The main advantages of “planning” in your life journey

"The Diary of Eighteen" Work Introduction: "The Diary of Eighteen" is nearly 100,000 words long and describes the transformation of all children transitioning into adulthood in terms of their thoughts and ways of thinking in a personal autobiographical format.

Work Introduction: "The Diary of Eighteen" is nearly 100,000 words long and describes the transformation of all children transitioning into adulthood in terms of their thoughts and ways of thinking in a personal autobiographical format.

Now, there are nearly two months until I turn 21, and it has been almost three years since the first piece at the beginning of the work. Some say: Our current situation and circumstances are the result of our wishes from three years ago and the efforts and choices made in the past three years. As for what happened to me in those three years, what I experienced, I can hardly recall now, but I still remember every Sunday afternoon three years ago, as described in the "Final Chapter" of the work:

"It is now May 31, 2015. I started writing in late autumn, as the surrounding environment began to wither. I hid in the corner of the classroom, usually writing only a few words in an afternoon. I would open my notebook, lower my head and think for a long time. Sometimes I would look up and see the sky outside the window, glowing red from the sunset, and I would be lost in thought, write a little, and then be lost in thought again. Thus, I had the first page, the second page, the third page... I don't even know what I wrote? At first, I wanted to write essays, then I started to express myself, and finally it completely resembled a diary, but more like an immature child trying to show a mature side of myself while not wanting to be discovered by others."

I am not a professional writer or novelist, but I can easily express my current inner state; I am inexperienced, have not read many books that I consider meaningful, and what I can write is only the most genuine thoughts and ideas from my heart.

Now, when I occasionally flip through the thin diary, I often think about revising it countless times. If I wanted to embellish this work at this stage, I might describe it in a more touching way; then I slowly realize that all of this is completely unnecessary.

Because being eighteen means being inexperienced, it means that what is written is nonsensical and chaotic, with uneven grammar knowledge. But if readers can stand in the perspective of an eighteen-year-old and spend ten minutes reading the first and last pieces, I believe you will always find an emotion that resonates with you.

"The Diary of Eighteen" records not only my eighteen years but also the youthful years that everyone wishes to return to but cannot...

——Written on August 8, 2017

Preface: Every year is another self

"Take a trip, release an album, hold a concert, shoot a movie, publish a book."

This was a promise I made to my eighteen-year-old self when I was fifteen.

At that time, I always wanted to leave all the best things to be realized after turning eighteen, but when I reached eighteen, I dared not think of anything, and all that was left was a thought: to complete the creation of a new book as much as possible.

This "thought" I don't know when it started, nor do I know when it will end. Perhaps it was the loneliness and depression of being eighteen that made me realize that those words I usually couldn't express could be well articulated on various sheets of paper; or perhaps it was because I heard that every writer's creation happens at night, and I just happen to be someone who is prone to insomnia, which is why I began this similar beginning of creation.

Unfortunately, most of my time at eighteen was spent in my senior year of high school, and I didn't spend much time reading books or planting some seeds worth remembering. Some reasons and some grievances were clearly written in the "Final Chapter" on May 31, 2015, but now, nearly half a year later, I think about many things much more thoroughly than I did back then.

These nonsensical "diaries," I treat them like treasures because they can be considered a small structure and beginning of my great ideals. I don't want to say that my senior year was always filled with this kind of depression; after all, I still feel that I am far from "depression." At most, it is just some inner emotions that cannot be expressed, making me feel troubled.

But sometimes, I do show worries that are different from everyone else. Many people say that only after graduation do they understand nostalgia, but I really don't want to go back to those times.

"Every year is another self" I set this as the theme of this preface. In the second half of 2015, I was always troubled by two questions: one is why I didn't continue studying after graduation; the other is why I always feel like I have disappeared. The former is asked by new friends, while the latter is mostly asked by old classmates from the past.

Delete: Regarding "disappearance," I have imagined countless scenes of myself disappearing and then returning, such as going abroad for further studies for a few years, like Kris Wu and Lu Han suddenly becoming active in the public eye, being pursued by thousands, or going to a place where no one knows me, starting from the bottom and climbing to the top, then suddenly returning, as if I really like this feeling, changing everything in an instant. But these can only exist in my unrealistic fantasies. The reality is: rather than saying "disappear," it is better to say "escape." I am escaping from past people, facts, and even my past self, as if I have no courage to face them again. This is also a hurdle in my heart that I cannot overcome.

So I want to give my past self a deep farewell. I think this is also why I typed so many words in one breath. I hope that more people around me can have a new definition of the self at that time and can give more understanding. I am not indifferent, nor am I heartless.

For me, many people have appeared in the profound diary, so much so that every time I see an entry, I can recall many stories with those people. Unfortunately, I cannot send greetings to them from time to time; I hope I can slowly change, become a better version of myself, and become someone who can let go of the past.

——Written at the end of 2015

(1) Humans are not a particularly noble species (2014.11.08)

Winter is coming, and a long winter is about to begin. The previous summer was really too hard to endure. During the July remedial classes, the ceiling fan in the classroom made it hard to breathe, and I couldn't calm down to read. I thought, "I must start studying seriously in winter." In the blink of an eye, winter has arrived.

In a certain essay last year, I wrote: This winter feels particularly cold without the company of some people. And another year has passed, and it is still cold, and what is even more pitiful is that there is no one to accompany me.

Every time I reach graduation year, I only think about leaving here quickly and forgetting all these memories.

As in the third year of junior high, I always thought about sitting in the window seat of a high school classroom one day, listening to the sound of rain hitting the leaves. After two years, this quiet sound became the reason I wanted to leave, just like the departure two years ago.

Regarding friends and classmates, those unfamiliar have almost been forgotten, and the familiar ones have almost no contact. So many times now, I find that I am not looking for a friend, but rather to find someone of the same gender to say some carefree words, go out to eat, go to the bathroom, just to make myself seem less lonely.

It is difficult to return to the kind of relationships we had in elementary and junior high school. At that time, friends could cry and laugh together, and the opposite sex could write caring notes to each other and ask a good friend to help pass them on.

"Humans are not noble animals" is a true proposition.

We will always discard the old, just like the monkey in the first-grade textbook, seeing corn, discarding sweet potatoes, seeing watermelon, discarding corn, and in the end, getting nothing.

When we were young, we pursued romantic plots like those in idol dramas, but when we realized the reality, we found that the love we pursued was just a fleeting passion.

Believe that what belongs to you will return to you no matter how long it takes, and it is useless to force what does not belong to you.

Ten years ago, I always hoped to become a certain kind of person when I grew up. Now I just hope not to become the person I hated the most when I was young.

(2) Understanding small joys can turn defeat into victory when fighting against time (2014.11.17)

A few days ago, I was inspired by the promotion of the movie "Fleet of Time," so I read the original novel in advance, and my feelings afterward were:

Every touching friendship or love can only appear in novels. In reality, it is difficult for us to find someone who truly resembles ourselves due to our perspectives and attitudes, let alone a lifelong love.

Moreover, I have not yet waited for the shining of youth; it is already on the verge of ending.

Perhaps it is because I currently do not have the ability to see those mundane things as the shining points of my arduous journey, which makes me seem indifferent to the things around me, yet I am extremely eager to gain the attention of everyone around me.

When a person truly grows up, they begin to have their own opinions on many things. But the rarest thing is still the ability to maintain one's own thoughts and inner pride; in the past, I liked Jay Chou's songs and Guo Jingming's books, but now I have started to become infatuated with those classic nostalgic things, such as Leslie Cheung.

(3) Understanding small joys allows one to turn defeat into victory in the battle against time.

It’s evening, the sun is setting, and when I look up, I see the yellowing withered leaves outside the window and the slightly darkening sky—there is sunlight, but it is not that warm.

Unknowingly, late autumn has begun to turn into early winter, and the long-absent fog, frost, and snowflakes are no longer so distant. Any warmth gained by everyone in winter is much more tender and moving than at other times, but I, who am here, have not gained much warmth akin to that of home.

Staying in the same school for more than two years, there have been many moments I wanted to record each year, but they have all been delayed for various reasons. For example: a person running on the playground, awakened in the deep night by the sound of rain... even being awakened at night by an interesting dream, and after waking up hearing the sound of rain, I wanted to record that dream, but thinking about it, I fell asleep again, and when I woke up the next day, I couldn't remember anything...

People are undoubtedly most easily sentimental when they are lonely, but most of a person's thoughts are also derived from loneliness;

Everyone behaves differently when they are lonely. For example, I really enjoy listening to Leslie Cheung's music now. I think I can understand his loneliness; he views loneliness too pessimistically—I won't be like him. Perhaps I gradually realized:

Each person's life is a process of slowly moving from a group to loneliness, and from loneliness to a plain and quiet existence.

Every stage has its specific meaning, and in the end, the only one who can accompany you is yourself; the only one who can understand you is your own heart.

Being able to say this does not mean that I have experienced the vicissitudes of life and the dangers of the world. I have been in this small county for eighteen years, always wanting to say a permanent goodbye and leave, but unfortunately, I still lack the courage. But I can be sure that if one day I really have to say goodbye, my attachment to this place will be very little—just a few people, and the sadness will be minimal.

A few days ago, I spent part of my monthly pocket money at the school's discount bookstore to exchange for a few books. When I wanted to read them seriously, I found it hard to bear.

After turning eighteen, I began to feel ashamed of spending my parents' money on things unrelated to basic living, because every penny they gave me was mixed with countless efforts and sweat.

However, the more I grow up, the more I realize that I am actually very willing to step into the adult world, to think about some issues from an adult's perspective, even though I still often play and joke around with my classmates. I try to hide that little maturity inside and my unwillingness to adapt to this environment because, right now, you can't change anything.

Everyone has countless thoughts in their hearts, and the existence and disappearance of these thoughts, whether to implement them or suppress them, often depend on yourself.

People will experience explosive growth in certain years and gradually take on something called "responsibility."

Three years ago, my childhood friends and I began our different life trajectories. The current outcome is—I am still relying on my parents, while they can now support their parents.

Their life experiences are richer than mine because they can interact with different people at a young age and go to different places, while I am still at school, facing the blackboard, desks, and books—I have to say that I have always admired them in my heart.

Only the happy and the wandering do not care how time stops or moves, because the former enjoys every minute and second of life now, while the latter does not know what they want, and can only let time push them where they stop.

People will experience explosive growth in certain years and gradually take on something called "responsibility." Three years ago, my childhood friends and I began our different life trajectories. The current outcome is—I am still relying on my parents, while they can now support their parents. I have to say that I have always admired them in my heart because they can interact with different people at a young age and go to different places. And I am still at school, facing the blackboard, desks, and books.

(5)

I have many plans for the days to come.

I initially set the age at which I could achieve success at twenty-eight, ten years from now.

By then, I will have a villa that can accommodate my whole family. The villa will have three floors, the first floor reserved for my parents because my mother has health issues and finds it hard to climb stairs; I will equip her with fully automated furniture and the most luxurious decorations, hoping that by that day, she can truly forget the constraints of money and enjoy life.

The second floor will be for my sister's family; by then, her child should be in elementary school, and I will buy him nice clothes, and if possible, I will also buy him a piano and everything I longed for but couldn't have when I was a child.

The third floor will be for me, either alone or with a partner, or maybe with children; I want simple and retro decorations, placing the black-and-white television from my childhood in a prominent position, as it might be the source of all my creative inspiration. I will have a large study with south-facing windows, overlooking a forest or a bamboo grove.

I will put all my cherished memories into a scrapbook and then into a wooden frame; when I am tired, I can rush downstairs immediately, locking the door while working, so no one can disturb me.

I will have enough time to travel alone, to California to see the sea, to the French countryside, and to all the places I can only see in pictures now. —2014,12,01

(6)

After playing basketball and taking a shower, I hurried back to the classroom, where there were only a few people, making it much quieter than usual. Reflecting on the experience of the game made me lose interest in anything at hand.

It stemmed from the fact that during our game, a group of people who could be described as "party crashers" suddenly arrived—a group of people much better than us, and the leader was a very good friend I practiced basketball with in middle school.

He was shorter than me in middle school, and because of his physical condition, his basketball skills were also a bit worse than mine, but due to his sports studies in high school, he ended up being as tall as me, and his physique was much sturdier.

Then he matched up against me, constantly attacking and blocking. However, I kept silently reciting in my heart, "You are no longer the you from before; what is there to argue about in winning or losing?" and then I walked away as if to escape. What was even more frustrating was that we didn't even exchange a word; I always turned my best friends from the past into people who are not even strangers now, and I felt very inferior, and this sense of inferiority grew day by day. —2014,12,13

Growing up, I shouldn't expect to receive any material enjoyment from my parents anymore; I should strive forward so that my descendants won't suffer the hardships I am currently enduring. —2014,12,14

(7).

I have always liked those long-span film and television works, and one that left a deep impression on me is called "Blood Romance," which I encountered when I was a child, but at that time, I couldn't understand the story at all.

Now that I suddenly think of it, I feel it has some profound meaning. I saw how they grew up, how they transitioned from youth to middle age, and how time changed their appearance and inner selves.

In the play, the character played by Sun Li, Zhou Xiaobai, once said: All his (Zhong Yuemin's) experiences in life can serve as his future conversation topics.

Xiaobai deeply loved Yuemin, but in the end, they did not end up together, so all those passions and promises became the burial goods of their youth.

No matter how much one fantasizes and yearns for a beautiful future, and how much effort is put into achieving that future, one ultimately cannot escape the mundane life. All efforts are made to get by.

When young, everyone longs to find a partner of extraordinary talent, but after experiencing the trials of life and reality, one realizes that the best partner is simply someone who knows how to live.

The term "deserving" is very important, for example, dreams and ambitions, abilities and attitudes. One should pursue what suits them; a beggar on the street may admire Lin Chiling, but what good does it do if he marries her? He can’t afford to support her. We are always pursuing the extraordinary, seeking an epic life, but in the end, the best life is simply one that brings peace to the heart. —2014,12,15

I am getting further and further away from my former self; what time has given me; everyone lives humbly, but one day, we will become great because of this humility. Many things are unexpected, and it is precisely because of their suddenness and lack of defense that life is filled with many surprises, joys, and emotions.

Some people rush into your life and then leave in a hurry; some people cannot be retained, and even if some are retained, they will not be yours.

In elementary school, we longed for middle school life; in middle school, we wanted to get to high school quickly; in high school, we spent three years sweating to yearn for four years of university, and after graduation, we spend a lifetime reminiscing about our lost youth. —2014,12,17

One day, we will long for the plain days we have now; we spend a lot of time pursuing the extraordinary, seeking dazzling brilliance, and pursuing a different sky, but in the end, what we gain is merely infinite nostalgia and reminiscence. —2014,12,18

I cannot help but connect my dreams with my family; all ideals are insignificant compared to family; I hope mom, you can wait for your son for another six months, everything will be fine. —2014,12,20

I curse those who think they can get everything with money to end up bankrupt and with nothing; I curse those who are idle all day and do nothing to ultimately gain nothing and live a mediocre life. —2014,12,21

Since I cannot give someone happiness, I should not easily make promises; when you truly like someone, you must weigh whether you are qualified to like her and whether you have the ability to meet all her needs in the future. —2014,12,22 Winter Solstice, TO: ZXY

Everyone is always pursuing things that can give them peace of mind. In childhood, it was parents; in youth, it was companions who could eat together and go home together. And now, the only one who can give me peace of mind is myself; my small heart can only hold myself. I long for the day I can start a family; I like the feeling of being relied upon, I like responsibility, and I like the me who wholeheartedly gives everything. —2014,12,23

Successful people are inherently different from ordinary people; such people are willing to be lonely and endure ridicule. Their inner strength surpasses others, and they can focus on everything they do, regardless of how much doubt and disdain there is from the outside; their hearts remain unchanged. —2014,12,24

Do not put your inner thoughts into the future; do not place too many plans and ideas in the future; do not give too much trust and sincerity to others. You cannot know what will happen in the future; too many plans and intentions will become bubbles. Relying on mountains will collapse, relying on people will run away; the only one who will accompany you to the end is yourself. —2014,12,26

(8)

Opportunities to meet with my father are few, while I see my mother once a month. The three of us are busy with our own things in different places; time moves neither fast nor slow; it will not slow down even slightly because of a touching moment;

When I was always protected by my parents, I did not realize they were aging day by day. Until a few days ago...

My father decided to give up his job because he could not do a heavy job, and my mother kept scolding him, and in the end, they quarreled. I have heard this kind of scene no less than a hundred times; in the past, I would immediately walk away and let them quarrel, but now? I would sternly reprimand them, "If you want to divorce, just go ahead and do it," which I said as I left the scene.

For a moment, I felt that I had really grown up. In the past, I always thought my father was an irresponsible person who did not take good care of my mother's health and did not fulfill the responsibilities of a husband and father.

But now I think that no matter how I blame him, he still raised me to high school and to eighteen. He just provided me with fewer advantages and more grievances and hardships. But now, my blame for him has decreased a lot because what he gave me could only go this far; the rest of the road can only be walked by myself.

I set my independence at nineteen, which is nearly six months from now. I will start to look for a life that belongs to me, although I am still unclear about what "belonging to me" means.

Perhaps at that time I will be far away from them, or perhaps I will be with them, watching them grow old little by little.

I will become a working-class person, wearing a uniform on the bustling streets, just like most young people; I will have no chance to go to Starbucks or buy luxury goods. But I want to work hard, hoping that one day, my mother will no longer have to use money to measure her mood, and she can also live a wealthy life; my father will not have to work so hard, and when he is tired, he can rest. More importantly, I hope to create good conditions for my next generation so they do not have to experience the inexplicable setbacks I have gone through...

These can be both ordinary and great. —2014,12,28 "I don't want to make a living; I want to live."

Life will not disappoint anyone; every unpleasant thing that appears will always be followed by something that makes you feel good. On the road of life, it is not necessary to be smooth sailing, nor is it necessary to have ups and downs, great joys, and sorrows. As San Mao once said: Do not seek profundity, but seek simplicity. I do not want too many people to appear in my life because I cannot store them; I do not want too many new things to flood my eyes because the system cannot keep up with the updates. If I spend time pleasing a new friend, I would rather spend that time consolidating my feelings with old friends.

Many days ago, I found that my life had entered a leisurely state; I have not read a new book, met a new friend, watched any new movies, or listened to any good music. I feel that a somewhat interesting life is getting further and further away from me, or perhaps it has long since disappeared...

Last night, I had a late-night snack with former classmates. I think I will no longer be a pretentious person, but my heart is easily moved. I do not have many past events worth recalling, but I care about every little detail and collect them. Last night, the campus was very quiet, and in my mind, it has never been so bright, reminding me of countless bright nights in middle school... The night is beautiful, and memories are also beautiful. —2014,12,29 "This Little Thing Called Life"

(9) A sunny December 31:

No matter how memorable the past is, life is just life, and growth is ultimately growth. We will be forgotten, praised, remembered, and moved... No matter what, we will eventually sail into our 2015.

