The World Halted, One Journey Unbroken - Chapter 2

##Part One: The Dream Was Put on Pause

That year, what occupied my mind was simple: register, crowdfund, book the flight ticket, arrange to meet Chen at the designated place—and we would go to Dunhuang together for the desert trek.

I planned that when I first set foot on the mysterious land of Northwest Gansu, I would see the Crescent Moon Spring, admire the murals inside the Mogao Caves—those images I had only seen in textbooks would finally appear before my eyes in reality.

But suddenly, the world stopped moving.

China went into lockdown.

Then Malaysia went into lockdown.

Then every country in the world followed.

All flights were cancelled overnight.

Borders were sealed.

Cities fell into silence.

The sand and dust were blown back to their origin, as if fate itself had set up a wall before my feet.

Even sunlight seemed trapped inside a glass jar.

I circled “next summer” on the calendar, then crossed it out again and again.

The dream didn’t shatter—it was simply frozen under the ice of time, waiting to be awakened again.

I told myself: some roads can only be walked by holding on to faith.

## Part Two: Every Road Led Nowhere

That was the first time in human history we truly experienced a world where all roads led nowhere, a world where every door was locked.

Each door, once open to possibilities, was suddenly shut tight.

The streets were empty.

The supermarket shelves were bare.

All paths that led to distant places were sealed off.

I leaned by the window, watching the wind, but the wind could not take away my restlessness.

Every day, people waited as if for judgment, not knowing when they would be “released.”

The desert of Dunhuang was so close on the map, yet it felt blocked by a transparent wall that separated it from my heart.

## Part Three: The Traveler Trapped at Home

My body was confined within a room, but my heart had walked a thousand miles across the Gobi Desert.

During every Dunhuang 108-kilometer trekking competition, Chen was always there, a regular figure on the desert track.

Every May and October, he sent me pictures of the vast Gobi scenery.

Even though the pandemic raged on, the competition within China never stopped.

Back in May 2019, I couldn’t join the Dunhuang trek because I was helping my senior organize an African business conference in Beijing.

I thought I could postpone the journey until May 2020—but that delay stretched into five years.

Sometimes I would stare at the twilight outside the window, as if I could hear the sound of camel bells echoing from Dunhuang through the wind.

At that moment I understood: traveling is not only the distance of the feet—it is the movement of the heart.

The world had locked me in, but it could not lock away a soul that was still walking.

## Part Four: The World Grew Smaller, and Hearts Grew Lonelier

The world was reduced to a table, a window, a screen.

The voices of friends came fragmented through unstable connections; social media feeds turned quiet; many people disappeared silently from daily life.

The pandemic shrank the Earth into a single room.

Giant corporations went bankrupt, and once-vibrant cities turned desolate.

In those years, we all practiced “how to be alone,” and also learned “how not to collapse.”

Sometimes I sat in the dark, listening to my own breathing, and heard my heart whisper: “Will this storm ever end?”

Survival became a test.

Each person breathed within their own small cage, each without an answer.

The only choice left was to breathe—quietly, steadily—as if normalcy itself were an act of courage.

## Part Five: Anxiety, Sleepless Nights, Restart, and Self-Rescue

On certain nights, I woke at three in the morning, my chest heavy as if pressed by a stone.

Anxiety, fear, and loneliness came to visit all at once—and I had no choice but to live with them.

Later, I began to write again, to record my dreams, to meditate, to recover my rhythm inch by inch.

At some point, I came to realize: no matter what happens, the whole world can stop, yet the Earth will keep turning.

I learned to befriend helplessness, and to light a small lamp in the darkness—one that wasn’t bright, but enough to see the direction of tomorrow.

## Part Six: The Years That Were Taken Away

Five years—neither long nor short—were enough to change a person.

Missed journeys, scattered friends, unsaid farewells—all sank to the bottom of time’s river.

I lost many things, yet I gained depth.

Those days taught me that life doesn’t always move forward; sometimes we must learn to take root where we stand.

When the world pressed the pause button, I learned to converse with myself.

It was both suffering and a gift.

## Part Seven: The Trial of Fate

Gradually, I understood—fate never allows one to reach the “sacred place” of the heart too easily.

I felt anxious, depressed, even questioning the meaning of life itself.

Fate must first confirm: Do you truly desire it?

The pandemic was like a long sandstorm—blowing away restlessness and leaving only the bare truth of one’s heart.

Only those who did not give up were worthy of walking again.

Those five years of stagnation were both trial and grace.

When I look back, I no longer see lockdowns—I see alchemy:

Fate used loneliness, waiting, and fear to forge a version of me that is both stronger and gentler.

## Part Eight: The Distant Land Never Gave Up on Me

One day, Chen sent me a photo—of the desert, where darkness was giving way to the sunrise.

In that instant, I felt as if the desert itself was whispering to me: “I’m still here, waiting for you.”

Fate never truly works against us—it merely delays the most important encounters.

I began packing my bag again, training my body, and restoring the heart that once grew toward the sun.

The distance remained far, yet I was no longer anxious—because I knew, the road was still there.

## Part Nine: Setting Out Again After Five Years

When national borders finally reopened and the three-year pandemic came to an end,

on April 1, 2023, Malaysia officially lifted all restrictions.

The Dunhuang trek was scheduled for May, but the visa application could not be completed in time, so I postponed it again—one more year, making a total of five.

In May 2024, the wind was hot, yet my heart was unusually calm.

Carrying five years of dust and reflection, I set out once more.

The world remained imperfect, but I was ready to embrace it with peace.

Each step felt like a declaration to fate: I am stronger now, more certain, more alive. Dunhuang, I am coming!

## Part Ten: A Letter to the Survivors

To all who endured those three dark years—

we have all been trapped, sleepless, doubtful, yet we survived.

Survival itself is a kind of glory.

So please, smile at every sunrise.

Be grateful for every breath.

We did not endure those three years in vain—

because when the world paused, we learned what it truly means to keep living.

To be alive—is to have already won.