here are roughly two types of personalities in this world: the proactive and the reactive.
I consider myself a classic proactive type. When I see something I want, I find a way to get it. As a kid, if I fancied a pair of sneakers, I'd actively work towards them. Growing up, if I liked a boy, I'd make the first move. Even rejection never led to regret. I probably inherited this from my mom, who often says, "You miss 100% of the shots you don't take." She's the epitome of a proactive person.
Consequently, I never need urging or reminders. I spontaneously take care of what needs doing.
Reactive people, on the other hand, only act when prompted. If they obey instructions, they're at least tractable, but still reactive. Many won't even cooperate when asked. Such individuals are utterly unsuitable as partners, especially now.
When survival becomes paramount, a proactive nature holds a clear advantage.
Reactive folks likely face slim chances. No one can perpetually look after them; protecting oneself is challenge enough.
Folks, pause for a moment. Ask yourself: are you proactive or reactive?
I've always believed reactive people lack fortitude. They don't understand perseverance, surrender easily, and never truly strive. What a lamentable way to live.
Reflecting on willpower, my most uncontrolled period was late 2009. I became obsessed with a social farming game, spending over ten hours daily glued to the screen, meticulously tracking and even stealing virtual crops. I'd set pre-dawn alarms to harvest, fueled by coffee. My mom quipped that if I'd applied that drive to my college entrance exams, I could have gotten into any university!
That state exemplified weak willpower—pouring immense energy into something utterly meaningless. It was foolish, ridiculous, a profound waste of time and life! In retrospect, it seems incredibly pathetic.
Of course, I've also demonstrated formidable willpower. Training in Taekwondo meant enduring painful stretches and grueling, sweat-drenched sessions. But what I'm most proud of is resisting the daily temptation of post-work gatherings with friends for food and fun, instead faithfully reporting to the dojang. Those who persist are often students with minimal social obligations; most working adults drop out. I was among the few adults who persisted for six years, earning a black belt.
Dawn broke, but a white haze blanketed the world outside. The eerie fog had enveloped the city once more.
But no matter how bizarre the world becomes, I refuse to succumb to despair. As long as there's a single second of survival opportunity, I will secure it for my family.
With visibility so poor, we convened and decided to stand down for the day.
If the sun broke through later, dispersing the fog, we'd reconsider venturing out.
The sun emerged! Its rays gradually burned away the smog, greatly improving visibility.
Preparations began for the trip to the auto parts city. It wasn't far from our compound, just a couple of bus stops away.
Entering the garage, I felt an indefinable unease.
It crystallized at the garage entrance: the main door had been repaired! The small square guard booth stood empty, but the door now required a key card to open automatically.
The property management was impressively efficient! When did they fix this yesterday?
As I marveled, Little Wang, sharing my car, said, "What's so strange? Didn't you know the property boss's entire family lives in our compound?"
So that was it! The mystery solved. The boss was simply ensuring his own survival. No wonder the heating was so robust—he was weathering this storm with us! Of course he'd arrange everything meticulously. Safety was the priority.
His ability to mobilize staff amidst this chaos commanded immense respect. I'd like to thank him personally if given the chance.
"Do you know which building he's in?" I asked, curious.
"Building 6, Unit 3. The large apartment building. He owns both units on the 15th floor—one for him and his wife, the other for his two sons," Wang said matter-of-factly. My usual disregard for gossip had left me clueless.
"He must be living comfortably! Maybe we should pay him a visit someday?" My curiosity was piqued. I wanted to see the man who managed operations from his home.
"Haha, sure. We'll go with you if you want," Wang replied, his mood noticeably lighter lately. He seemed to be moving past the pain of losing his wife.
"The boss is a bit of a legend. Known in certain circles as 'Sixth Brother.' Rumor has it he's been married six times! But each divorce was handled amicably; no bad blood with any ex-wife. Don't know how he managed that!" Wang was a fount of knowledge, stoking my curiosity further.
"A nickname like that? Was he involved in organized crime?"
"Rumor says he started as a small-time enforcer. Built himself up to this. A man with such achievements can't call his life wasted.不像我," Wang sighed, surprisingly regretful, "just a minor civil servant, plain and ordinary!"
"Could you be any less grateful? We're hoping our Shuai Shuai becomes a civil servant! Everyone knows it's a coveted job—good benefits, stability. Really!" I expressed my annoyance.
"That depends on the position. My base salary is barely over two thousand a month. Believe it? With all extras, it's under four thousand. The office politics are suffocating. Monthly 'contributions' for colleagues' red envelopes are mandatory. We even have to regularly 'offer tribute' to our superiors to avoid trouble. The constant bowing, scraping, and sycophancy—I've long been sick of it! But what choice is there? To have authority, you need connections. And me? I have none..." Wang slammed the steering wheel, venting his frustration.
I was taken aback. It seems unless you're in the system, you can't understand a civil servant's woes. The environment he described sounded utterly draining. As a small business owner with no bosses to appease, I just focus on my trade. I've never dealt with such complex politics. I'm clearly unsuited for public sector work!
"But now," Wang snorted, "just let me run into my boss on the street! If he's alive, fine. If he's turned, nobody better fight me for him!" He laughed with grim satisfaction.
"Nobody will contest you for zombie kills. Getting splattered with rotten gunk turns my stomach! That's why I stick to my long blade!" I touched the knife on my back, sharpened by my husband yesterday—it would surely serve me well today.
The main road was cluttered with abandoned vehicles. We navigated gaps or drove onto spacious sidewalks. Bin City never had excessive private cars. On the outbreak day, a Sunday, many official vehicles were restricted from private use, compounded by the thick morning smog deterring unnecessary travel. Thus, the streets weren't gridlocked. Cars were abandoned haphazardly, mostly empty. A few drivers had turned, trapped by their seatbelts, struggling helplessly as we passed. The occasional zombie lurched between cars, but we were gone before they registered our presence.