The dream has awakened, and then the fog is thick; this is my description of the morning. December 31 is actually no different, but I will still remember it carefully, and every December 31 in the future, I will have a premonition: no matter how terrible the weather in December is, as long as it is the 31st, it will be sunny and clear.

Last year's January 1 was spent in school; there were many fireworks on the night of the 31st. I sat in the classroom of the second year of high school, watching many classmates lean on the windows. Then this year, I am at home, sitting next to the TV, watching the New Year's Eve concert broadcasted by many satellite TV stations, feeling bored for the first time with such programs, it was very plain, and just like that, a year has passed.

In 2014, I transferred from Class 22 to Class 16. During this time, I learned how to adapt to a new environment and how to change my mindset. Those people and things I once hated have now become acceptable. For those we cannot accept, we should try to understand them and learn to let go. —2014,12,31 "My 2014"

Not every day is worth spending with sincerity. —2014,01,03

(10)

The journey from the classroom to the dormitory is a long straight path, with dark streetlights on both sides. Evening self-study ends at 9:30, but due to taking care of some classmates who want to study a little longer, the lights-out time is delayed by 30 minutes, to be precise at 10 o'clock.

This is particularly suitable for young couples in school, but the number of students who can hold hands with their lovers in the dark is still few; most students will still come down from different floors and flood onto this long path. The dormitory is much more comfortable than the classroom.

I am one of the few who did not hold hands with a lover and was willing to leave only at lights out at ten o'clock. It is not that I love studying so much, but because the moment the class bell rings is the noisiest time.

If you walk back to the dormitory at a normal pace, it takes ten minutes; if too many classmates are together, it can take 15 to 20 minutes depending on the crowd.

And at that time, I started to become a person who likes quiet. In nearly three years of this time, I have walked through countless nights like this, enjoying the rare sense of relaxation that this distance brings me, but sometimes I can't help but fear: will I always walk down this "one-way street"?

I forgot when it started, but whenever I look around or look up at the distance, a girl keeps appearing in front of me.

Most of the time, she is also alone, occasionally with a friend, but rarely do I see her in a crowd. Because of a long corridor, there are only a few people scattered around.

She has straight long hair tied in a ponytail, tall and thin, as if she could be blown away by a gust of wind; not outstanding, but easily memorable among the generally plain boarding students; so I unknowingly remembered her after seeing her a few times.

As long as you pay a little attention, you can easily learn about a classmate. She studies liberal arts, and her classroom is on the third floor—our classroom is the leftmost one on the upper floor. The teaching building for the third year has two circular corridors, and our classroom is located closest to the east (west) corridor.

Due to the principle of proximity, if she wants to move downstairs, she will definitely pass through this corridor.

And fortunately, during that time, I was sitting near the window in the classroom, so I could immediately notice any situation outside.

She does not necessarily leave the classroom only after the lights go out; sometimes when I happen to see her going downstairs, I will slowly follow her. Sometimes I would wait in the corridor, and when I saw her coming down from the third-floor corridor, I would deliberately slow down.

I thought maybe she would come over and gently tap me. However, no, every time we just walked past each other... I think we have had many direct eye contacts, such as when we both looked around while walking back to the dormitory, and also when I just stepped out of the classroom and looked up, she happened to be looking down from the corridor, but we have never said "Hi, what a coincidence" or smiled at each other.

Perhaps I can accurately perceive a hint of the same emotion in her eyes because whenever we make eye contact, it always stops for 0.5 seconds.

This kind of "reading eyes" ability in my naive years can be said to be a very narcissistic and rare skill. But most of the time, what I can see is often an illusion that is much deeper than their own emotions. Perhaps this is the reason for the many disappointments I have faced, including that girl.

Every time I walk past her, I imagine countless scenarios of encounters,

"Hey, it seems like I see you every day,"

"Can we be friends?" "Do you like running?"

"I have a basketball game next Monday; can you come and watch?"

Thinking about it, I look up and see her, but the result is that I silently lower my head, the reason being my inner inferiority and timidity. I don't know if she has the same feelings or if it's just an illusion.

So every time I want something but cannot get it, I gradually let go of that feeling because no matter how much I struggle inside, I still cannot make such a move. I simply extinguished that impulse.

And when I truly extinguished that impulse, she rarely had the chance to walk in front of me again, even after evening self-study, I would still sneak a few more glances at the stairs.

When the scenes in dreams truly appear in our real lives, we often become timid: it is because we think too much:

Is he my prince?

Is she my princess?

If I take the initiative, will he like me?

In the midst of countless such thoughts and doubts, lucky time just slips away. Then I regret deeply in my heart, how wonderful it would be if that story really happened to me.

—2015,01,05 "Lonely Years"

We cannot predict what will happen in the future; life is meaningful because of its unknowns and incomprehensibility. Behind every bit of pain, discomfort, and sadness, there are actually clues leading to joy. Do not be happy because of material things, nor be sad because of oneself. Believe in your own efforts and sincerity; as long as you give, there will always be rewards. —2015,01,07

Some people you miss, you just miss; no matter how much you demand, it is useless. I have you in my heart; during a certain encounter or when our eyes meet, I quietly gaze at you, longing for that moment, even if only for a second, when your eyes are also looking at me, as if in this whole world, only you and I exist. But the result is that you look at the sky while I look at you. —2015,01,11 "To the Girl in My Dreams, Liu HY"

I will think of "The Secret That Cannot Be Said" during countless moments of daydreaming, remembering Lu Xiaoyu. Ten years is a long time; from the first time I saw this film until now, it has already been eight years. Songs from ten years ago, like "Fairy Tale" and "Lilac Flower," I thought that as time passed, no matter how beautiful the song or how sad the story and scene, they would all be erased from my mind. But they haven't; they touched the most innocent feelings of my youth, and they will always exist. The first decade is regrettable; I hope that no matter how many decades later, any beautiful thing will always remain beautiful. —2015,01,12

For a long time, I have been pretending to be mature, disguising my loneliness, but as I pretended, I unexpectedly matured. Life is like a play; some people strive to perform this play perfectly, trying to shape themselves into something perfect, standing out from the crowd. Observers watching the play cannot distinguish between what is hypocritical and what is real, so hypocritical people become real and perfect people. We should all learn to disguise, to cover a timid and weak heart; as long as you perform convincingly enough, any missing parts can become real. —2015,01,13

People should not place too much hope in themselves; during the process of growth, you will encounter many sarcastic remarks, and after being hit by setbacks, your hopes will instantly drop to zero, leading to less and less confidence, and then you start to feel inferior, treating yourself as an ordinary person, or even not being an ordinary person. For the ridicule of others, you can only make yourself better. —2015,01,14

We cannot see far ahead, exploring the road step by step; do not think your dreams are so great; dreams are just dreams; they cannot be realized. Every day we see countless examples of dreams coming true, but those are exceptions; most people still need to live a mediocre life. We spend our entire youth, even our entire lives, pursuing that shameful dream, which is so great that we never consider whether those efforts are worth it. —2015,01,15

Nothing is determined by oneself; in a person's life, there will be countless choices. Some choices can be related, but most choices will never intersect. —2015,01,16

Do not treat everyone as your imaginary enemy; not many people will oppose you every day. When making mistakes, learn to find the reason within yourself, rather than blaming those around you or the environment. You may not be understood by others, but you must never let others dislike you. You can detach from the crowd, but you must never be alienated by the crowd. —2015,01,19

you are always everything to me! —2015,01,20

At that time, we had dreams about literature, about love, about traveling around the world. Now we drink late at night, and the sound of our glasses clinking together is the sound of shattered dreams. —2015,01,23 Bei Dao "The Polish Guest"

Never overestimate yourself; do not think you are so important. For everyone, there is no such thing as someone indispensable. There is no one person; we can all continue to live because countless people will come to replace him or her. —2015,01,26

Everything has changed from what it was at first; we grow while losing, mature while hesitating. As a child, I looked forward to growing up because I always thought the road was already paved for us. When I slowly understand the hardships of life, knowing that the future can only be walked by myself, I am terrified. Who can know what the future will be like? It is also hard to imagine what it will be like in ten or twenty years. Some things have long been predetermined, while others are waiting for us to pursue them. In times of disappointment, think of your family; they are slowly aging and will need your care in the future. In times of success, also think of the whole family, with someone earning the lowest salary doing the hardest work. —2015,01,28

I am far from you; I have nothing to say to you, but I am here, and I know you are there. —2015,01,29 Milan Kundera

I will strive to become the person you will regret not cherishing when you meet me in the future. —2015,01,29

At this time, we measure time by exams; once we finish the remaining exams and exercises, we will graduate. When we rotate seats again, it will be the last time we sit in this position in our lives. After playing basketball again on Saturday afternoons, after thirteen times, we will graduate. After walking every stretch of the night road and persisting for 120 days, we will graduate. After finishing this collection of essays, these times will never come back. —2015,01,30

Put a calendar on the desk, and after each day, cross it out. Not every day is so meaningful; not every day has something particularly worth remembering. In the end, I realized that the most important thing today is actually to cross out this day. Not every day must be spent wholeheartedly, just as not every person can exchange for your sincerity. —2015,01,31

Life is like a play; after watching too many stories of others, it is inevitable to bring them to your own stage. —2015,02,04

In school, there are countless great dreams, but at home, I am just a child with nothing. The dreams that can withstand the most ridicule disappear the fastest; we always care too much about others' opinions. When we reach halfway, we may slowly doubt whether we are doing the right thing because of someone else's words. There is no need to be like this; if you want to succeed in something, then hold on to the attitude of never looking back. —2015,02,08

Many things often happen unintentionally: discovering that you have fallen for someone, realizing that you have walked a long way in life, and unintentionally hurting someone's heart... Every day that has passed becomes forever the past. Not everyone knows that you treat them with sincerity, nor does every person you treat sincerely treat you sincerely in return. —2015,02,09

(12) My sister is getting married

Rewinding time a bit, I never thought that you, who are not yet 22, would already start being a wife and a mother. They say time is a knife that slaughters pigs, and that is really not an exaggeration.

It is hard to imagine, and I still haven't recovered from it...

I do not know what it feels like to be you at 21?

At this age, you have lost a lot of time to strive like other peers; others spend a lot of time working hard for their careers, laboring; for love, they toss and turn, drinking endless coffee and doing endless work.

But you already have a son, bearing the burden of "family" too early. I have to say that at this time, you seem no different from a rural woman in my eyes.

You have lost a lot to your peers; you see the people who grew up with us, they have already started to enter society, while you no longer have such opportunities; you may not even have the chance to strive.

I have always felt that we have lost to others a lot; first, we were born in the countryside, and second, the family. I have always been pursuing, pursuing various things different from rural people, thoughts? Or behavior? I used to think that this family had to rely on both of us to escape the countryside and get rid of poverty, but unfortunately, I had not even started before it ended.

I have come of age; I can no longer say any meaningless empty words. Before this, I said I would treat my mother’s illness, buy a diamond ring, and buy a big house, but now it seems so unrealistic. Even so, I still have a dream that can be called supreme, which is that I want to be a writer, a writer who can earn a living from writing. I want to use my first manuscript fee to start a business; you must think I am naive and that it is impossible. Because in the interpersonal relationships we can reach, writers are too rare. That is why I call it "supreme," impossible to achieve. But really, until now, I do not even know where to find the shadow of this dream.

The life in high school is not as tiring as imagined; perhaps the surrounding environment makes me feel no pressure from the college entrance examination at all, or perhaps my heart is a bit open. Let’s say I have basically given up on the dream of university for many reasons. First, I am too poor to get into my ideal university; you might say, "You can work hard; there are still more than a hundred days left!" I want to answer that in this dark world, if you take one wrong step, it means you will continue to go wrong. I am unwilling to go to a second-tier university or even one that is not a second-tier university, and then come out still aimlessly looking for a job. How much time do I have to waste?

Second, my mother, have you ever tried being at home alone with no one to talk to, no one to accompany you? No. My mother’s illness is slowly worsening every day; I do not want to wait until she can no longer walk and is disabled before repaying her kindness. She is a typical rural woman who has never been to a real big city, has never been to amusement parks, zoos, brand stores, beauty salons... a series of luxurious places. She always thinks she does not deserve these luxurious places. When you were in high school, she worried about your tuition every day; when I was in high school, she was always anxious about my living expenses. I feel that if a woman lives like this for a lifetime, it is really pitiful. Maybe in the future, I cannot improve anything, but at least having someone accompany her is better than having no one. As for my father, I do not know what words to use to describe him, nor do I want to evaluate him too much. But it is certain that he will never take good care of my mother; he only knows how to take care of himself.

Three, I like to work. I have studied for twelve years and lived in school for seven years; I want to escape this state every moment. I want to try a different life, even knowing the outcome in more than a hundred days, but during this time, I have not fallen into anything; I have been working hard. It’s just that while others are working hard for university day and night, I have already seen through a lot. I have started trying to write novels, essays, and other things. At the same time, I am also afraid of the day I truly graduate, the moment I really go to find a job, I will know nothing and will be destined to work at the bottom of the factory for a long time. But I do not want to just be like this; I want to have a relatively decent job, want to become a rich person, and truly become a member of the upper class.

Throughout high school, I felt inferior. I do not know if you have ever felt this way, that no matter how many expensive clothes you wear or how extravagant you spend every day, that sense of psychological satisfaction has never existed. For a while, I really suffered from depression. Every day I thought, why isn’t my home in the city? Why can’t I go home every day to eat my mother’s cooking, and learn piano and instruments like other classmates... But after thinking for a long time, I finally let go a bit. Yes, fate is destined to be like this; no matter how much you struggle, it cannot be changed. What we get from our parents is only this much; they do not owe us anything.

The older I get, the harder it is to find someone to speak the truth to. Everyone is pretending, living with different masks. The world is cold; at such times, the thing I miss the most is my childhood, the carefree childhood that has long passed.

I hope you can give your son a childhood different from ours, educate him well, and do not let him suffer the hardships we once endured. This is the only chip you have that does not lose to your peers. As for my brother-in-law, I want to say the same thing, hoping he can fulfill his responsibilities as a husband and father. Finally, I want to say: choose a way of life, and then live an irreplaceable life. —2015,02,08 "To My Sister"

At that time, we liked to use "finally" when we spoke, like finally having a holiday, finally graduating, finally leaving here, finally celebrating the New Year, as if any farewell was a kind of relief. In the end, we discovered that those self-righteous feelings of relief were the most memorable things. Nothing will wait for you, just like all the songs end and people disperse, and part ways. In the end, what is regrettable is not the separation, but not having a proper farewell with those. —2015,02,10

In this era, everything is difficult to operate as you imagine. There is unfairness and inequality, which leads to differences; with differences comes jealousy, and with jealousy comes desperation and revenge... For things or people we cannot stand, we will curse in our hearts, but you should be clear in your heart that you can never dominate them. —2015,02,11

There are many things in life that you hope to obtain; perhaps it is a romantic plot in a certain story, or perhaps it is a chance encounter like that of a prince and Cinderella. We desperately pursue them, thinking they are fictional and cannot exist. But that is not the case; they have always existed; it is just that as we grow up, we no longer want to discover these things.

I have never thought about what eternity is, nor have I ever desired something for a lifetime. We meet countless people or things in our lives, and they shape who we are. Everyone has different tastes and feelings at different stages of life. The person who accompanies him when he is cynical often becomes a lifelong companion. —A meaningful day, wishing my sister a happy wedding! —2015,02,14

I am a dreamer; I am even a fantasist. I have no qualifications or ability to manage my dreams, nor do I understand what life is. How did I play around for 19 years? How many people remember me? How many people remember me? We once had countless partners, but as we grow older, this concept becomes more and more blurred. I cannot find different people, nor can I find someone who understands me. Time is ruthless, hastily sending away a large number of people. I will not remember you, but I will miss you. —2015,02,19

Fireworks came, a brief moment, yet possessing extreme beauty. I was on the second floor, looking at the silent night outside. At that moment, I felt the room was very large, and I felt someone hugging me from behind. The room was filled with sad and quiet music; sometimes it felt suffocating, but at times, I still felt it was beautiful, very beautiful. —2015,02,20

We should not be lonely; first, we should work hard for ourselves. —2015,02,21

Any promise is pale in the face of time; a person without a future finds it hard to imagine being loyal to love. —2015,02,21

(13)

Thus, a year passed in a hurry. Fortunately, within three years, I spent three different Spring Festivals in three different houses.

At this time three years ago, I was still living in a tile-roofed house, which was the place I had lived the longest since childhood, having experienced several generations of my grandparents. The light in that house was dim yellow, and interestingly, the room where we ate was where my grandmother lived before she passed away. The walls around were made of earth, and the ground was also dirt. If it rained or if some water spilled on the ground, the mud would stick to the shoes, and the hanging paper on the walls was also in a terrible state, with the white stuff on top falling off at any touch. My sister and I slept in the same room, which had always been the case since childhood; I just don't know when it changed from one bed to two beds. We had the most primitive way of living, which was to eat and sleep, wake up and eat again. In the dark room, I would put my phone in, and messages could not be sent out.

Perhaps after leaving there, it may sound exaggerated, but it is undeniable that it was very lively there in my childhood. There was a row of evergreen plants in front of the door, and across a big road was our row of houses. I spent the first ten years of my life in such an environment, and the two families next door had my best childhood friends. Every New Year’s Eve, we would buy a toy gun or a few, and usually, right after the New Year, we would all break them without fail. On the afternoon of the 30th, we would take a bath, change into new clothes and shoes, and then take our respective toy guns to compare shooting skills. We would run and jump! Often, after ten minutes, the new clothes would be almost as dirty as the old ones. At that time, we did not have much exposure to or experience with many things; we would never know what face was. So we lived according to the most enjoyable way of life.

At that time, I seemed particularly satisfied; my requirement for the New Year was that my parents could come back, unlike other children who wanted new clothes and a pile of food. My parents did not understand our hearts at that time; they never brought any good candies or nice clothes. They usually came back around the 27th or 28th, and after the New Year, they would leave. Most of the greetings throughout the year were over the phone. I still remember that at that time, phones were not popular in every household; the calls made to me and my sister were from a neighbor's older brother, and then they would call us to pick up. Looking back now, it still feels a bit shabby. Our parents, compared to other children, had the only advantage that they would come back every New Year and had never missed it, even if they only stayed for a week at the shortest. In 2005 and 2006, the house was particularly cold, and it often rained. I remember once my parents said they would arrive around one in the afternoon, so my sister and I waited by the table after lunch. My grandfather had also gone in for a nap. We kept the food warm in the kitchen pot and added a lot of charcoal to the fire pit, then sat there waiting and waiting. When the charcoal burned out, we added more, and when the food got cold, we heated it again, and they only arrived home around four. My sister heard the sound of the motorcycle first. I picked up the fire pit and placed it in the yard, filled it with charcoal, and fanned it hard, blowing until my nose and face were all black, just to make my parents feel a little warmth when they returned home, no matter how much effort it took.

