After Reading“The first of the line is tied to a tree, and the last is being eaten by ants.”
This haunting prophecy marks the beginning and the end of the Buendía family. But how are we to truly view this lineage? Across seven generations, the Buendías were a collection of remarkable souls: some were master craftsmen, some possessed an insatiable thirst for knowledge; others were shrewd, brave, or untiringly industrious. They carried a certain magnetic vitality—a fierce gaze and an unyielding spirit—that allowed them to conquer both battlefields and the hearts of formidable women. On the surface, the family seemed invincible. Yet, their entire existence spanned a mere century before the biblical wind swept them away, erasing their descendants and their memories from the face of the earth. Curiously, as a reader, I felt no urge to mourn. There was no room for regret.
When I look back on my time spent with One Hundred Years of Solitude, I don’t recall any spikes of intense excitement or crushing sorrow. Instead, the words flowed over me like a calm stream. Even the dizzying family tree, the blurring lines between reality and myth, and the unfamiliar history of a distant land didn’t disrupt my rhythm. I accepted it all as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I remember sitting still for hours, turning page after page in a trance-like state—much like waking up from a nap on a hazy summer afternoon, watching the clock tick away while lying on the cool floor. I wasn’t waiting for anything; I was simply there. Paradoxically, reading this story—which is by no means a comedy—brought me a sense of tranquil joy. It was the kind of smile you have when you realize that although old age and death are inevitable, the sunlight on your face feels wonderful right now.
In a way, this is a book devoid of traditional “romance,” yet it is profoundly romantic. Every character is engaged in a singular, desperate struggle against solitude. Whether through starting revolutions, endless gold-smithing, losing oneself in lust, or the solitary task of translating ancient manuscripts—these are all human ways of resisting the void. If a clever marketer were to rebrand this masterpiece as a self-help book titled 100 Effective Ways to Combat Loneliness, printed in large fonts with wide margins and placed atop the bestseller lists, I suspect it would outsell Gabriel García Márquez’s original many times over.
We often hear people complain that “loneliness is an epidemic” in the modern city. But the truth is, life never exists apart from solitude. From the moment we are born, as we grow, fall in love, succeed, or fail, solitude follows us like a shadow. It is always there in the corner, occasionally stepping out to remind us of its presence with a dry joke that leaves us speechless.
Sunlight comes with rain; love comes with solitude. It is nothing to be afraid of. Why exhaust ourselves trying to “defeat” it? Writing a book, making love, traveling to distant lands, or pursuing wealth—these are all beautiful experiences, but they shouldn’t be used as weapons to fight solitude. We shouldn’t sacrifice these experiences as mere pawns in a war we cannot win. Solitude cannot be defeated, nor can it be forgotten. It doesn’t grow frail with time, and it doesn’t thin out just because you surround yourself with more lovers. It is simply here—steady, unmoving, occasionally witty in its own cold way.
So, what should we do when solitude appears? Perhaps we should just laugh along with it. If you think about it, solitude isn’t a cruel enemy. It has been our most loyal companion since childhood and will stay with us until death. It reminds us to cherish the present and urges us to experience life to the fullest. It keeps us sober in success and grants us a calm smile in failure. It makes me feel that many things are worth striving for, yet nothing is such a big deal that it should break us.
There are things that no one can feel for you, replace for you, or take from you—and solitude is one of them. It is etched into my bones and flows in my blood. Sometimes it makes me live passionately; other times, it leaves me quiet and helpless. But I am glad I have learned to accept it. It is in my moments of solitude that I truly know who I am.
To me, “romance” is the courage to accept and enjoy an unchangeable outcome. It is the bravery to fight a beautiful war that you know is already lost. It means being devoted in heart and mind while never losing sight of yourself.
Allow me to introduce the friend who has been teaching me this art of romance: its name is Solitude.
