness was more important than my own.
At the age of fifty-five, I followed my grandson closely, afraid that he would fall. At that moment, I never had high hopes for my grandson. His safety and happiness were the most important things.
At the age of sixty, I buried my parents together. As I grew older, I became more open-minded about many things. I didn't shed tears, but I felt that my father's scolding and my mother's nagging were extremely important at that moment.
At the age of seventy, my wife finally left before me. My son and daughter-in-law had successful careers, and my grandson was studying at a university in another city. I could only wander aimlessly on the streets, feeling that my wife was much more important than the old lady dancing in the square.
At the age of seventy-five, in the hospital, the doctor asked me to leave and stayed alone with my son. I understood that time was running out. Taking advantage of this opportunity, I called my grandson. I wanted to tell him that if he fell in love with a girl at the age of sixteen, he should hold on tightly, just like how I held onto the lollipop at the age of three. After thinking it over, I felt a bit disrespectful to my age. After the call connected, I only said, "Grandpa misses you, come visit me when you have time." The doctor reassured me that there was no big problem. I smiled and told the doctor that there were no major problems in life. Actually, the most important thing is to keep living.
At the age of seventy-six, my grandson came to visit me. It felt a bit awkward for him to see me in such a weak state. My son and daughter-in-law stood by the bed, unable to speak due to tears. I didn't have the energy to think about what was most important anymore. I just wanted to simplify the funeral arrangements. My son and daughter-in-law were not young anymore, and their bodies couldn't handle it. My grandson had just started working and couldn't take time off easily. I didn't want to leave a bad impression on his boss.
Just as I was thinking, a gust of wind blew from somewhere, blurring my vision. When I opened my eyes, my parents were holding hands, wearing the most familiar smiles on their faces. They were young, with open arms gesturing for me to hug them. I missed them so much, so without hesitation, I jumped off the bed and ran towards them. As I ran, I transformed into a sixty-year-old, fifty-year-old, forty-year-old, thirty-year-old, until I became a three-year-old. They could finally hold me again, and I nodded at them while they nodded back, taking me away with them. I glanced back at my son, daughter-in-law, and grandson. They were holding the seventy-six-year-old me, crying loudly. Although it was hard to let go, it didn't matter. I knew they would still live well.
So, what is most important? Everything is important, but not absolutely necessary.
Because what you once thought was most important will eventually be lost. Regret is always a normal part of life.