Across a yard, the north side of the yard is my second uncle's family, and the south side is ours. At that time, my grandparents lived with my uncle, and my uncle's family would usually only come home once every few years for the New Year. Usually, we would celebrate the New Year with my grandparents at my uncle's house on the north side of the yard because their house was much better than ours, such as the floor and the surrounding walls, which they had all plastered with cement. But for now, that also seems very simple, yet it has never lost its warmth.

At that time, I had very few memories of fireworks; whenever a family in the village set off fireworks during the New Year, almost all the children in the village would run outside and look up. At that time, we were very poor; every year, we could only wear new clothes and shoes during the New Year and eat a little better. As I grew up, I wished to remain this poor, hoping that no one would become rich.

Last year's Spring Festival, our family spent it in my uncle's house because he had built a new house in town and moved out. Moreover, our old house was too old, and even the well for fetching water was blocked. My uncle's house is not new, but it is a tile-roofed house, yet it is very unique, spacious, and bright, with ventilation from north to south. The interior has a large courtyard, just like our own, and it also has a well, covered with moss. My sister and I lived in the two rooms on the north side of the courtyard, and right behind the rooms is a big mountain, so my room's window was closed tightly at night, fearing that a snake would sneak in from the back mountain. My sister's and my rooms faced each other, and as soon as the door opened, we could see each other. My parents lived in a small room added to the inner side of the living room on the south side of the courtyard. This year, my father came back a bit early, staying at home ten days before the New Year. My sister started her formal job this year, so she only returned on the 27th. She arrived home in the morning, and because we had been distant for a long time, we couldn't even talk to each other. This year, the festive atmosphere was already weak; after the family finished eating, they would sit for a while and then return to their rooms. Even the Spring Festival Gala was watched the next day, as everyone was busy with their own affairs. My sister was chatting with her boyfriend, and my parents were huddled under the quilt calculating the accounts for more than a year, occasionally quarreling, while I stayed in my room, occasionally opening the window to look at the back mountain, although I could see nothing, and occasionally flipping through the novels on the table, thinking that this year had passed.

After the Spring Festival, everyone packed their luggage, with mixed feelings, and continued the journey that was unfinished from the previous year. Only we know the warmth and coldness of our own lives; perhaps everyone feels that the festive atmosphere is fading, and such a brief reunion has no meaning at all, but no one will say it out loud; everyone just wants this kind of formality.

This year, I spent the Spring Festival in my new house. I was on the second floor, alone, while my parents were on the first floor, and my sister did not spend the Spring Festival here after a small wedding before the festival. The house was the largest this time, but the number of people was the least. The house was built in a place relatively far from the community, next to my second uncle's house. This place, which was originally a mountain in my childhood, was flattened by excavators and bulldozers to build the house. The house was beautifully decorated, and all the furniture was new. According to custom, every family must hold a banquet when moving into a new house, inviting various relatives and friends. Our family set this day for the sixth day after the Spring Festival, which was also the liveliest day of this Spring Festival. The front and back of the house were filled with people, drinking, chatting, and laughing. Every time I see such an occasion, I always feel uneasy; perhaps it is loneliness.

These are my three different Spring Festivals, and I want to admit: I am just a child from a poor family. As I grow older, this idea becomes clearer with various situations. Poor people have to desperately disguise themselves to avoid being looked down upon, but those who disguise themselves the most are often the poorest. —2015,02,23 "I am just a child from a poor family"

The regret is not only being born in the countryside but also being trapped in a fixed life trajectory and a manipulated fate.

For many unforgettable farewells, after saying goodbye, you find that some people who should have been forgotten in your memory will play a very vivid role from then on.

After a banquet, what I see the most is relatives saying goodbye in their own different ways.

At the same time, I also see many cousins who played with me in childhood getting married one after another, playing the role of a father or mother.

Most of them started working after graduating from middle school, living alone in a foreign place at the age of fifteen or sixteen, and possibly supporting a family. Up to now, their work has hardly improved, basically being carpenters, waiters, security guards, and laborers...

They may have quite a rich life experience, but inevitably, being born in the countryside means they have arranged marriages or fixed life trajectories. They have never had the chance to experience passionate love; most of it is introduced by acquaintances, arranged for marriage, moving in together, sleeping together, and then being together, after which they have children, the men work outside, and the women stay home to take care of the children. Once the children are weaned or can walk, they are handed over to their grandparents, and the couple works together outside, sending money back to support their education.

Throughout the year, they only return during the Spring Festival and a few other holidays, or during the summer, bringing their children to stay for a while...

This situation has been passed down through every generation of rural people; being born in the countryside is destined. If there is no hope, barring accidents, generations will remain in the countryside.

We may have dreamed of taking our families out of the remote mountains when we were young, but these ideas have almost turned into fantasies and bubbles after one or two years of going out.

The best outcome is to stay steadily in a factory for ten or twenty years, saving money to send a little more back home, buying good food and clothes for the children, giving them face at school, and possibly allowing them to get into a prestigious university. After being kicked out of the factory, perhaps the social security will have been completed, and a lifetime will have passed as if completing a task.

I have never denied my dislike for the identity of rural children. Children from the village are the comprehensive representation of all timidity, introversion, cowardice, and eccentricity; the impression we leave on the public is only one: faces covered in dirt and tattered clothes.

Thus, we feel inferior and lost, feeling as if we are unworthy of all the beautiful things in the world. Our demands and hopes for society are small; we do not desire a decent job or a high quality of life like city dwellers— I do not know if this can be called a virtue or if it is deserved due to our own humility and lowliness.

This is society, and even the shadows left by past feudal thoughts for us rural children, and it may continue indefinitely.

There are not too few examples in the countryside worth emulating; as long as someone has a bit of ambition, their status in the village will not be too low. Although they cannot fulfill the dream of having a car and a house in the city, they can still live a very stable life. For example, building a quite nice big house in the village, with beautiful tiles on the exterior, and placing two dragons on the front door, calling it "Double Dragons Playing with Pearls," this should be the best villa one can see.

However, what I want to talk about next are a few more tragic stories.

The first person I want to mention is my cousin's husband. I met him when he was repairing our house; he was over fifty-five, had very dark skin, wore a sun hat, and his clothes had not been changed for several days. He said the house he was repairing for us would probably be his last one.

In my impression, he was a very optimistic and hardworking person. When he was repairing our house, it was during the summer vacation, with an average temperature exceeding 37 degrees. Under the scorching sun, he wore a hat and laid one brick after another. During this time, I helped him with some small tasks, bringing him water, and after a day or two, we became familiar. In our conversations, I learned that he had learned masonry from a master at a very young age.

In our area, masonry is an industry learned by uneducated people; they can be elementary school graduates or even unable to write a single character.

When he was young, he worked tirelessly, bought the cheapest piece of land in the city, and gradually built his house.

He did not receive much education, but by that summer, all three of his daughters had successively been admitted to key universities and were interning after two years of work.

That summer, his youngest daughter had just graduated, and to celebrate her admission, they invited many relatives to dinner. Although the house was not in a prime location in the county, it was several levels better than in the countryside. Each daughter was particularly lively and beautiful, showing no signs of rural flavor.

I thought he would start a happy life from then on. That summer, I also heard he was preparing to buy a car. This year during the Spring Festival, my aunt (his wife) came here to celebrate the New Year. When we asked why my uncle didn’t come, she smiled and said he went to another place and was diagnosed with cancer.

For the first time, I felt that someone so close to me could disappear in the blink of an eye. I thought about how hard he worked under the scorching sun when he was young, how he worked desperately to earn money, thinking that this would lay a foundation for a happy future, yet in the end, he gained nothing. I have almost forgotten some of the things he said that summer, but I still remember this person, and his appearance is still very clear in my mind.

The second person I want to mention is my aunt (not the previous one’s wife). I have three aunts, but I have never been close to them. After they got married, they all lived happy lives. The image of them in my heart is not very good; they are all very snobbish and domineering. However, I want to write about her because she suddenly is no longer here. The only stories I can think of about her are from my childhood. They had two sons and one daughter, and the place she married into was very close to my grandmother's house. Every time I went to my grandmother's house, I had to pass by their door, so I would walk in and call out "Aunt" without waiting for her to respond, and then I would go to my grandmother's house. I guess I am not very good in her memory either. Their family was relatively wealthy at that time, and she married a solid and capable husband who could get up early every day to sell tofu at the market. They also raised a litter of pigs, and both sons graduated from junior high school and went out to work early. When she died, her eldest grandson was already five or six years old. I do not know the cause of her death; I only learned about it when I returned from school for the holidays. It was said that she suddenly collapsed and was sent to the hospital but could not be saved. After that, I did not ask too much about it at home; she was gone, so what was there to ask? My mother was very scared, and every time she grabbed me and asked what I would do if she died like that one day. I was at a loss for words.

No matter how deep the resentment is, it can be resolved in the face of death. However, many deaths have no warning; there is no illness, no pain, just in an instant...

The third story is about my cousin, the eldest son of my uncle. I think my impression of him can be roughly divided into three stages.

The first time was at his wedding when our whole family went to celebrate. At that time, he was wearing a suit, and his appearance and demeanor matched his age. He made everyone at the table laugh while toasting, and his bride was also very beautiful and well-matched. At that time, I admired him, thinking that he would surely succeed in his career many years later.

The second time I saw him was a few years later when I was in the third year of junior high. I went to my grandmother's house on the weekend, and he happened to be there. I had heard that he had epilepsy and had been to several hospitals without any effect, so he could only stay at home. At this time, he had become much duller, his face had lost much of its luster, and he had lost quite a few teeth due to a fall on the stairs. During a conversation, he suddenly fell from the stool, and my mother and I reacted quickly, but we still saw his head hit the ground.

That was definitely the most terrifying scene I had ever seen since I was born. He was foaming at the mouth, rolling his eyes, and his whole body was convulsing, no matter how hard we pressed him down, we could not stop him.

In the end, when he got up, he remembered nothing...

The third time I saw him was at my house, on the fifth day of the Lunar New Year. When I saw him again, he was wearing a cotton jacket with the zipper undone, exposing a sweater that he had probably worn for many years. When he saw me and the family around, his eyes showed unease. His skin was much darker than before, and there were several scars on his face. He sat briefly at home and left before the uncles who came with him.

His son was also there, probably at the age to start kindergarten. I asked him where his mother was. He replied that she hadn’t been back for a long time, and he said it with a smile.

For these three tragic stories, I have only provided a brief summary; in fact, there are many details that I often do not know where to start. I am not intentionally telling so many tragedies; it’s just that they have indeed been vivid in my mind for a long time...

They are all the eliminated ones in the crowd, and they can be considered representatives of fate at the bottom of life. Many stories like theirs often happen in the countryside.

But in fact, many stories like theirs often happen in the countryside.

And I don't know where the next one will be. Every person who suddenly encounters misfortune must have a past worth remembering before that moment. They don't want this, but fate has arranged it this way for them. Sometimes, a hurried farewell turns out to be a farewell for a lifetime...

The alternation of dawn and dusk repeats endlessly, and life struggles between day and night. On the road ahead, we all face a question: life may end at any moment, and misfortune may follow closely. All dreams and expectations, fame and fortune, hardships and failures will disappear at the moment of death. Since we come and go with nothing, what reason do we have not to face life calmly? — 2015,02,24 "I Want to Remember These People"

Secular and dreams, in the face of fate, what nonsense dreams are simply not worth mentioning. Too young, too crazy, believe in fate, not in dreams! — 2015,03,01

I have fantasized about my future more than once, each time with unrealistic reasons. Am I more handsome than others? No. Am I from a better family? No. Am I more talented than others? No. I am just a 2B youth suffering from a midlife crisis, not believing in miracles. Those glamorous people all have unfathomable backgrounds, which can be a background or sweat. A good background means your pride; your life may go smoothly. Once you are rich, handsome, and beautiful, we poor people's view is that money can actually buy everything in the world. Family ties, friendship, love are nothing in front of money. For those who come from a poor background, all you can offer is sweat; you can only have a shadow, but perhaps after a long time, you can also have a background. — 2015,03,04

Days passed slowly without expectation, but in this confusion, I saw the future. I believe that for a long time in the future, I will continue to live like this. The year 2014 really passed like this. Every time I hear the sound of fireworks, countless thoughts arise. I thought I had many stories to write down, but in fact, I thought too much. Some people grow up vigorously, while others grow old slowly. Time is always fair to us; cherish every second and every moment now. Perhaps many years later, this is the moment I will write about. — 2015,03,05 "Lantern Festival"

I often think of the TV series "Ten Years of Love" during countless moments of distraction. Although the plot is not credible, the performances of Deng Chao and Dong Jie are truly moving. "The Proverb of Love" is the theme song, "I gave you spring, leaving winter for myself..." I can't find a song with such sadness and lyricism. In its melody, I can't find a trace of cheerful rhythm, nor hear a hint of hope. The work is mixed with a process of joy and sorrow; every smooth event will soon lead to tragedy. In fact, life is like this, full of joy and sorrow. Don't be too attached to the result and impact of one thing. Once it happens, it means it has passed. Don't be happy about material gains or sad about personal losses; you still have a long way to go. — 2015,03,06

I have always had an extreme fear of "death." When I was twelve or thirteen, my grandparents passed away one after another. It has been six years now, but I still can't get out of that shadow. I can't imagine how I will feel when my mother leaves me one day, and what kind of worldly changes I will face. Perhaps by then, I will be more mature, with an incredibly strong heart. My father has also aged; by then, my wife may have replaced my mother. I can tell my children stories about their grandmother, and every sentence will be filled with my longing for her. — 2015,03,07

"What is meant to be will be, what is not meant to be cannot be forced." The evening sky began to show some sunlight. After a week of rain or overcast skies, today seems particularly bright. On the first rest day of the new semester, when I have free time, I think the most about home. I watched a few interesting stories and a few wonderful programs, and the afternoon passed in a hurry. I once thought life was short, and boredom dominated, but in fact, some happiness can only be found by oneself, and no one, not even the whole world, can give it to you. I saw some people, thought of some people, ended some things, and at the same time, began some things. — 2015,03,08

I need to learn to slowly plan my life and learn to collect my inner self. The weather in March is drizzly, and this mood is very harmonious with Chen Qizhen's "9份的咖啡厅." I first heard this piece in 2012, in the third year of junior high, during a local radio program called "钟情此声."

Perhaps I am still reminiscing about that time—trying to find everything that is pseudo-sentimental. At that time, the night was lit by paper bulbs, dim yellow. I sat at my desk, pretending to put a test paper, then put on earplugs. The song was very friendly, with simple guitar accompaniment, and the girl's singing voice was very clear. "Looking up at this sky, I send my thoughts to you." After singing this line, there was a long pause. The café, in my imagination, is poetic and charming. Eason Chan's "Long Time No See" also sings: "Will I suddenly meet you in a café at the corner of the street..." Such story-like occasions, unfortunately, I have never encountered even once. I still remember a classmate in junior high told me not to listen to sad music, as it easily makes one sentimental. My answer was no. Now thinking about it, it is indeed like that. In the past, in a dreamy world, it was hard to accept the reality. At that time, I always lived in that small space, thinking that with less sadness and less music, I couldn't continue to survive. Slowly, I adapted to this environment. I think actually, smiling can also be carefree. — 2015,03,10

For a long time in the past, I was someone who loved to watch stories. Those stories were about our current youth, with Guo Jingming's "Summer Solstice" and "How Many Flowers Fall in Dreams," "Sadness Flows Backward," and Tong Hua's "Those Unreturnable Youthful Times"… As for the characters in those stories, they always easily linger in my mind, and I hope that one day, those stories can happen to me as well.

I want to be a person with stories, but I long even more to be a person who can write stories. Imagining like Ke Jingteng's "Those Years," perhaps that is not too real, but unreal stories are the easiest to touch people.

To gain inner satisfaction, likewise,

I want to be a person with stories. I believe everyone has their most sentimental and touching moments, as well as words, but some people just won't say them out loud, trying to appear strong in front of others, indifferent, because they don't want others to discover their inner fragility. But there is another saying: hypocrisy is not a person's fault. If a person is willing to be hypocritical in front of you, it shows that he (she) cares about you. — 2015,03,14

(Fifteen)

I have dreamed of flowers blooming

I have also dreamed of desolation

I tried to walk into your world

But I wandered around the edge for a long time

In my memory, your eyes are as clear as water

When you smile, your tiger teeth are faintly visible

The slightly fragmented floral skirt is like the cool breeze of summer

Blowing away all the heat

A brief encounter on the shaded path

Or perhaps you are in the photo, and the photo is in my hand

The first eye contact lasted so long

In my memories, your hair is flowing, and your smile is like a flower

In this age of fond memories, I remember all of you

—— "The Age of Fond Memories"

Unfortunately, when another person appears in my dream, this time the dream is different from usual. We can talk well in the dream, even hold hands. When I went upstairs in the morning, I happened to meet her, but I didn't even have the courage to look at her boldly. I don't know how many times like this will appear? The truth is: she has been in my heart for a long time, perhaps for a lifetime. Life often experiences many such unpleasant things. Some may think that imperfection is a kind of beauty, but I don't think so. Every imperfection and incompleteness may bring us a lifetime of regret. TO LHY — 2015,03,18

(Sixteen)

When I flipped the calendar again, I realized that I hadn't crossed off a day for 10 days; originally, crossing off this day was the most important thing, but as I gradually became busy, I couldn't tell anymore. In a sense, I can no longer distinguish what is important around me.

I have always believed that ten years is the most meaningful time span because the deep feelings have not faded even slightly over this decade. On the contrary, it can be more profound and more worth remembering. Ten years, it is also long; it can reshape a person's inner self, giving him enough space to hold the memories of these ten years...

During the winter vacation, I returned to the old house a few times, the old tile house, which is the most memorable place for me over the past ten years. Even now, I still feel that the threshold is very high. I can reach the wooden board between the first and second floors by raising my hand. Perhaps because no one has walked in the yard for a long time, it is overgrown with various weeds and moss. When I walked into the original room, I found that the room I had lived in for more than ten years was actually so small. There were still a few players on the desk, and next to them were long and heavy stereo speakers. I remember when they were first moved in, I was in the first grade. The first song I learned was also here. At that time, there was a black-and-white TV, but it has been moved away by me. I used to stare at the subtitles, holding the microphone, singing along repeatedly, "Ten Years," "Fairy Tale," and Liu Ruoying's "Later," all learned here. There is also a song that I remember deeply, "Lilac Flower." In the third grade of elementary school, I won an award for singing this song at school. Before the competition, I sang it many times here, but on stage, my legs trembled, and I couldn't stop. I remember that at that time, the school was singing children's songs and the national anthem, and only I was singing pop songs, and they were all lyrical.

The clear stream flows slowly, this is the unchanged scenery from my hometown to school. In 2005, there were many companions, including the rough little A, the shy little B, the unique little C, and the little D who I can't find words to describe. At that time, we went to school together, left school together, had fun together, and played together. We had the purest friendship in the world. Unfortunately, during these ten years, we rushed too early to our own skies, with no contact and no interaction, and the feelings faded away like this. The two songs that left the deepest impression in 2005 were "Ten Years" and "Fairy Tale," which still play on repeat to this day.

