Ju Fufu, the ordinary woman who is almost ignored, gently holds the popcorn pot with her fingers, and knocks the lid of the pot, making a series of dull but rapid sounds. This sound is like the rhythm of her life, with a sense of uneasiness and anxiety. The first three hammers are as fast as heartbeats, but the latter gradually drags, as if she is hesitant and fearful about her future.
Her movements around the popcorn pot have a complex beauty, but also a hint of helplessness and cowardice. In this noisy but indifferent world, she is both a performer and a performer. The crackling sound of popcorn bursting is very much like the fragments that have been suppressed for a long time in her heart, broken and unable to be pieced together into a complete self.
Her body is covered with scars, which are like fine embroidery, weaving into an invisible net, trapping her and protecting her. Each wound is a mark of her fate, and a proof of her struggle to survive in this ruthless world. The wound is like her secret. No one knows how many stories are hidden behind it. Those tears and despair can only flow secretly in the dead of night.
She kept hitting with the spatula, as if fighting with the world, trying to knock out a little gentle echo from the hard pot lid. Her assistance was like the last warmth, giving herself and those around her who were also injured a little comfort. Her counterattack was swift and resolute. It was her only self-protection and a silent protest against fate.
When the finishing move broke out, the flames burned in the pot, popcorn splashed, and Ju Fufu was like a phoenix baptized by fire, briefly hot and bright. The firelight reflected on her pale face, revealing a hint of stubbornness, and also revealing her exhaustion that she was unable to hide. Her life was sublimated at this moment, but it was also burned to pieces by the flames.
After the battle, she disappeared in the dim light and shadow, and the pot lid quietly covered the pot. Her story has no grand ending, only the repeated knocking of the pot lid, like the countless ignored details in life, silent and tenacious. Ju Fufu’s popcorn pot is her only way to communicate with the world, and it is her silent accusation of her own fate.
The knocking sound of this popcorn pot reveals a kind of helplessness and struggle in life. Each of us is like Ju Fufu, facing the heavy pot lid, knocking hard, hoping to burst out the sweetness and warmth of life. But the pot lid is cold, cold, and ruthless. Life is so cruel, it makes you harden in constant knocking, and also makes you learn to be strong in constant breaking.
Ju Fufu’s story is a portrayal of those who struggle in the whirlpool of fate. She has no right to choose, she can only use her popcorn pot to knock out her own voice. That sound is not a loud song, but a fragmented sigh, a piece of memory torn and pieced together by life.
She shows us that the beauty and cruelty of life coexist, and love and pain are entangled. Her tenacity is not only a fight back, but also a silent obedience to life. Ju Fufu’s popcorn pot is her armor and her cage.
In the knocking sound of the pot lid, we heard her hope and her loss. It was a complex emotion, just like her life, fresh and fragile, brilliant and dim. Life made her knock continuously, knocking out one drama after another without an audience, only she, playing the leading role alone.
Perhaps, her story is the story of all of us. We are all knocking on our own pot lids, hoping to burst out a little warmth, even if that warmth is fleeting. The cruelty of life and the ruthlessness of fate can never cover up our desire for beauty.
Ju Fufu and her popcorn pot, in the silent night, made those knocks, which are very much like the sound of life deep in our hearts that is constantly struggling but unwilling to give up.