My one-year-old son is a complex and happy thing. In January, it was probably the most melancholic month of the year, with endless time-filling movies that served as an effective emotional outlet. February became a month where I learned to let go. March was a month of renewal, with night runs starting and listening to music and novels, feeling the tranquility of exercise dissipating negative emotions. April wasn't entirely cruel, but it was a season for me to heal through gardening and running. May was short-lived, and life was just as mundane and ordinary. June brought you. In 1993, you introduced me from comics to football's crazy year, and I wondered if you were doing well abroad. Recently, I found your 1994 photo album. This year, however, there was no Barca, not even your beloved Klinsmann wearing US team attire. July's first half was a reversal of black and white. The warm guy began to spread in our circle, but I didn't believe it. Freedom's life is about being spread. August took me far and wide - to the Greater Khingan Mountains, to the North Pole Village, and back to Guilin. After that, I knew that besides strength, there was no other choice. September, thank you for accompanying me through this special time.