In "Ten Years," Eason Chan's forehead was not so bright. With his extremely slow and lyrical voice, he sang the feelings after a breakup between men and women. This feeling is deeply felt after a first love ends, "Ten years ago, I didn't know you, you didn't belong to me, we are still the same... lovers inevitably become friends in the end." In the MV of "Fairy Tale," Guang Liang is so pure, and when the girl kisses him, she is still bleeding from her nose. In Jay Chou's "Seven Li Fragrance," the girl is still swinging on the swing in the wind, while Liu Ruoying's "Later" has broken many people's hearts. I believe many people beside me are experiencing this stage of love, and I also long for someone beside me, to face each other over a meal, and to hold hands in the dark as we walk towards the dormitory door. The future is long, and what we experience cannot be sung as "Ten Years."

For some people, ten years have not changed many things. It can make me understand many things, but it also brings me many doubts. I have never understood what a true dream is, yet I repeatedly hang dreams on my lips. The elusive future has not become any more real because of this decade. Ten years ago, the dream was very simple; I just hoped to become a celebrity active in the public eye, to become a topic of conversation for those around me, which would bring me and even my family a lot of face. As I grew a little older, I came into contact with basketball, and my dream became more specific. I wanted to be a basketball player, to make it to the NBA. So during junior high, I practiced hard for a while. Especially at night, as soon as a move appeared in my mind, I would run to the court with the ball. Later, I saw people more talented than me, who played better than me, and slowly I began to feel inferior, and then more and more inferior. Recently, I set that dream as becoming a writer, a writer who can support a family with manuscript fees. Suddenly, many stories appeared in my mind, but none could be written down completely. I am eighteen years old, and I never knew what experiences I had that were worth writing about, yet I seriously record my feelings day by day, word by word. I hope that one day in the future, the words I write can be seen by many people.

In ten years, I have said goodbye to many people. Loss and gain can never be equal... Sometimes when I look out the window in a daze, I always think I am still a child who has not grown up, never involved in the affairs of adults. Looking down at the various test papers filling the table, I don't know which one to start with. Every day is filled with boring classes, boring people, and boring things. Busy with a boring life. But who doesn't think like this? But who can change anything?

Never has there been a day when I cared more about my future than now. Looking back, the crazy things I did in the past were not that meaningful. I keep brushing questions every day, yet I still can't surpass those who hold their phones all day. Every day, I hear about how successful someone is, but it can never happen to me. The future is far away, and now I am anxious. Nothing can pass time quickly, and nothing can win over dreams.

In ten years, I have made very few promises because I have never placed my hopes on anyone. I have been deeply hurt by various people, and I have never thought I had the ability to hurt or touch those people. They are all fleeting passersby, leaving scars in my heart before rushing past. Those scars, whether deep or shallow, bright or dark, have remained there, never disappearing. You should be grateful; you have lived in my heart for a long time. It may rot, but it has never been forgotten.

——2015,03,14 "Ten Years in Memory"

The leaves of the school trees have fallen, and the scene of withering can be seen not only in autumn. The long winter has passed like this. I originally thought time would be long enough, only to find that between countless times of taking off and putting on my cotton jacket, it has disappeared. We long for separation, yet when the time of parting comes, we hope time can be a little longer, a little longer, wanting to say the words we wanted to say but didn't, wanting to do the things we wanted to do but didn't dare to do again. There will always be some regrets left in youth, and there will always be some memories left in an unsettled heart. "We have walked hand in hand through countless bus stops, and finally, one day, we will walk on our own one-way streets." — 2015,03,16

I always thought the most hurtful words in the world were "You and I belong to two different worlds." I have heard this in countless melodramatic TV dramas and films. There are so many kinds of love in this world, and often so many kinds of helplessness arise. In the end, what is needed is not romance and passion, but a kind of peace. — Inspired by "Titanic" — 2015,03,17

I try to listen to many people's stories and want to face friends and life with a different attitude. After a certain level of growth, everyone actually feels childish about things they did in the past. What I always can't understand is what the past self was insisting on and what is worth insisting on. Every day I meet different people, and they teach me a lot. Many people appear "cool" in front of outsiders, but they must have a passionate side inside; many people seem indifferent to everything, whether love is needed or not, they are actually pretending. There are also many people who pretend to be silly and carefree in front of others, not wanting others to see their inner sadness. Living to this extent, everyone has developed the ability to survive of the fittest. Learning to adapt to the environment rather than letting the environment adapt to you — 2015,03,19

"My whole life has been rushing towards the road to meet you."

This is something I saw recently in a book called "Some Roads Can Only Be Walked Alone." The author, after turning thirty, holds a detached attitude, recounting a life story of going with the flow.

If I could really choose a relationship, I would hope that both parties are in different places before achieving something. The biggest flaw of young people's hearts is being picky and unable to settle down; they prefer to see the future as a dreamy fairy tale, always thinking they can meet countless princes and princesses.

Two people living together, busy with their own work, talking about different topics, bearing various pressures together, then venting separately, and because of this, they do not cherish the people around them.

If it is true love, even if they are in different places, there will still be deep longing. Such people can focus on their own work, turning the bitterness of life into longing and cherishing.

There are countless lovers around, and they in their senior year can already do loving actions in various occasions, but I know this is not love; perhaps it is a way to pass the loneliness. In my heart, there are many girls living, and I know I can't give them anything, so I silently keep them in my heart. If in the future, I can achieve something, I can give them what they want, then at that time, I will confess without hesitation and spend a lifetime together. — 2015,03,21

(Seventeen)

In my memories of youth, half of it is about Jay Chou. The first song I heard about him was "The Seventh Chapter of the Night," but I have no recollection of this song now. At that time, my family had nothing, and I often ran to the neighbor's older brother's house, standing in front of their TV, and every time I waited for him to appear, I would remember the songs he sang and various actions on stage. "Nunchaku," "East Wind Breaks," "Love Before the Era," "Simple Love" were all learned there.

As I grew a little older, my family bought a player and speakers. At that time, there were no mp3s or mobile phones; the only way to see him was through the CD player. At that time, I borrowed and bought many music CDs, which are still in a corner of the old house. The female protagonists in those MVs, along with the tragic stories, filled those lazy afternoons of your childhood.

"Seven Li Fragrance," "Back to the Past," "I Don't Deserve," "The Longest Movie," "Step Back," "White Windmill," "Where's the Happiness We Promised"… These songs have not faded from memory with time. I wanted to write down all the lyrics in a notebook, but now I probably can't find them. In junior high, in 2007, after watching these self-written and directed movies "The Secret That Cannot Be Told," after watching it for the first time, there was an indescribable emotion in it, leaving a few tears. At that time, I didn't understand why I cried? I watched it a second and third time... The film tells a romantic piano love story. The female lead, Lu Xiaoyu, travels to the future 20 years later. She can see the first person she opens her eyes to, and only that person can see her. The whole film is filled with sadness and an ancient atmosphere. I remember Lu Xiaoyu said when she saw Chopin's portrait in the piano classroom: "Can we be together? Having ten years is already pretty good." This sentence has appeared many times in the articles I have written, and I still don't understand what attracts me so much. Is it the pure appearance of the female lead, the sad and melodious piano music, or the gorgeous and ancient scenes, small bridges, houses, windmills, and white doves... It seems that none of these touched my yearning for hazy love.

The theme melody of "Dandelion's Promise" is so that every time I hear such music in the future, the first thing I think of is Lu Xiaoyu standing in the sunlight, pure and moving, and that line "The weather is so nice today." I feel that the beginning of the song is incomparable to any music, just like the incomplete love in the film. But as long as you have experienced it, regardless of whether the ending is good or bad, it is still beautiful.

I love such beautiful stories, just like childhood and youth. Memories are always beautiful and thought-provoking. Perhaps now I can't often hear his music, and perhaps now his music cannot be accepted and sung by everyone, but this is not the end of his era. The past is not like smoke; time needs to settle. We grow step by step, and the hardest thing is to like something simply like when we were young, without any purpose, just like he sings in "Rainbow": perhaps time is a kind of antidote, and it is also the poison I am taking now. I will gather those little memories, and perhaps one quiet afternoon in the future, I can still hear his "Dandelion" slowly playing. — 2015,03,17

(Eighteen) Sharing Stories: Days Rushing Towards the Future

If I am fortunate enough to become a director in the future, I will definitely set such a scene: a person walks out of a building with more than ten floors, the camera is aimed at his face, he walks out slowly, and the lights behind him slowly go out layer by layer. Yes, this is the scene of me walking out of the teaching building at ten o'clock every night recently. But perhaps my facial expressions will have many shortcomings.

When I was young, I always thought my family was relatively wealthy because we all lived in tile houses, and our family had a backyard. There was a well in the yard, and every morning or evening, we could draw water from the well to drink, while the surrounding neighbors had to walk a long way to a public well to fetch water.

In addition, there was a small hill behind our house where many fruit trees were planted... Every autumn when the fruits ripened, I would invite other friends to climb up and pick them.

When I was three or four years old, both my parents were at home, and the only source of income was the tofu they took to the market to exchange for money. The night before, my mother made tofu, set up the frame, and helped tie it to my father's bicycle. Early the next morning, my father rode his bicycle, taking the tofu to the market a few kilometers away to sell. That was

In my impression, those were my father's rare hardworking years. And during my mother's rare healthy years, she always played a very tragic role.

My eldest sister, who was three years old, could never stand up again due to an accident with my mother. In the following years, we carried her around seeking medical help, but ultimately there was no result, and she died in the town hospital. The third child was aborted after two months due to family planning. The fourth child was taken away after eight months.

Not long ago, one night, we lay in bed together, and my mother recalled that when the fourth child was aborted, she was taken to the county town, where a thick needle was used to directly stab the child's head from above the navel, and then some method was used to expel the child's body from her body.

"When these three children died, I was the only one present; your father didn't even know." When my mother said this, I clearly saw tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. At this point, I simply didn't ask any further; these might be the most painful things buried deep in her memory.

In 2003, I started elementary school. My parents gave up making tofu and began working in other places. My sister and I were taken care of by my grandparents. After a year or two, my father returned and said he was going to do fruit business with my cousin, my mother's brother's son. My mother never told me the specific process, but the final result was that my father borrowed money from relatives and took out loans from the bank, all of which was lost. In the following year, he went to work in another place due to debt, and the police came to the village to take my mother away. At that time, a crowd surrounded us, and I was so scared that I couldn't say a word, but fortunately, she was released that night due to a relative's bail. A year later, he was still not discouraged. When the fruits ripened, he came back to do it again, saying that if you fall in a place, you should get up from that place. However, in the end, he didn't earn any money, but the debts kept increasing with interest.

Every year during the Spring Festival, my mother would take out some money to pay off the interest, and the remaining money could only be used to support my sister and me in school, with no other money to buy new clothes or add new furniture. Old clothes were worn again and again, and when it got cold, I wore my cousin's leftovers. My irresponsible father became even worse, never thinking about paying off debts, constantly eating well and playing well outside, and every year he would have a big fight with my mother. I still remember one year, when she quarreled with my mother, she chased him around the village with a kitchen knife at night. Another time, my mother poured all the pesticides in the bowl, but as for why she didn't drink it, she never told me again... My mother said she had never had a peaceful day since she married in, either worrying about the family or worrying about her own health. In those years, she worked hard and developed a serious illness, which has been worsening ever since.

There has been almost no luck in the family, but misfortune often exists.

In the second half of 2006, I fell from a big tree, and my right hand bone was broken. That afternoon, I was sent to the People's Hospital in the county. My mother rushed back overnight, took out all the family's savings, which couldn't even be called savings, and after piecing together, it was just enough for the surgery and hospitalization fees. For more than a month, she accompanied me, and it seemed like we squeezed onto one bed to sleep. I still remember when I was pushed into the operating room, I held onto her clothes tightly, crying hard, so she followed me in. Many lights shone in my eyes, and after the anesthetic shot, I fell into a deep sleep, and she left... This was the darkest time in my family, but also the most comforting time for me. During the recovery period, I didn't have to go to school. Every time I got up, my mother would have my clothes ready, and every day she would coax and serve me. In the following eight years, whenever I brought up this past, she would always deliberately avoid it, saying: Don't always talk about these unfortunate things; the past is already gone.

After recovering, life was relatively calm. My parents and I returned to our original lives. From then on, I had something that others didn't understand, which was surgery and hospitalization. I would boast every day in front of my friends about the days I spent in the hospital and how beautiful the streets of the county town were, exaggerating how I fell asleep during the surgery and how I suddenly woke up to hear the sound of scissors cutting my skin. These were often written into my elementary school essays, with the theme not being "Maternal Love" but "The Most Unforgettable Thing I Remember."

Now thinking back, those times I often mentioned with pride were actually the times my mother least wanted to remember and the most painful times. And I often hung my mother's pain on my lips.

In 2008, during the Beijing Olympics, every household in the village began to build new houses. Among the rows of earthen houses, only one or two households remained, and our family was one of them. At this time, I truly realized: our family has no money and is really poor.

During the summer vacation of the year I graduated from elementary school, my sister and I went to the city where my parents worked. That was my first time leaving the province. I thought the place where my parents worked and lived would be better than home, which would explain why they didn't return home every year. After visiting, I realized they still lived in a tile house, and it was even smaller than our home, only enough to fit a bed and a dining table. Every night we would move the dining table aside and lay a mat on the ground. My father and I would sleep on the floor, while my mother and sister would sleep on the bed.

The only appliances were a rice cooker and a hot water heater, and four people squeezed into one room. My sister and I slept on the floor, while my parents slept on the bed. They got up early and returned late every day, working hard, and together they only earned a little money.

In the blink of an eye, it was another Spring Festival. This year, the Spring Festival was not as interesting as before; it became deserted. The reason was that everyone had moved into new houses, and the western-style houses were quite a distance from the earthen houses. The Spring Festival became a celebration for our family. I always clamored for us to build a new house, for which I even helped them calculate wages, how much they needed to earn each year, and made them write guarantees. They always said okay, but it was a deception that lasted many years. The actual situation was that there were still many debts at home, from distant relatives and the bank. At that time, I often complained about why I was born into such a family. Now I am grateful that I have such a story worth remembering.

My grandmother and grandfather passed away one after another within a year, and in a short time, I felt the pain of losing loved ones twice. During middle school, I didn't return home many times a year, so I gradually became indifferent to the feeling of the new house. The everlasting youth in front of the door flourished and withered, but no one appreciated it anymore.

My mother's illness lingered, and from the day her foot started to limp, she could no longer walk normally. In recent years, life at home has improved somewhat; the bank debts have been paid off, my sister got married, and my father works steadily, so the new house has been built at the foot of our mountain.

Last night, while massaging my mother's foot, I repeatedly heard the song "Days Rushing Towards the Future." So many years have passed, experiencing too many gatherings and separations, things and people have changed, but the expectation for a new life has never changed. No matter how good or bad life is, it must be lived without hesitation. Whenever I mention the past, my mother always says: "The hardships of your generation have all been endured by me; your lives will definitely be better in the future."

I want to say, when you were young, you had already endured all the hardships, and what remains is only happiness.

Some people experience continuous misfortune throughout their lives but have never experienced true tragic emotions. On the contrary, those who seem to have smooth sailing on the surface may also experience tremendous inner tragedies.

I hope people do not change

May we last like stars

Shining like stars every night

Every night... 2015,03,20 "Days Rushing Towards the Future"

The fleeting March, the weather in March is cold, it rained for a week, and I once thought that the cold at that time was absolutely unmatched by the entire winter. After the cold comes the heat. In mid-March, I saw the shadow of summer. It got hot for a while, then started to cool down again, just like now, where I can't see the sun all day, but I don't feel too hot, making it feel like autumn. But the difference is that autumn has no tender green leaves, while now there are. Although it is not autumn, the low emotions and unresolved thoughts fit perfectly with this autumn.

March is a month that easily evokes nostalgia. Under the influence of many factors here, every step I take and every scene I see makes me feel a sense of déjà vu. Walking past the flag-raising platform, I thought of my classmates' youthful appearances during the hundred-day conference in the third year of junior high. I remember at that time I didn't even have the strength to lift my eyes. It seemed to be in the afternoon when the sun began to set. We rushed to the self-study session at 5:30. When we returned to the classroom, we were called to the flag-raising platform by the broadcast, and after saying something, we were dismissed.

Sometimes, many students in junior high uniforms pass by me, and I don't know if my gaze towards them is really like how adults looked at us in junior high. In those naive years, what can still be called beautiful memories now are those feelings of affection or secret love. There are two girls who exist with such feelings: L and Z! L still lingers in my heart; she brought me many memories worth reminiscing. Compared to L, Z is like adding sugar to coffee; if not mixed well, I don't want to drink it anymore. Up to now, I still don't know who owes whom? I just don't know if it was the coffee itself or the person drinking this cup of coffee. I was in the same class with her for a year, and we only had study and communication during that year. In the following six years, we never spoke a word. In the first year of junior high, I was so shy that I hardly dared to speak, and after the second year, I disliked her so much that I didn't want to look at her again. To this day, the regret and shame in my heart outweigh any feelings. I regret not clarifying the relationship at that time, and I regret even more not advising him to be more serious and work harder, hoping that in the future, she can always live better than I do. If we meet in the future, I hope I can make up for some things, but the premise is that I have the ability to make up for them.

I don't know what kind of life she is living now? But what should be known is that we will change a lot, such as appearance and inner self. I think six years ago, we would never have thought of this. Six years later, we will become such people. At such a young age, we always think of everyone as so beautiful. Sometimes we will be reckless, and sometimes we will be reluctant to part. We don't need to become two opposing people, nor should we harbor resentment against each other in the future. Youth is meant to be remembered and cherished. I hope that in some moments in the future, when you listen to Jay's songs, you will remember that in those years, there was someone who liked his songs just like you. — 2015,03,21

Among all the youth movies I have seen, "Those Years" occupies a very important position. The biggest impression this film left on me is that not all beautiful love stories have a perfect ending. When the film was first released, I was also in a state of having a girlfriend and worrying about love. At that time, I liked to listen to Hu Xia's song of the same name, with a clear voice like spring water, slowly listening... Our relationship was just like my feelings for this song, becoming more and more faint, and finally completely gone. This is the debut work of Taiwanese writer Jiu Ba Dao, and the male lead's name is also Jiu Ba Dao's real name. I think he set it up this way because he wants those who see this movie to hope that the girl they secretly loved in those years will have a trace of remembrance of themselves. In those years, everyone has a Shen Jiayi in their hearts, or perhaps another person who makes you miss them deeply. You want to see them all the time, but when you see her, you can't say a word. You regard her as the Athena in your heart, while you are just a dispensable supporting role in her heart. This is the contrast between humility and halo. There are always some regrets in life that cannot be realized, just like the love between Ke Jingteng and Shen Jiayi, which clearly has a determined ending but is still the same. But it doesn't matter; time will heal the scars left in youth. Two years later, when I hear "Those Years" again, it is not without that initial feeling. Now I begin to understand a little, "Two people from different worlds," you will stay in my heart, but will never return, and what about you!

— 2015,03,25

In this play of life, there are countless protagonists or supporting roles. If you can see yourself as the protagonist, then the people around you will become supporting roles.

In each of our hearts, there are always things worth spending time to remember. A year or two ago, I once thought the college entrance examination was very far away. I kept thinking about it until I experienced everything that every senior high school student should experience, only to realize that the time I once cared about should not have existed. If I had so much time to think, I would rather spend time reading more stories and listening to more songs. Recently, I checked "famous writers born in the 90s." There are many, but I don't know many of them. They all have very impressive experiences, have won countless awards, and their articles can be seen in many magazines, with print runs exceeding hundreds of thousands or millions. However, in real life, very few people can recognize them, let alone read their books. In reality, there are not so many Han Han and Guo Jingming. When you focus on a more noble dream, in your early stages, not many people can understand you or support you. They may think you are just playing around. But one day when you succeed, you will find that those harsh comments and their slanders and defamations are actually not worth mentioning. — 2015,03,29

I think I can finally become that kind of person, hypocritical and indifferent to human feelings. I remember those times in junior high when I could be so frustrated by a failed exam that I would be upset until the next monthly test. I think at that time, it was because of some people's attention that I seemed so pretentious. Now thinking about it, it wasn't that important. I have grown and matured. Being ignored and underestimated by everyone is a very happy thing. I will continue this happiness; I don't need too many people to understand, just need to understand myself, and that is enough. — 2015,03,29

— To Leslie Cheung on the twelfth anniversary of his passing: In the year you passed away, I was still a child in elementary school, and hardly anyone knew you. The only people who could be said to understand you a little were in recent years. A successful person will always have something different from ordinary people. I started listening to your song "When Love Has Become the Past." If you want to truly understand this song, I believe it can only be done after experiencing many hardships. "Life has been too hurried; I am also afraid of turning around with tears in my eyes... leaving the past in my heart..." I can hear your maturity and depression in every lyric. Gradually, I listened to your "The Past," "The Caring Person," "The Wind Continues to Blow," "Days Rushing Towards the Future," "Midnight Song," all representative works of your sad pieces. In fact, after listening to so many of your songs and news about you, the mysterious feeling you have in my heart has never disappeared. I think death is not that scary. A person who can face death calmly must have first obtained and seen through those things that can only be experienced in the slow process of aging. You will not be infatuated with so many attractive things in the world because you have already pursued them. Your death is a noble way to die. You face life calmly, and in the end, what you bring to the world must be everlasting. — 2015,03,30

Recently, it was my favorite window seat again, so I recalled the view outside the window in elementary school, which was a large lawn with many graves. We could only lean against the window to look, and very few could run over to that side around the teaching building. In middle school, looking through the window, we saw all buildings. Looking down, there were only scattered people. Now in high school, the trees outside the window are lush, but the sky we see is incomplete. Sometimes when the sunset comes, we often see a piece, unable to see clearly where it comes from.

Sometimes I wonder where the inspiration in my mind comes from? What do I really want to record? This may also be something I still can't figure out. I am about to leave an environment I have lived in for a long time, only to realize that I have always been an outsider, and my existence has no impact on anyone.

Where can a person's value and sense of existence be reflected? What kind of person can gain the recognition of those around them? We all live in a space without windows, where a single word from others can make us give up all beliefs. Thus, I see such a world: one person is pleasing another, this person is flattering another person, and that person is flattering the first person, just like a dog, looking for any way to make itself happy. — 2015,03,31

(Twenty)

The leaves of the school trees have started to turn green. It was only today that I noticed that it has been 140 days since the last time they fell. Spring has truly arrived, and the weather is pleasant. One day, when I suddenly feel the weather is unbearably hot, we will have truly graduated.

Regarding "farewell," I have always had a vague concept. Because of my youthful interest in new things, I always felt joyful when farewells came.

However, those who can remember each other will never say goodbye because they will be in their hearts, occasionally brought up.

Because there is only one junior high school in the area, after graduating from elementary school, we can see each other again in the next campus.

We cannot forget those people or things hidden deep in our hearts, so when it comes to farewells, some may be filled with joy, at least I am. On the day of farewell, I will not feel sad because those who have remembered each other will never say goodbye. They will always be remembered in my heart.

When I graduated to the fifth grade, I left the village elementary school and came to the town, starting a seven-year boarding life. At that time, I didn't understand what gathering and parting were; I just followed time wherever it took me, and then I began to adapt.

The second farewell came when I graduated from fifth grade to junior high. I went to a more remote place for high school. That year, I remember it was the first time I took a graduation photo, and it was also the first time I experienced what graduation and parting meant. But I didn't see anyone who was sad; everyone joyfully regarded the journey of growth as a magnificent adventure, with no emotions, only curiosity.

The third farewell happened three years ago. That day, I felt a bit sad but didn't show it at all.

If the transition from elementary to junior high was an adventure, then graduating from junior high was definitely an escape from hell. At that time, we often didn't even have the chance to be sentimental; friendship, love, and teacher-student relationships were all suppressed in our hearts, invested in studying, and in the end, they sank into the sea, forgotten.

To this day, there are very few junior high classmates I can talk to. Everyone has their own new life and new friends, and they almost want to delete that period of time and never mention it again. But this is because we are still too young. If we are a little older, "What if we are a little older?" I think actually, at this age, no one has truly thought about what it would be like when they reach middle age or even old age. I also don't know whether to be happy or worried at that moment. Happy that this unruly journey has finally passed halfway. Worried that my life has passed like this, having already gone through all the passionate and fleeting years, and in the remaining years, I will only spend time in boredom and dullness. What is even more regrettable is that you no longer have the ability or opportunity to change your life and family.

The afternoon sun is very abundant. Looking through the glass window, I see a boy and a girl reciting a book in the woods. The school next door is broadcasting, and the background music is great, completely covering the voice of our school's broadcaster. I think about how I have spent many afternoons like this, walking through them all alone. — 2015,04,01

(Twenty-one)

When I flipped the calendar again, I realized that I hadn't crossed off a day for 10 days; originally, crossing off this day was the most important thing, but as I gradually became busy, I couldn't tell anymore. In a sense, I can no longer distinguish what is important around me.

— What matters in life is not how long the road is, but who walks it with you.

Today was a training day — from 7:41 in the morning to 1:40 in the afternoon, I forgot the distance. What I want to record is not just this journey; I don't think this is a big challenge, nor is it something that will go down in history.

The scenery along the road seems very monotonous. "We walked from the highway to the small road, and finally back to the highway." This is the most comprehensive summary of my travel. A purposeless journey, we kept circling around, reaching a certain place, resting for a while, eating something, and then circling back.

I always thought I lived in a narrow space, where there were all kinds of people and some mundane things. After experiencing the training, I still feel this way. I started with a large group of people, slowly walking, and gradually turned into a solo journey. This is something I had already thought of the day before. I am not afraid of how far the road is, but I am afraid that if I keep walking, it will feel so boring. I am also a person who fears loneliness, always wanting to find someone to talk to sincerely. I want to tell him that I have always been excluded since I was young. In elementary school, my best friend became a stranger in less than a month. In junior high, if there were more than three people walking together, I was the one most easily ignored and discarded. During the times when I could play basketball, I was always seen as the "one-man show," never passing the ball. So many times, I stood on the court feeling like air, with no one communicating with me. So I practiced hard, wanting to be someone who passes the ball to others, not just waiting for others to pass the ball to me. I convinced myself that in critical moments, you can only rely on yourself, not on others. In high school, I was still like this, and fewer and fewer people remembered what I said, so I simply stopped speaking. Let it be like this!

When faced with similar situations, Zhang Xiaohan said in "The Whole World Hates You": People cannot always be liked. If you choose to be someone standing high, being disliked is inevitable. Only by standing higher and running farther can these disturbances be thrown behind.

Just like in this solo journey, I saw many people. When I saw someone I liked walking with another boy, I chose to take a detour and quickly walked past them. I don't know if she had a moment when her eyes were on me. When walking alone, I saw an old friend, F. I gently patted her, briefly greeted her, and then walked away. Later, I saw Xiao G pass by me without calling me, so I simply pretended not to see and turned my head to the other side. After that, I encountered many familiar friends, and I always passed by them on their distant left side because I was afraid to greet them. I was even more afraid that after greeting, we would walk together and not say a word. I hate this awkwardness. I am a silent and introverted person. I think this level of silence can only be felt in the heart.

In my circle of friends, there are very few people with common topics, or perhaps none at all. I find that I am walking on a path of distancing myself from the crowd, just like this journey. In the end, what I am deviating from is not the crowd, but myself...

I desperately want to shape myself into a completely aloof person, indifferent to everything, unbothered by any worldly troubles. In a sense, this is a kind of carefree attitude. But unfortunately, I am stuck in the middle — this is the clearest definition I have of myself.

Most of the time each day, I play the role of a clown who seeks to make others laugh, while in a small part of the time, I maintain a cold face. At this time, I am most afraid of hearing others tell me jokes and happy things because I can't smile then and will ruin others' moods...

I originally wanted to observe this journey from a bystander's perspective, but in the end, I inevitably narrated my own story. The first eighteen years of my life have become the past. In my heart, there has always been a scale to measure right and wrong, but I ultimately chose more of the wrong.

If we look at this journey as life, the destination we ultimately reach is always the starting point. I remember a saying: when you come into this world, you bring nothing, so when you leave, remember something, and it is destined that you will take nothing with you.

Three years ago, when I came to this new environment, I tried hard to convince myself to forget some extremely unimportant people or evaluations, to be a brand new person, to treat people sincerely, and then make many friends. This was definitely the most naive thought I had up to that point, to the extent that for a long time afterward, whenever I thought of it, I would feel childish and ridiculous.

I am also truly amazed at my growth speed. A year ago, I could talk openly with friends, but a year later, when we walk together, we can't say a word. But I think I am not yet mature because I still have no ability to eliminate this awkward situation.

In my last year of junior high, my homeroom teacher once told me: "You are very restless; your heart cannot settle down, so you will never succeed."

At that time, I was indeed very frustrated because I spent more time studying than others but never achieved actual results. Now I am grateful because with such a restless and unsettled heart, I have thought of many things that many people cannot think of (I don't know if I can say it this way).

And that homeroom teacher was someone who often reminded me in my ear. He said many heavy words that perhaps I didn't understand at that time, and I didn't understand why he said such things when I was still immature. Now thinking back, I really hope there could be someone like that beside me again.

Time does not change the content of a person's story, but it can change a person's narrative style. — 2015,04,03 "A Record of a Training Session"

Do I have enough reasons to give up on college? Yes, I am stupid, and I lack many things compared to ordinary people. When necessary, be a cold person, and do not expect those things that can never be obtained. Don't let yourself linger in the past; everything in the past has already passed, so it has nothing to do with me. Be clear about what you want? On the road to success, everyone is an obstacle. Try not to inject too much emotion into things or people because your final choice and destination will be different from others. Master yourself; do not let others master you. — 2015,04,05

"Concerns" are things that everyone should have to some extent. Some things that have already been thought through in school, such as future work, plans after graduation, and life plans, cannot be said at home. In front of my mother, I can't say anything. I am afraid that any choice I make in the future will affect their lives, and I don't want to disappoint them or make them suffer. It is precisely because of such concerns that my originally resolute heart has become hesitant. The closest seven years of living with my mother have passed, and I think another seven years will come soon. If life at that time is still as aimless and unproductive as it is now, then in the second half of my life, I will still be mediocre. I don't know how I will repay my mother at that time. I don't want to make a living; I want to live. — 2015,04,07

In these brief 5 days, I have already tasted the feelings that summer and winter bring me, having never had such a short encounter between the two seasons. I just finished reading Zhang Jiajia's "Passing Through Your Whole World" and realized that there are so many beautiful stories missing in life. I want to be a storyteller, but the protagonists of all stories still remain undiscovered. I want to become a writer, but I can't figure out whether I should write real stories or fictional ones in the future.

Fiction can be too pretentious, while reality is hard to write about. This world is truly wonderful. In my 18 years of growing up, the most worth writing about is only childhood, the most worth describing are only old houses, childhood friends, and black-and-white televisions...

In middle school and high school, the only things I can write about are my naive first love and plots that are not much different from those in melodramatic TV dramas. Times are progressing; even if you don't want to change, there will always be things that force you to change.

People born in the 70s and 80s have many more memories and collections than we do. The most beautiful stories still happen in an era without mobile phones, the internet, and underdeveloped communication, where the background can be alleys, lanes, intersections, and large squares.

Among our generation, thoughts often vary greatly, and we oftenget angry when our friends don't understand us and can't imagine together. In fact, it's the same; you don't understand them much either. —2015,04,08

Believe in life and time; time will dilute all pain, and life may not necessarily create new joys. —2015,04,09

Some people are born with a sense of self-satisfaction. They make complaining and mocking others a habit and a pleasure. They never look at themselves from another perspective. I think such people are pitiful; they disdain everyone, and when they are left alone, they will also disdain themselves. —2015,04,12

In youth, one may be confused by difficulties, but now one can only be indifferent, unwilling to ask for help, and unwilling to let oneself depend on others. —Annie Baobei, "The Simple Years"

Every time I finish reading a book, I always pick out some meaningful sentences or write some book reviews. In the past, I liked to write a sentence I liked and post it online, only to find that only about sixty people could see it. Now, I start writing them down in a notebook, whether others see them or just I do, as long as I remember them in my heart, that's enough.

"The Simple Years" is the first book by Annie Baobei that I read. It is just some warmth now; most of the book is essays. If it is not understood, you will forget it ten minutes after reading. I think I am like that, but what impressed me deeply is "The Moon Tang Record." This story only describes the story of Chongguang and Qingyou, and apart from that, there are only two people, which shows how high his writing skills are. When describing Chongguang, everything feels so natural. I think there must be real emotions from the author's heart mixed in. Perhaps, Chongguang is herself, free-spirited, lonely, romantic, and yet romantic.

Such examples of incorporating personal experiences into stories are not uncommon. Han Han's "Triple Door," Du Liang's "Bloody Romance," and Ke Jing Teng's "Those Years."

A good literary work often elevates personal experiences and true inner emotions. Qingyou must be his ideal lifelong partner in his heart, safe, reliable, romantic, and real. This is what all women in the world desire, but it can only truly appear in stories. Everyone has different life pursuits; there is no need to persuade oneself to be loyal to any love. Don't be a slave to life; what you want, time will give you all. The partner you want is not to be treated as a vase for others to admire. I will still live my life; the best person will always wait for you in the distant future.

—2015,04,13

I want to get good grades; I want to start caring about these scores. The result may not be that important, but the process must be important. Put away that indifferent attitude; don't do it for anyone else, just do it for yourself. —54 days until the college entrance examination —2015,04,14

Quietly reflecting, have you overlooked the kindness of some people towards you? Do you think that is taken for granted? No one has a mission to be good to you, but if someone can wholeheartedly be good to you, then please cherish that person, because in the future, there won't be many people who will treat you with sincerity. —2015,04,17

(Twenty-two)

It has been almost a month since I last wrote a long article, not because my studies are so busy. For me, the time spent daydreaming is enough for a full-time writer to write a few thousand words of prose. I don't know where to start or from which aspect to write? Inspiration is nowhere to be found. For most writers, writing may be a form of venting, but I don't know how to vent. Whenever I encounter something unpleasant, I never tell any friends. I prefer to keep it in my heart, letting it rot quietly, and then there is nothing left to say.

In mid-April, the outside is bright, the sunlight is somewhat overwhelming, the shadows of the trees sway, but it is quiet, with no howling north wind or annoying summer cicadas. This is spring. Every year, I am particularly sensitive to the change of seasons, yet every year, there is not much that I can write down or remember. Looking back at articles from five months ago, I can't believe that almost five months have passed.

Five months ago, in 2014, I wrote in my notebook, "The last winter." In the blink of an eye, the last winter has passed. The seats have rotated again, and five months later, I am back in this window seat. Since the last time I sat here, I had silently vowed to fill this notebook, but five months have passed, and the notebook is still not finished.

These days are plain, but I still haven't found any freshness in these plain days. A few days ago, I took my quilt downstairs to dry in the dormitory. After almost a winter, the sunlight was very glaring, and the quilt had a smell. When I spread the quilt on the iron rod, I thought of my mother. Those scenes of drying quilts, I saw some on TV when I was very young. They say that the sunlight on a winter afternoon is the warmest, but if you feel carefully, isn't the sunlight in spring and summer very reassuring? In winter, I would be afraid to go into the house while drying it because once I entered, the cold would immediately hit me, but now it is not the case. The temperature in the dark and bright places is almost the same. I think at this time, my mother at home must also be carrying the quilt to the rooftop. Her legs are not good, and the work of climbing stairs at home is generally done by me for her. But now she is alone, which is fine. On the third-floor rooftop, the view of the back mountain is excellent; this is probably something she has never seen!

Originally meant for doing exercises, I instead used it to daydream or open my notebook, finding that I couldn't write a single word. I repeat this every day. I almost forgot that I am a senior high school student. If at that time I were working in a Starbucks, in some cinema, or in a building of my own, it would be such a wonderful thing. If I could ignore the ten years of struggle after graduation, that would be so comfortable. But there are no such "ifs," and reality continues.

Not long ago, I spent two mornings finishing reading Tong Hua's "Those Unreturnable Youthful Times." This is a purely narrative book with many shortcomings. A friend said this is the second-best book she has read, the first being "Youth is an Invalid Letter." I think such books are really only suitable for people of our age. I found that most of the people around me who like to read are inconspicuous like me and do not have complete stories. We all long to seek solace in these books, but the more we read, the more we feel inferior. Those who inherently have stories do not read such books and still live fulfilling lives. I can't help but want to comment on this book. Luo Qiqi's story is indeed quite tortuous and touching. After reading this book, I truly began to miss my high school life. I want to experience it again because I have never gone through a complete first love, nor have I ever focused on striving for my school ranking. But who hasn't? In the blink of an eye, the first and second years of high school have passed, and now the third year is also about to pass. Gradually, life will also pass.

A friend asked me how I developed this indifferent personality. He wants it too. This is the first time I thought that someone would want my personality. My personality has been questioned since middle school. I talk the most in the classroom, but once I leave the classroom, I don't know anyone. I am the most talkative in front of acquaintances, but in front of a group of familiar faces, I can't say a word. The state I most want to achieve is: not asking others and trying not to let myself depend on others. Every day is busy with studying, but nostalgia is still essential. Every day, I ask myself what kind of state I want to achieve. Day by day, I find that I am getting further away from my former self. For things I couldn't let go of in the past, I can now say that I can let go. Gradually, I convince myself that no one is worth your concern. For those who left a deep impression during my youth, I think of them now, and I can face everything about her calmly. Everyone has a past that is hard to look back on, but the future is not meant to compensate for those mistakes. For what was once fantasized and strived for, you can only strive for it little by little in the future, just like me.

I know that my words cannot be seen by most people, but I still browse blogs every day, trying to write a little more each day.

I know I cannot become a writer like Guo Jingming or Han Han who earns royalties, but I still go to buy a copy of "Sprout" at the beginning of each month.

I know that not many people will pay attention to me, but I still pretend to be indifferent. I hope a person who truly understands me will come.

I know that my dreams may not come true, but I still hold onto them. What if one day they come true!

I wait for these small persistences every day, and I believe that one day, they will turn into my great achievements.

I wonder if there are stars outside the window at this time? All the long articles before were written in the afternoon, but now they are written at night. The night is full of inspiration. I have always felt that I am suitable to be a person accompanied by words. After finishing such a piece of writing, I always count the number of words and calculate when I can have my first book. Those in their youth always carry hope. We are still children who have not been trampled by life, each carrying our own innocence, simply connecting with this world. The world is vast, and every day countless people are accepted and rejected by life, but those who persist are still persisting.

I had a dream. I dreamed of someone driving a car, playing very sad light music, a piano piece, in a quiet forest. This is a person's deep memory. The road was originally full of stones, but suddenly it turned into a road. The small saplings began to grow into small woods. Looking closely at this person, his face is full of vicissitudes, the beard at the corners of his face is starting to turn white, and he exudes the charm of a mature man. He is very familiar with this road, so much so that he can find the right direction even at night without turning on the headlights. The moonlight shines down, and I see his destination, which is an unknown cliff. —2015,04,23 "The Time That Will Never Return"

At first, I treated the things I had to complete as the last time I would do them. In my quarter-life, I have met many people, but very few have remained in contact until now. The environment is always changing, and the people in the environment are not fixed; things change, and it is hard to let go. On the journey of youth, you come, and you just come; you leave, and there is nothing worth holding onto. —2015,04,24

"Everyone in this world is waiting for another" is the most classic line from the movie "Waiting for a Person's Coffee."

The film tells us three genuine love stories: one of a bickering couple, one of deep feelings, and one of unexpressed love. This is also the second work by Jiu Ba Dao, continuing the style of his first work, with a background of campus and youth...

The movie has tragic stories, and after each tragedy, it is diluted by comedy, making it feel much lighter. The most heartbreaking thing in this world is that you work hard to obtain something, and when you finally get it, you don't have time to enjoy it before it is lost.

Love is like that coffee, carefully brewed, but if it doesn't suit your taste, then just pour it out.

Everyone may have a simple person who genuinely wants to treat you well, but we, being too young, often overlook this and take it for granted. One day, when you truly discover their goodness, they may no longer be by your side.

In front of "the person I love" and "the person who loves me," I think most people would choose the former. No one wants to betray their inner loyalty, always believing that what they insist on is right, just like a moth that knows it will die but still rushes towards the light. I have to say this is brave, but in the end, it hurts not only the moth but also those who watch it die helplessly.

—2015,04,25

Even I don't know, slowly, I have become the kind of person I truly hate and despise in my heart. Sometimes I really feel that I am not far from depression. Words that should be easy to say become so difficult to express. I once faced life with immense enthusiasm and optimism, longing to grow up, but I never thought that I would become the person I am now. I have also started to become unrecognizable to myself. Unfortunately, I still reflect like this, but this version of me will eventually pass, and it won't be long. I am willing to leave a carefree version of myself in others' hearts, the kind of person who won't be remembered forever. —2015,05,02

Will we, in the future, live like strangers as we did in the past 100 days? We are not parallel lines, but after slowly approaching and intersecting, we gradually deviate, and the gap becomes larger. If this is the case, then we have always been two parallel lines, how nice would that be? Now saying "We are in our senior year; we should..." actually means we have been in our senior year for a long time, nearing graduation. We will all have our different lives, and at that time, I hope we can forgive that naive version of ourselves, the one who never truly thought about the future. TO: LXT 2015,05,03

My hometown started building roads last year. It takes over 40 minutes to walk from my hometown to the town. It used to be all dirt, and when it rained, the mud would stick to the soles of my shoes, making it impossible to walk. However, after the road was finished, I realized that the scenery along the way is beautiful. I remember when the road construction started last year, I left a message to an important friend saying: "If one day in the future, I can really drive you back here at night, that would be a wonderful thing." If it were possible, I would rather stay in my hometown for a lifetime. This road carries most of my childhood memories. When we got up early to go to school, we had to pass by it every day. When we brought some pocket money to play at the market, we had to pass by it. In the hot summer, when a large group of people went swimming in the river, we also had to pass by it. Now, year after year, the flowers are similar, but the people change. When passing that road, I have also somewhat forgotten what it used to look like. Many things are like this; they have been with you for a long time, and you think you will always remember them, but once they change, in a day or two, you forget what they were like. Isn't this the case with people too? —2015,14,19

Carefully plan your time. It is now Tuesday evening, and a day has passed. There are classes on Wednesday and Thursday, monthly exams on Friday and Saturday, and just like that, a week has passed. May has arrived, with one day off, and after the holiday, there will be another exam, then the second mock exam, and two days will pass. After that, there are three weeks left in May, with two weeks of exams twice a week, and the remaining week is for adaptive tests, and then it will be the relaxed June, and after seven days, the college entrance examination will begin...

If time is simply left to linger in the mind, then you will never know how fast it passes. If you plan it out, actually, everyone's life can be summarized like this: Before the age of 22, you basically rely on your parents; from 22 to 27, you start to work independently, find a job, and adapt to it. After two years, when your job stabilizes, it won't be long before you start to get married and start a family, which means the end of a free life. You have to take on the responsibilities of two families, support your parents, and raise children. The burden of the family is completely on you. You work hard, and then you turn 30, and your job still shows no signs of improvement. The couple argues, and the children have to go to elementary school, middle school, and high school, and you slowly start to replicate your path.

Some people are desperately pursuing a meaningful life, while others are sticking to their old lives, ultimately leading most of them to the same end—living a life of mediocrity, passing through in plainness.

A truly meaningful life is relative to the individual. After you turn 18, staying in the countryside, growing flowers and vegetables, and planting rice, for others, you are a farmer, but for yourself, being away from the worldly hustle and bustle, living quietly alone is very satisfying.

If you are eager for fame and fortune, spending a lot of time at work to gain a sense of fulfillment, this should not be criticized.

Life is all the same; what matters is how you view and treat it. People should have fame and fortune, while the heart should have stability and peace. Try to enjoy life without a purpose. —2015,04,20

Today is your 18th birthday. I don't want to say much about those friendships that have lasted seven years. My understanding of you is still at the initial acquaintance level because I have never truly tried to understand a person.

I think you are lucky because at the age of eighteen, there are still so many people who remember you, and on August 23 of last year, I heard that you still have family blessings, but I don't feel sorry for myself because I haven't said any blessing words on other people's birthdays.

I once thought I had many friends, many people to laugh and talk with, but after leaving a circle, I realized that actually everyone has left. I used to require friends to be confidants, but now I only require friends to eat together, go to the bathroom together, and then return to the dormitory together. Once busy, everyone does their own thing, and no one cares about anyone.

I also quite like such friends, no one has entered anyone's heart, together just to make oneself feel less lonely,

trying not to ask others and not letting myself depend on others, because in this world, some people are friends, and some people are dogs.

I think after we graduate, if we are on two different life paths, there is no need to keep in touch. I am very happy to have walked through middle school and high school together. In the end::Happy Birthday! —2015,04,22 "TO: Friend's Birthday"

(Twenty-three) When you get used to waiting for dawn, the night will also become familiar.

Recently, I returned home for the first time in this room, writing something. I spent an afternoon at home. Every time I hurried back from school, it was always in a rush. However, after countless rushes, I thought it would always be the last time, but the closer it got to the last time, the more my heart easily took these as reasons for nostalgia, but this should not be too much!

At 10 PM, it started to rain lightly. I felt a bit hot in my room on the second floor.

Such times are very suitable for music. I opened the player, and it randomly played a song that was both familiar and unfamiliar, "Dreaming." A piece of writing I once liked was "At the End of the Year, Squatting and Listening to Gossip." In it, there was a song that I specifically searched for before but couldn't find. Now, I heard it without intentionally listening to it. My favorite version of this song is from Li Jian, a singer who became popular through "I Am a Singer." Listening to it, I began to enter his story.

Every time I return home, I specifically go through my childhood things. This time, I found a box and an album from 2003 by Ren Xianqi. In 2003, I was 7 years old, and most of the stories are vague. Even when I see these, I still can't remember what happened back then. At this age, my mother also likes to share stories from her childhood, elementary school, and middle school with me. I listen carefully every time she talks, as she shares her most genuine thoughts from that time, while I don't say a word. I want to keep those words for when I truly mature, to tell her when her hair has turned gray. I think that time will be more meaningful to reminisce about. In a few years, my mother will be in her fifties, and the more I reach this time, the more I realize how quickly my mother is aging. The medicine at home is piling up, and my mother is getting thinner. I feel that in 18 years, I have given my mother so little. She has worked hard to raise us siblings to adulthood, and my sister got married after just one year of work. For a woman, this is inherently unfair. Even if she has many complaints about life, she has lost even the most basic ability to resist.

Since 2012, I have occasionally listened to a local radio program called "Falling in Love with This Voice," and it has been three years now. As a result, I can recite a passage: If a person is nostalgic, they will find many things in their heart, clearly things that have long passed. We can format them or even delete them. But a nostalgic person cannot; they always like to deeply place some events or people that have impacted their lives in their hearts, waiting for the opportunity to reminisce later, and if not, to remember.

When I started listening, I would prepare a notebook in front of me because there were no online radio stations at that time, and it was hard to listen again after a program finished.

But at that time, I could choose to record. Especially between eight and nine in the evening, I happened to have things to do.

At that time in middle school, I admired non-mainstream culture and some sentimental writings. So whenever I had time to seriously listen to such a program, I would always place a blank notebook on the table to record the more profound words. A memorable piece came from an online article titled "My Girlfriend Who Accompanied Me for 10 Years Is Getting Married." Below is the link:

This is a love story about ideals and reality: a boy and a girl transition from campus lovers to the real world. The boy promises the girl a beautiful future and goes to Tibet to make a living in a harsh environment to fulfill his promise. After years of long-distance love, when the boy returns, the girl is preparing for her wedding.

Just like the girl said to the boy on the phone, "The wedding is just like we imagined: there are flowers, arches, red carpets, and evening gowns, but you are not there..."

Flipping through a book and listening to some pure music is a very pleasant thing. Pure music is the source of inspiration that all creators desire, such as Bandari's "Childhood Memory," "Kiss the Rain," "One Day in Spring"... They are extremely melodic, without lyrics, yet they can provide endless imaginative space.

I hope that one day in the future, I can run a café in the suburbs of the city or in some place in my hometown, with enough space to accommodate bookshelves and various types of tables.

With glass windows on all sides, I would clean them every weekday morning.

The coffee bar is set in the center of the café.

Selected pure music is played in every corner of the café. Of course, there will also be many things that I consider artistic and romantic. I would set the theme music to "Love in April Snow." This beautiful pure music has accompanied me throughout high school, and even at that time, it would still be what I most want to hear. —2015,05,05 "The Time That Will Never Return"

(Twenty-four)

I once thought that dreams were supreme and friendships unbreakable, but in the end, they all fell into the trap of time.

I still have many words left unsaid, many things to do. I am not tired of walking alone at night, nor have I grown tired of the buns near the school. I have not confessed to the girl I have secretly loved for a long time, nor have I done anything crazy at such a young age. The newly painted floor in the school basketball court has not started to peel yet, and the tree with yellow flowers at the dormitory entrance has not fallen after several days of heavy rain. The beef noodles and rice rolls in the cafeteria have been the same for three years, and the bus from school to my hometown has been crowded for three years, and perhaps in the future, I will never be able to squeeze in again; the road from the county town to my hometown has just been completed, and in the future, every time I can walk on it, it should be a year later.

The stories I have compiled over three years have ultimately only been half-finished. I have been clamoring to complete a novel, but after writing just a little, I couldn't continue; the graduation ceremony I have simulated countless times in my mind, the letter I have been thinking about throughout my senior year, now seems not so important. I want to apologize to Teacher Xu from the first year and Teacher Wen from the second year because I had promised before that I would strive, explode, and get into a good university. I also want to apologize to the members of the second-year group "The Young Pi," and those 60 classmates. I am not trying to ignore you; it's just that when I see you, indifference involuntarily spills out. If one day in the future, you really see such words, you might understand that I have always regarded you as friends.

I once thought that the three years of high school would be long, but I didn't expect that a person's time would occupy most of it. I didn't expect that there are so many beautiful things in this world, yet none belong to me. I also didn't expect that it would end like this. Sometimes I feel that living the same kind of life every day is not boring but a kind of tranquility. The song I least wanted to hear in the first year was "To Youth," in the second year it was "The Love Precept," and in the third year it was "Meeting is a Song." I don't know what kind of mood and feelings I will have on a day far away from campus life, after watching a nostalgic youth movie. Some things can be forgotten as soon as you say to forget them, while some things, even if you force yourself to forget, you still cannot forget.

Suddenly, I feel that time is not that important. In middle school, I hated having such a mature face. The joy that others could obtain, I didn't get at all. After several years, I found that I also like this mature indifference, which doesn't need to be pretended. It is a unique label. Many things only have their value in specific times and spaces. In this period of youth, I have been playing a role that I even dislike.

After thinking for a long time, I wrote a summary of high school on May 13, repeatedly asking myself what I learned in my senior year. Now thinking back, it doesn't matter whether I learned or not. After three years, I finally turned 18, and I can feel the changes between us very subtly.

Life has not pleased me, so I want to create my own life. —2015,05,13

“Be cautious when alone” — be careful of your inner world when you are lonely

Every day in this world, countless people are entangled between "the kind of person I want to be" and "the kind of person I am now." For the kind of person you yearn for in your heart, you will deliberately disguise and imagine, but you cannot become that person. At most, you can only perform it when you are alone in a completely unfamiliar environment, but it will never last long because you cannot always be that person, nor can you always be in that kind of environment. A person's nature is something that may follow you for a lifetime. I have never seen a person who has completely changed, even if someone loses both parents or experiences more painful things, their sadness can only last for a while, maybe a year or two. But once that sadness passes, they will still return to their original self unless they want to disguise themselves as a sad person deliberately, but their heart will never deceive them.

And generally, those who think "What kind of person am I now?" often have an inner sense of inferiority. Their personality can be completely divided into two parts, or it can be said to be a split personality. They are very mature inside, but their external words and actions seem extremely inconsistent. They have already internally defined themselves as a certain kind of person, but they hope to gain recognition from others for this kind of person, so they are easily influenced by others' evaluations of them. They need to grow; to succeed, they can only make their inner self stronger.

The heart can be very broad, but it can also be very narrow. You can deceive anyone, but you cannot deceive your heart. Only by truly paying attention to your inner feelings can you care less about others' opinions. First cultivate the inner self, then the outer self, but most people around have reversed the order or only completed one. I can only say: the less cultivated a person's heart is, the more they want to please others through their appearance and dressing. —2015,05,14

In my memory, some people have never changed from beginning to end, while some have changed beyond recognition. —2015,05,15

In dreams, we were once so beautiful, but unfortunately, we only realize that now. —2015,05,19

Fortunately, I once again sat on the bus home, and it was rare to have such an empty bus. After several days of heavy rain, the ground was full of pits. This time on the bus, I wore headphones, just like many years ago. However, the difference is that I kept repeating the same song, "Like Water Flowing Years." This is a song by Li Jian from many years ago. In the lyrics, I heard parting and sadness. I always feel that some songs can only be sung with the heart, and only after experiencing some things can you sing out their true meaning. We are all rushing towards different destinations in life, but how many people can enjoy the joy of this journey? What matters is not where you want to reach, but at this moment, your heart is still somewhere. —2015,05,22

(Twenty-five)

Because of the drizzling rain at midnight, because the aftertaste of dreams still lingers, because of the faint sound of water flowing indoors, because the window shakes incessantly, because the destination is vague, because the future is far away, because the memories are crystal clear, because the heart is scarred, because the dream is still in the place where it has not yet begun.

For a long time, I haven't read any new books or new writings. The closer I get to the end of a certain stage, the more anxious I become, wanting to end it immediately. Perhaps my restless heart has never truly stopped.

A player broke down, and I found that I could get used to the days without earplugs. Walking on campus, sometimes it feels like the journey has just begun. Everything has a familiar feeling, but that feeling slowly disappears once you recognize the subject. Flipping through notebooks from three years ago, I accidentally bumped into classmates from three years ago, feeling that they are in a very distant position in my mind, but in reality, it has only been three years.

Once, I was awakened from a dream in the middle of the night. It was a very interesting and beautiful dream. After waking up, I heard the sound of rain. At that moment, I wanted to write it down, but after thinking about it, I fell asleep again. The next day, I couldn't remember anything. There have been many similar situations; everyone only remembers the most emotional moments when everything is quiet at night.

Then, I have written so many words and thoughts now, realizing that I have never found someone to confide in. "I have been looking for someone who truly understands me," this line has appeared countless times in idol dramas, but now I feel that it should be the most romantic sentence in them.

Being alone for a long time makes one yearn for a freer life, only to find oneself on a road with no end, having walked far. In "Far Town," there is a line: In this world where looking back is seen as weakness and shame, no matter how far you walk, you will never reach the forever you desire. No matter how close you get, you will never return to the dream you want.

I am starting to understand some meanings of "on the road." Living "on the road," treating all hardships and experiences as part of training and emotional refinement. Only by truly tasting everything and seeing through it can your life be considered complete. —2015,05,16

I remember in Guo Jingming's "Summer is Not Yet," he used a term "people scatter like beasts" when describing taking graduation photos. In 18 years, I have taken graduation photos three times: elementary school, middle school, and high school. I think there will only be these three times in my life. I placed the first two photos in the most conspicuous position on my desk at home, and every time I walk into the room, I can see them. If you observe closely, there are actually two people in the photos who have always been with me. The three of us are not particularly familiar; we just greet each other when we meet. The graduation photo taken in the third year was in the morning, and the sunlight was very bright. I was sweating all over while taking the photo, and immediately after, I rushed to class. Now, the graduation photo is taken leisurely, with the sky particularly bright after the rain. If the first two graduation photos were just taken to get by, then this one holds more nostalgic value. After the third year, I never thought that years later, when I look back at the graduation photos, I would actually miss that time. We were not yet prepared to rush towards our respective skies, always thinking that after saying goodbye, we would meet again. But now, thinking back, I understand: a hasty farewell will be a farewell for this life, and once we say goodbye, we will never meet again. —2015,05,26 "Graduation Photo"

(Twenty-six) (Ending)

November 8, 2014 — May 31, 2015

I started writing the first piece on November 8, 2014, titled "Mother." Now it is May 31, 2015. I began writing in late autumn when the surrounding environment started to wither. I hid in the corner of the classroom, usually writing only a few dozen words in an afternoon. I would open the notebook, lower my head and think for a long time. Sometimes I would raise my head and see the sky outside, painted red by the evening glow. Daydreaming, writing a bit, and then daydreaming again, thus the first page, second page, third page...

I don't even know what I am writing? At first, I wanted to write essays, then I started to vent, and finally, it completely resembled a diary. I feel more like an immature child trying to show my mature side but not wanting to be discovered by those around me.

The notebook contains the thoughts and understandings I have recorded since my senior year. I don't know how many people will see these in the future, nor do I know if those who see them will like them.

My dream is to become someone who can live off writing, so I desperately want to do something related to this profession. That's why I started writing, wanting to write stories, but after all, I am a science student and haven't read many classic books. What I write seems like nonsense, but I think no one can write a work like "Fortress Besieged" right from the start.

Recently, I saw a blog by Hou Xiaoqiang that left a deep impression on me, titled "Tonight, I Go to Attend a Nonexistent Banquet," which talks about his entrepreneurial experience. But what I saw more was the sincerity of an uncle. I remember he named his app "Poison" because of a saying: "Slightly poisonous is also a component of the soul."

I know that in this society, there are many people like him, with extraordinary talents and a willingness to work hard, such as some post-90s writers I really like: Zhang Xiaohan, Wang Changzheng, Zhu Yanran... They may not have the outstanding looks and fame like Zheng Shuang and Yang Yang in the entertainment industry, but in my eyes, they are indeed more genuine and practical.

Perhaps in the end, I should understand that I cannot persist in the dream of being a writer for a long time. I feel that in the future, a lot of money will replace all my dreams, and spiritual enjoyment will completely degrade into material enjoyment. I will be oppressed by life and forget what my original intention was. Then I will become the kind of person I now hate. All the suspense will be left for time to reveal, so I should not need to lament so much. What I should think about is what I have gained in three years of high school.

In fact, I also regret that in these three years, I haven't found a trustworthy partner to endure hardships and start a business together. This is actually my fault for not revealing my truest self to others.

At the moment of saying goodbye to campus, I realize that the romantic plots in those campus stories have never happened.

I once naively believed in "forever," only to realize in the end that "no one is indispensable."

"Cherish those who are good to you," I have heard this for six years. Now I want to say that if it were me, I wouldn't cherish it because I am a bad person and don't deserve so much kindness from others.

I am very grateful to those who once treated me coldly and were good at mocking me, as they have turned me into who I am now. Although it is not very good, it is still bearable.

In the end, whether friends or enemies, I have accepted them calmly. At worst, I will forget everything in the end. Perhaps forgetting is the best way to grow.

I will strive to become the kind of person I truly want to be. This is my promise to myself. Fortunately, over the past three years, I haven't invested too much emotion, haven't relied on anyone, and haven't let myself depend on anyone. I think I can set off lightly on my own and meet the most beautiful future.

At that time, I was eighteen, with seven days left until the college entrance examination. I want to remember these two sentences: (1) Life has not pleased me, so I create my own life. (2) The world is so beautiful that it is worth fighting for. —2015,05,31

If every farewell happens in spring, then "spring-like seasons" must be a very sad term. No matter how much "deep affection" there is, in the end, it will turn into a sentence of "no future meeting." Whether it is dreams or expectations, in the end, they will be remembered and then forgotten like this grand farewell. No matter how much I regret missing you, no matter how much I look forward to tomorrow, I think we are approaching the end. I humbly raise my head, looking up at everyone passing by. I hope that one day in the future, I can also reach heights that everyone here cannot reach. —2015,06,02

(Twenty-seven)

In a day at home, I found that without the nagging of old friends and various complaints about Lao Fang, it can be so quiet.

I thought walking on the red carpet would be a grand farewell, but in the end, it wasn't as reluctant as I imagined. I remember at this time last year, I thought I must give my beloved teachers Zhong Xiaoying and Liu Lingyan a hug on the red carpet. Unfortunately, on the 10th, I felt that all forms were no longer important; what mattered was that I had placed all the important things in my heart.

If every farewell happens in spring, then spring-like seasons must be a very sad term. It is precisely because we are young that we take these things seriously.

I once thought three years would be long enough to experience everything I wanted, but I found that I have walked far down a path I despise. Fortunately, I have met many good people who have taught me many things. Here are Wang from Class 22, Wu, Li, Wang, and Li, Qiu, Xiao, and Lai from Class 16. They are all people I want to remember from high school. Of course, there is also LHY, who has appeared in my dreams many times.

Some I don't see often, and some when I do, we bicker, argue, and have cold wars... But these will all become the most memorable things for us in the future, and I will cherish them.

I am very unwilling to let three years pass like this. Sometimes I feel it is enough, and sometimes I feel I have gained nothing. But it is certain that we have grown a lot and met many people. However, perhaps the experiences will be few and boring, often wandering between the dormitory and classroom. I think some of the beautiful fantasies I once had will eventually be realized in your university.

Finally, I want to share a piece of self-encouragement I say to myself when I am alone: Life will not go as you wish. It will give you a period of time to be lonely, confused, silent, and depressed. But if you rely on this time to be alone with yourself, read more books, do what you can do, and let go of the past, once you get through the low tide, those reading times will surely illuminate your path forward. It is precisely these unbearable experiences that accompany you to mature, so now it is not that bad. What seems like life owes you is actually a blessing.

This is definitely my most sentimental moment, but it doesn't matter. Most friends are together, all teasing and mocking without a care, and I find that there are very few who can speak their hearts. But everyone is still young, with many roads to walk and many dreams to pursue.

In the years of growing up, we have never changed; we have only become clearer versions of ourselves. Believe in time and life; time will dilute all pain, and life will surely create new joys. I recommend a few favorite songs: "Sofia Jannok," "Yesterday" by The Beatles, "Like Water Flowing Years" by Li Jian, and pure music like "Love in April Snow," "Childhood Memory." I believe those who read this short article will definitely like them.

—2015,06,10

(Twenty-eight)

A Heart Pierced by Thousands of Arrows

There are always some emotions suppressed in the heart that cannot be expressed. The plain June has finally passed, but the new life I want has yet to arrive. Sometimes I feel that a repetitive habit of life is not boring but a kind of tranquility, and this tranquility easily makes people linger. But it is not worth spending a lifetime indulging in it.

Recently, I often wake up in the middle of the night, my clothes soaked. The moonlight is bright, shining through the window, making everything outside very clear, like in the morning or dusk. If it weren't for the heat of the weather, it would resemble the scene of frost in winter, silvery white. The long-extinguished lamp still shines faintly on the wall. Waking up in the middle of the night, it glows on both sides, while the middle is dark, like a giant cat's pair of eyes.

I often feel things that are meaningless, longing for the day when we can reunite after a long separation.

"Everyone has lived more than half their lives, and no one is much better than anyone else." This is the ending line I recently saw in the movie "A Heart Pierced by Thousands of Arrows." This is a Chinese film worth thinking about and reminiscing over, set in the late 80s and 90s in Hong Kong, exuding a sense of "the old era." The female protagonist drives her husband to death, living with her son and mother-in-law, spending the next ten years trying to make up for her mistakes, or in her eyes, what may not even be mistakes. She suppresses her brilliance, living for the sake of living, working hard for ten years just to raise her son, only to be ruthlessly swept out the door by her son at the moment he becomes successful. The story leaves much to be imagined, like the mother's future life and the future of her top-scoring son in the college entrance examination. The film is not short of deeply touching scenes, especially at the end, where the mother sits alone by the river, looking at the distant lights, while the river remains as calm as ever, watching young people play with fireworks. Her back and expression appear very lonely. Ten years pass quickly, simply reduced to a row of subtitles. The makeup truly shows us what ten years later looks like, but this ten years seems to have changed nothing; resentment remains resentment, and life remains the same. At least I believe that such ten years can change many things, the growth of children, who will try to let go of their hatred, but in the film, it keeps deepening, ultimately ending in tragedy.

The couple in the film easily reminds me of my parents, a couple married in the 90s, who still constantly complain about each other. In my memory, they have never had a common language. Every topic always takes a long time to argue before reaching a conclusion, and every time they catch a point, they dig deeper. Every time a joke is made, it eventually turns into an argument, ending with the mother saying, "If I hadn't married you back then, would I be like this now?" They have no feelings for each other, and they have grown to dislike each other. If one day they were to divorce, it could happen just as easily as their marriage, saying "let's get married" or "let's get divorced." As long as they can meet each other's demands, such couples are everywhere in the countryside. Therefore, in the eyes of some people, love dramas are not credible at all; the so-called love and hate, mutual support, simply do not exist. As long as you satisfy him or her, whether materially or physically, the other party will not leave you. There are not so many suitable or unsuitable people in this world. Since you are together, you should accommodate each other and move forward. Because choosing to leave is just as troublesome as choosing to be together.

Sometimes I also ask myself: Do the mistakes made in the past have to be repaid and compensated for with the rest of my life? Is desperately trying to make up for them still not getting that person's forgiveness? Any relationship is like "spilled water" and "a broken guitar string." No matter how you adjust, the sound will still be wrong. No matter how good friends or partners were in the past, after a gap, you can never return to the previous relationship. Therefore, I almost never initiate a cold war with friends; I would rather find a friend who can casually agree than have a confidant.

Last night, I had a dream. In the dream, I returned to my high school life from a few months ago, facing the most tangled problems of that time again, but ultimately still without answers. In the early morning, I stared blankly at the white wall. For me, waking up in the middle of the night can be extremely terrifying and frightening because after waking up once, falling asleep again becomes very difficult. During the day, I flipped through old books, writing a long passage on a piece of paper tucked inside a novel, which was also written when I woke up in the middle of the night.

Written last year: When everything becomes confusing, the only thing you can do is maintain your original state and keep going. I think that years later, I will still remember this state. At this moment, I stand in the corridor of the fourth-floor dormitory, with dim light shining down. I have been looking for a place to block the wind from the right, but in the end, I still couldn't find it. The wind from the right keeps blowing and blowing. There are yellow flowers at the bottom of the building, which is what I most want to see every morning or night. But time is short; they have already started to wither slowly, without any warning. Perhaps it will happen in a gust of wind, in a rainstorm, in countless moments of looking up, and in countless glances. One day, they will be gone. And at this moment, they are showing us their most beautiful posture before withering, and I can say that this is the last time I strive for my dreams, leaving some feelings behind. I love this feeling. Just like many years ago, the ending was still far away, and the dream was still long. But now, knowing the end of the struggle, I am only pursuing that feeling.

It has been almost a year since I wrote this down, and I can no longer write many such segments. So every time I see them, it feels like seeing a story that cannot be replicated.

Yes, every sudden inspiration and sudden writing must have an experience and story behind it. I remember that in the past, such writings mostly appeared in classrooms illuminated by sunlight after lunch or during the dusk of every holiday, and very rarely at such midnight.

Many things, after the first experience ends, can never have the same feeling again. Just like sometimes spending a night writing an essay, waking up the next day to find the document unsaved, even if you spend several days organizing and rewriting, it cannot compare to the original piece. Many people are like this; clearly, they can discover past mistakes, but they still don't want to reflect on them again, preferring to bury those mistakes in their hearts and let them become shadows.

"Everything in the past has shaped the present me," is absolutely true. The current state and loneliness are all self-imposed. I pretend to be mature and have lost contact with everyone, not replying to messages or answering calls. I silently persuade myself: this is not avoidance, it is growth, and the price of growth is letting go of all the past, facing the future alone. Before achieving anything, one has no right to look back at the past.

Sometimes, when I understand some things, I often feel a piercing pain in my heart.

A person who is overly focused on results will only slowly recall the process and care about those who care about him when he has obtained everything he wants;

A person who has not invested too much emotion will not understand the feelings behind messages saying "Are you okay?" or "I want to have a good chat with you."

A person who has never felt lonely will not recall past events or think of certain people at the moment he puts on earplugs one night.

——Written on July 7, 2015

（Twenty-nine）

A letter to a friend

TO YOU:

I left, and ultimately I have to face my own life. "I want to take the train and leave here forever, never to return," is something I liked to say since middle school, but most people didn't pay attention, perhaps thinking it was just a way to express my non-mainstream self. Well, I admit that saying such things wasn't intentional; I actually wanted more people to think I was a person with a story. However, this thought didn't come out of nowhere; I was still young at that time, and I can only say my heart was too small to hold many things. For example: after a teacher's criticism, I wanted to leave; after being blocked in a game, I wanted to leave; if a letter I wrote to you or her went unanswered for several days, I wanted to leave...

Now I can finally take the train and leave, but most of those feelings will never return.

The short month before leaving felt like a long time. I spent time with my mother in a small house in the village, which seemed to compensate for the reluctance I felt every time I returned home during the three years of high school. Life at home was very plain; I grew vegetables, watered them, and the days didn't seem so long. There was a period of rain, and if it rained all day, I could write a lot, but not at night. This seemed contrary to what those great creators would do. In the bright mornings and afternoons, I revised and organized many of my previous writings and even wrote a few stories, but the endings always left people in despair.

I read some books, and one I want to recommend is "Love Letter" by Shunji Iwai from Japan, a novel from ten years ago, which I happened to finish after watching its adapted movie. I was very touched by the stories within. It wasn't as moving as the life-and-death separations in Chinese films; everything was natural, including Fujii's departure and his death. In fact, the most touching moments in life are those small accidents and coincidences that evoke the deepest memories. A letter from Boko was unintentional, yet it deepened the memories that Fujii had begun to forget. The hardest thing to see clearly in a story is the protagonist. After ten or eight years, when trying to reminisce about the story, it no longer exists or cannot continue. No matter how deep the feelings are, they are one-time events, just like a once-passionate lover; after a breakup, even if they seem familiar when they meet, in their hearts, they are not even strangers. Some things must be completed within a limited time frame; otherwise, it will all be too late because there are too many unexpected events.

I feel that my high school years are filled with regrets for many things I did and regrets for things I didn't have time to do. Unfortunately, it just passed like that. These regrets and disappointments should be left for my first love. For the first time, I want to talk about emotional topics, which may have been extremely hidden and unspoken in my heart before. For so long, in my inner loneliness and when I most wanted to express myself, the person I still easily thought of was her, not because of what she could bring me in the past, but because every time I saw her or thought of her now, my heart felt comforted. I can't explain why I still can't let go after all this time; it gradually made me understand a saying: first love is like a pot of boiling water; no matter how boiling it was at first, over time, it still becomes plain water.

Perhaps when we separated, we walked on two parallel paths that would never intersect again.

The last chat was on June 10, the night I returned home, just a few brief words.

Me: We don't understand each other at all anymore; our experiences and thoughts are different.

She: Hmm

Me: We are destined to head towards different lives; let's work hard for ourselves first. Good night!

We haven't contacted each other since, including our college entrance exam results and future plans. It's as if we disappeared from each other's memories. To be honest, I still hold a little hope for us, even though I know in my heart that it is completely impossible.

At 16, we promised each other ten years; at that time, I should have known we couldn't last long. During that time, she taught me a lot. That was one of the few happy times in my entire high school life. Later, she said we shouldn't be together anymore, and I hated her for it; I still do. If she hadn't said it back then, I might have really dragged it out until now. Maybe I would have foolishly worked hard to get into the same university, and perhaps we would have worked in the same place. Of course, these are all assumptions, but now it's fine; it's a kind of relief for both of us. I just feel a bit unwilling; every time I think of that afternoon, I want to work hard to become the person she would regret not cherishing years later. But the confusion is that I don't know when I can reach that point. Perhaps people grow and become stronger step by step.

Now, every time I want to write something, I always play a piece of pure music on repeat in my room, following the melody until I stop writing. I want to recommend a band called Bandari; their music is very pure, with pieces like "Kiss the Rain" and "Childhood Memory"... I've been listening to them since middle school and have never grown tired of them. They are perfect for listening alone in the quiet of the night, and as you listen, you might recall many past things.

I never thought I would have to face my future and life so early. Although I occasionally complained in the past, I pretended to be mature on the surface, but inside I was always very timid, with no confidence at all. The people I worry about the most and the ones I can't let go of are my family. They urge me every day to continue studying, as if in their eyes, only by going to university can one qualify for a decent job. And yes, for us rural kids, studying is the only way out. They are always afraid I will suffer, be tired, or be bullied at work. What I worry about more is that this job might be a lifetime commitment for me, which is not what I want for my family. But I find it hard to predict these things; fate is unpredictable, and I might regret choosing this path too early in the future. I just hope I won't forget the words I've said in the future.

“Be clear-minded and unburdened, let things come naturally, do not welcome the future, do not mix with the present, and do not cling to the past.”

This is a very interesting sentence I saw recently, especially "do not cling to the past": since the past is already gone, there is nothing to cling to, right? During this month, many friends sent messages and called, but I didn't reply to any of them. There was no social interaction, no contact. It felt like I had disappeared from the world; whether they could remember me didn't seem that important anymore. Every time I change my environment, I meet different people and experience different things. No matter how many close friends or best buddies I have, they will all be replaced by others, eventually becoming "a smear of mosquito blood on the wall" or "a grain of rice stuck on clothes."

For you who are about to enter university, I don't know what good things to say. This is a life I once longed for and still do, but it's not something you can have just because you like it. Now I have started writing a blog, although it still only has a few sentences, and the stories I write are ones I can't even bear to read myself. But I think I will keep writing, even in the most tiring and difficult times in the future, because this is also a dream I cannot realize.

The hardest thing for a person is to have their own independent views and thoughts, and to never be disturbed by the outside world. Instead of constantly writing feelings in spaces like Weibo or Moments, I think it is better to calm down and read a book or write a blog.

What do you think?

Finally, I want to share a passage: the rarest friends are those who, even after parting and experiencing life, when they meet again, find that they are still familiar with each other. This familiarity is not due to similar experiences, but because you have both become better people in different lives, and that growth is a tacit understanding.

I hope we can all become better people!! Goodbye.

——Written on July 18, 2015.

（Twenty-nine）

Departure (A letter to every past self)

I rarely see this bright windowsill anymore. Under the morning sunlight, the room seems to have been painted anew. Outside the window, on the back mountain, the pines are rustling, and birds are chirping, but it's hard to tell which tree they come from. The annoying cicadas are chirping incessantly. Mom's vegetable garden, after last night's rain, has bloomed with tender flowers. The wilted flower stems I planted a month ago are finally standing tall. The hen is leading her chicks slowly through the garden, choosing a cool spot to quietly settle down...

This is truly the most beautiful scene in my memory. Wherever the sunlight shines, green grass will grow; wherever the breeze blows, the shadows of trees will sway. I will remember this place that is beautiful even without embellishment.

I believe that every turning point and departure in life must have its unique meaning. The time for growth takes a long time, but maturity seems to happen in an instant. It can be triggered by a sharp retort to someone that makes them think you have matured. So we should be grateful to those who give you the opportunity to mature—those who mock you. These days, the most common words I hear are "The outside world is not easy; you don't have the ability," "Work is so hard and tiring," and similar phrases. Every time someone doubts or denies me with harsh words, I often do not respond. I always believe that the best way to eliminate those doubts is through action.

In the past, I was naive, persistent, troubled, and ashamed... but I no longer want to bring these into my future life.

I won't gradually doubt myself because of friends' distancing, nor will I be angry because of others' disdain or sarcasm. I only care about my future because I will spend the rest of my life there. The past is already gone, so it has nothing to do with me!

In the future, I need to strengthen my heart through repeated failures.

Perhaps after countless interviews, you will gradually lose confidence in life.

Perhaps you will find yourself drinking and smoking alone under the streetlights of China's most prosperous city.

Perhaps you will become increasingly depressed under the pressure of life, thinking about suicide.

These seemingly dramatic words will one day happen to me. In my heart, I will silently think like those who see reality: the future is not as good as imagined. I once wanted to be a lawyer, an athlete, a doctor, a singer... As time passes, dreams are gradually abandoned. Perhaps in the end, I will be nothing, not even a complete person.

I always understand that the more a person wants to pursue something, the more they must pay a higher price. A person's success must come with an equal amount of failure. The more you desire, the more disappointment you will have. I just want to be a good person, a complete person...

Some say: A person can live for the past, can live for today, but cannot live for the meaningless worries of the future. Recently, a phrase I often say is "Take one step at a time." Generally, those who say such things are feeling the same as I do now, worried about the future, but unfortunately, you cannot change the future.

Live for today, but do not live for meaningless worries about the future. Recently, a phrase I often say is "take it one step at a time." Generally, those who say such things are feeling the same way I do now, worried about the future, but the unfortunate thing is that you cannot change the future.

If God has given me such a life, there must be a reason for it, and I will slowly seek it out, with a firm belief that there will always be a corner of the world that belongs to you.

Having seen so much warmth and human kindness, I self-destruct, and when I truly have to experience it, my heart will long for it immensely.

This summer, I am here, waiting for the next autumn...

Written on July 21, 2015

（Thirty）

I envy

The current me walking alone on the street

I start to envy everyone

I envy the young children

Riding their bicycles without a care in the world

I envy the young people in uniforms rushing by

Moving forward towards their life goals

I envy the middle-aged people driving Mercedes and BMWs

Balding yet possessing a different charm

I envy the elderly in the park under the sun

Having gone through life's ups and downs, they can finally enjoy their old age

I envy the beggar squatting in the corner

Willing to give up all dignity just to eat and stay warm

I envy the person in a wheelchair

Who doesn't have to struggle meaninglessly

I envy the tattooed thug

How wonderful it would be if life could always be so carefree

I envy every child that is born

Who can live without worries for the first twenty years

I envy everyone who is about to die

Who can say goodbye to the ruthlessness and indifference of this world

I envy every woman

Because their paths are ultimately paved by us men

I envy everyone who dares to walk upright

Because they are among the few living beings in this world. —Written on July 23, 2015: The second day of job hunting.

（Thirty-one）

Familiar dusk and dawn

In my quarter-life, my two favorite times are dawn and dusk. Dawn represents a beginning, while dusk often represents an end. Every dawn, walking on the soon-to-be-bustling street, the sounds that come to mind the most are the foghorns from the distant seaside and the lovers embracing to say goodbye, while in reality, the sounds I hear the most are the various shop doors being pulled up, and the elderly riding tricycles, bringing breakfast, buns, and soy milk to sell along the street. Most of the people waiting at the bus stop are young people in uniforms, full of vitality as if welcoming a brand new day. However, dusk presents a different scene. In those hopeful days, I would think of it as a symbol of harvest, but now I increasingly see it as the best time for a person to walk towards the grave and death, filled with despair and fear, especially when walking alone on a completely unfamiliar street.

This city is vastly different from my hometown, but the only similarity is that storms come without warning. However, it is even more terrifying in the city, with strong winds shaking the trees and heavy rain pounding against the buildings, even the windows seem to be resisting. When the rain stops, I can imagine that around the various ponds in my hometown, there will definitely be bright rainbows hanging in the sky, while here, all I can see when I look up are tall buildings. One moment it is windy and chilly, the next moment, the sun dries the ground, making it feel as if the rain never happened.

Many people like to compare life to a road, but I think I have not even started on the road yet. What often floods my mind are those emotions that come and go. It is undeniable that during such times, tears are the easiest to manifest. Remembering every touching story, listening to every sad piece of music, reminiscing about every sorrowful past, I cannot help but shed tears, feeling like a terminally ill patient with countless last words to say to family and friends, unable to express what this feeling is like.

Those most difficult times have gradually passed as I speak of them, from the initial confusion and ignorance to now being able to calmly accept many things, whether they are good or bad, to remember or to forget, even I cannot clearly say. I have always insisted that thought and faith are the two main factors that can support a person to keep going no matter how difficult it is. Recently, I have become infatuated with a novel by Haruki Murakami called "Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage." I think the character Tsukuru Tazaki should be applicable to any lonely person. Watching his life easily reminds me of myself, and there is a line in it: "Thoughts are like beards; if they are not mature, they cannot grow."

Some people say that the adaptations that apply to most people are not unbelievable.

For example, "The atmosphere of this society is like poison gas; after staying for a long time, it will erode your whole body, ultimately leading to you becoming unrecognizable";

"After graduation, your classmates will gradually have less contact, and eventually drift apart";

"Sad people shouldn't listen to slow songs"… After slowly experiencing these, one can ultimately gain some understanding.

Even if you are noble and untainted by mud, after staying for a long time, you will also become like that mud.

"Is there true friendship in this world?" In school, I heard many brothers and best friends say that in the future, we would travel together, start a business together. But after coming out, what I hear the most is: the one thing you cannot believe is your friends; when you are glorious, everyone respects you, but when you are down, who still knows you?

The third point I want to share is a quote from a Douban user: The reason love songs are so beautiful is not only because of their melodious tunes and excellent compositions, but more importantly, we see our own stories in the lyrics. In the singer's heart-wrenching and passionate singing, we cannot help but want to take the opportunity to touch the wounds in our hearts, and then put on a face that looks like we are enjoying the pain, almost wanting to grab the people on the street and excitedly tell them: Did you hear? This song is about me! It's about me!

This world is not as good as imagined, nor is it as bad as imagined, but many things cannot only be defined by good or bad.

Before stepping into this society, I thought I could guarantee many things. I could guarantee that dreams would never die, I could guarantee that a few years later I could give the one in my heart the happiness she desires, I could guarantee that I would definitely shock those indifferent people… After stepping into this society, I no longer want to say anything.

The biggest characteristic of the city is that it can extinguish a person's temper and wear down a person's will. Yet countless people come to this city alone, their dreams and desires surge like water gushing out from the street during a heavy rain, fierce and aggressive. When the storm stops, the flood flows into the sewer, and when the sun comes out, everything is dried up.

Besides dreams, accepting reality also requires a great deal of courage.

When everyone starts to engage with this society, unless you come from a wealthy family, you are destined to start from a humble beginning. However, some people, after grinding through, elevate their status and gradually become more worldly.

I hear different people talk about dignity and fairness. However, society's gaze tends to categorize people into high, middle, and low classes. Some of these gazes come from others, and some even come from oneself. These people force themselves to categorize themselves as belonging to the lowly class. If this society is to abandon and slaughter some people, it will definitely start from the lowest end of the pyramid. Therefore, there is fundamentally no such thing as an equal life, equal respect, or equal humanity in this world.

If a person's life value is measured by money, then a civil servant sitting in an office is actually on the same level as a migrant worker on the street, each performing their different duties, each doing their work based on their own abilities. However, society's gaze tends to categorize people into high, middle, and low classes. Some of these gazes come from others, and some even come from oneself. These people force themselves to categorize themselves as belonging to the lowly class, which is not wrong. If this society is to abandon and slaughter some people, it will definitely start from the lowest end of the pyramid. Therefore, there is fundamentally no such thing as an equal life, equal respect, or equal humanity in this world.

Every day we encounter countless people who think they are more humble and worthless than ourselves, but no matter how ordinary, how common, or how evil they are, I believe they once explored the imagined world just like you and me, so they all deserve respect. Those who earn money with their physical strength envy those who can earn money just by typing on a computer keyboard and looking at the screen. And those who earn money with their brains also envy those who can move their limbs and exercise every day. Different positions of people envy each other, yet not many truly enjoy their work. In this society, survival always comes first, while interest is pushed to the back. Only after solving people's basic needs can they develop their abilities in other areas. In order to survive, they can only go against their original intentions, wholeheartedly chasing after money. This society is more realistic than imagined, and reality is more brutal than imagined. No matter how young, there will be a day of aging; no matter how capable, there will be a time when one cannot work. A person's life still needs to go through a lot, and it is precisely these experiences that teach people about love and being loved, enduring and being endured. While this society achieves many people every day, it also eliminates many others.

A few months ago, I wanted to make a bold statement, let's compare ten years later to see whose life is better. Now I am glad that I did not say that at the time, because life is something that no one can predict. Just like three years ago, I thought that with a resolute heart, I could change many things, including my family and my future. So for the past three years, my heart has become harder, and now I realize that just having a heart is far from enough. The heart is the most useless thing because it gives a person's thoughts but cannot provide action.

Every time night falls, what accompanies me is the lights of this city. The streetlights stay on until dawn, but what can guide me forward will never be these. San Mao once said, "If the heart has no resting place, then no matter where you go, you are wandering." Yes, because of aspirations, I want a freer life. At 18, I think I still have to live for another 42 years to end my wandering life. Sometimes, when walking on the street with a peer, seeing young couples sweetly teasing their toddlers learning to walk, he jokingly says: I just want to be a dad. I understand that this is probably not a joke, especially for someone who has been working away from home for many years and whose parents are divorced. What they need the most is to have a home, a support, and a companion who understands them. I believe his thoughts represent all those who have matured after spending a long time away from home; they will have a desire to start a family, wanting a simple and peaceful life.

By chance, I interacted with a migrant worker in his fifties who has been in this city for ten years. He has a head full of white hair, has done hard labor for over a decade, and his body is already very thin, yet he still works hard, even more seriously than the young people. In a cramped space, covered in dust, inhaling it, he still persists. His meals are very simple; he buys a few loaves of bread from the street-side supermarket, and when he is hungry, he sits on the ground to eat, regardless of the rushing passersby or their gazes. The phrase he often says is, "A person is born to suffer; only when you die will you have no suffering." This city is far from what I imagined.

Whether for livelihood, ideals, emotions, or out of necessity, everyone can find a reason to comfort themselves for their arrival or departure, even if that reason once made you passionate or heartbroken. But all of this is your own choice, regardless of good or bad, there is no right or wrong, and there is no need for judgment. Just like many truths hidden behind halos and embellishments, they are unreasonable and unspeakable.

—Written on August 1, 2015.

（Thirty-two）

My daze and confusion

In a single room on the top floor, every time I open the door, all the heat rushes in. Lying down or sitting, I can feel the temperature of everything I touch at every moment.

In the narrow room: a small bedside table at the head of the bed, a small dining table at the foot of the bed, a small fan on the table, and two bags piled on the dining table, with a garbage bin and two pairs of shoes on the floor.

In the bathroom, there is a shower and a washstand of moderate length. Adding a stool to the washstand creates a quiet place for writing.

Water that has been boiled for a long time tastes like tap water;

Living in a location away from the bustling streets, the sounds I hear the most every morning and evening are the cries of children and the barking of dogs;

Woken up several times at night by mosquitoes, sometimes it is hard to fall back asleep even when I am so tired that I can barely open my eyes. I quite dislike these days, yet I also quite love them.

Like in every TV drama, every lonely stranger must meet a kind landlady, and I am no exception. My landlady is someone who loves to plant flowers and vegetables. Just so happens that I live on the top floor, and when I open the door and turn right, there are many of her potted plants. Every afternoon, when the sunlight on the rooftop fades, she always comes up with a watering can to water them. Sometimes when I hear her coming up, I open the room and stand on the rooftop to chat with her. Those moments spent together every day are probably the best comfort for my heart.

But sometimes when the landlady goes downstairs, I stand alone on the rooftop, looking up and down, seeing various floors closely packed together like lovers embracing, yet it results in even a small alley not being formed.

The city after the rain is much cooler, and I am busy looking for a job all day long. Sometimes I dare not look at the sky anymore; the sky is so vast that it feels confusing. I start to avoid looking at the various girls by the roadside because it is hard to imagine what dating would be like for me now. I also rarely listen to music anymore because it easily brings up emotions...

All the habits I had before coming here have gradually receded after my arrival.

Before coming, I was most worried about whether I could adapt to life here. After adapting, I began to worry about whether I could start and accept the work ahead. Every minute and second, I worry about different issues.

Familiarity breeds fear of accepting new things. Sometimes the same song will loop for a day. Sometimes, facing my empty self in an empty room, I can stay like that for a whole day. Sometimes I think of the seven years of dorm life, and I realize that I will no longer return to school every year. It seems great, but deep down, there are still many things I cannot let go of.

Every time I walk alone on the street, I always have many feelings. A day spent here can be equivalent to ten days or even a month in school.

Recently, many classmates have graduated and are gradually posting their university acceptance letters. I don't know what I can use to catch up with them over these four years and even for the rest of my life, and slowly, it has started to become two different levels...

I always force myself to be different from those eighteen-year-olds, whether psychologically or in action, but this is just forcing myself.

I think I am mature inside, irresistible, but in the eyes of others who are more mature, I am just a child.

In this city, there are many people in uniforms busy every day, and many people running around various job markets. Survival has already surpassed everything I can comprehend: family, friendship, or love...

I dare not play recklessly for a day, as this day may determine your future.

The noisy city has never quieted down,

In the movie "The Golden Era," Xiao Hong once said to the persistent Xiao Jun, "I just want to find a quiet place to write." Others' youth is fading, while my youth has already ceased to exist since I boarded that train to come here.

Although I have passed an intersection, unfortunately, I have once again lost the direction of my life.

Recently, when I return at night, I go with my father to the place where they often gather—at a fellow villager's repair shop. The owner is a young man in his twenties, nearing thirty, with his children and wife also there. The shop is only about twenty square meters, with a bed and a mahjong table, and the family lives there. The owner works shirtless all day, with gasoline on his face and body. Fixing a bike tire or other tasks takes a long time, and the money earned is minimal. Although the income is low, every time I go to their shop and sit down, he always takes a bottle of drink from the fridge for me, then sighs and says, "Why didn't you go to college?" "Look at so-and-so, after graduating from university, they sit by the computer and earn five or six thousand a month." Everyone nods in agreement, as if having an education is just a step away from an office job.

They, including the increasingly worldly me, also think that if one could read a bit more, they would definitely find an easy job. In fact, we, who lack education, have always admired those who have decent jobs, but we do not know what those so-called educated people think. This is a reality where material worth is measured by money, and a person's ability is judged accordingly. If one can ignore the issue of face, I think I would prefer the role of a migrant worker. Although our wages are low, our income is small, and we are very tired compared to those at the upper end of the pyramid, our lives are simple and warm. Living in the cheapest rental with a partner, wearing the most worn-out clothes, compared to those who spend thousands on clothes and rent, our pursuits are fewer; as long as we can work every day, we can earn money. Expectations are lower; we just hope that a good boss will pay our wages on time.

Despair is not only about the confusion and helplessness of life but also gradually feeling that the world and everything around me seem to be giving up on me, unable to find anything that resonates.

Every generation has its own thoughts and characteristics, just like my dad, who thinks his ideas are the best, unique, advanced, and represent the broad masses. A man from the 70s, he insists on his own opinions and never listens to others' advice. I never want to reveal my true inner thoughts to him, so there are more arguments than reconciliations. I don't know what he thinks; he just wants to eat well, drink well, and have fun.

Before coming out, I would extremely despise and look down on such people, using terms like "good-for-nothing" since middle school. But now I find these are forgivable; you cannot impose your imagination and place everyone on the same level. For example, how one should be at twenty, how one should stand at thirty, and how one should be at forty. Their abilities determine that they will become such people, and these are unchangeable. So, one cannot entirely blame them; after all, no one wishes to become wealthy and be respected by everyone.

My mother is a typical example of a perfect rural woman. In the city, she might be laughed at by all women, but in the countryside, she is a model for everyone. The fate of such people is often bumpy, constrained by lack of education and money, never having even a moment of happiness. In her youth, she had to worry about the family, and when she got older, she had to take care of the grandchildren... Her whole life has been spent calculating how to get by. My sister is becoming more worldly; from the moment she gave birth, she has increasingly aligned with my mother’s way of life, living like a rich person but without the fate of a rich family. I have never thought of probing into her true inner world and knowledge reserves; she views everything around her, including me, through the insights and thoughts inherited and passed down from countless people around her.

A person will change a lot as they experience more, but their initial thoughts will not change. Just like someone who has no interest in online games, even if they are placed in an internet café all day, they will definitely not show any interest. I really dislike those who view things through a worldly and popular lens, but I also find it hard to refute them because I am not sure if I will also become so worldly and have bad tastes in many years. What I think about every day is how far my current life is from the ideal. Every moment I feel dazed and confused, with no background, no family background, no education, no experience, no ability... At this moment, what I least want to hear is those successful people recounting their bitter past. Every day in leisurely times, I force myself to write many things to drive away the loneliness in my heart, but the more I force it, the more I run out of words.

I begin to doubt everyone's kind smiles, and I regret giving my sincerity to anyone. The trees along the city roads are adorned with colorful ribbons, something I had never noticed before. All the bright lights and nightlife belong only to a few people's lives, while most people live in this city, losing not only themselves but also their confidence, patience, and direction. In the slow process of experiencing something, you may not discover its value, but when time passes and you are about to forget it, you will realize its immense worth. Do not think that this world is truly beautiful, nor should you believe that human nature should inherently have its kind side. The easiest people to fail are those who live in their own imaginations.

If a person's life value is measured by money, then a civil servant sitting in an office is actually on the same level as a migrant worker on the street, each performing their different duties, each doing their work based on their own abilities.

Those who earn money with their physical strength envy those who can earn money just by typing on a computer keyboard and looking at the screen. And those who earn money with their brains also envy those who can move their limbs and exercise every day. Different positions of people envy each other, yet not many truly enjoy their work.

Stepping into society always prioritizes survival, while interest is pushed to the back. Only after solving people's basic needs can they develop their abilities in other areas. In order to survive, they can only go against their original intentions, wholeheartedly chasing after money.

This society is more realistic than imagined, and reality is more brutal than imagined;

"The storms of this season come without warning. The trees by the roadside sway, and the heavy rain beats down on the ground, even the windows seem to resist," H said.

—Written on August 9, 2015

（Thirty-three）

In September, I did not start school

In the past two months, I have seen the various aspects of the world, the warmth of human relationships, and have experienced much disappointment and gain.

What disappoints me is that I find myself in a slum, where every day I see not these poor people trying their best to change their future lives, but rather these people constantly comparing who is more corrupt and who is more useless.

What I gain is that a person, in a state of confusion and hesitation, has finally learned a bit of the skills needed to survive in this society and some meanings that life has bestowed upon me.

I thought that leaving school would mean permanently saying goodbye to dormitories and cafeterias, but after coming out, I realized that if I do not have this ability, I will be arranged and planned for everywhere, just like an ignorant student.

I also thought that leaving school would allow me to let go of everything there and focus on making a living, but now what I miss the most and want to greet the most are my classmates and teachers. Especially not long ago, when a friend mentioned my former homeroom teacher asking about my future plans, I realized that I could finally exist for a moment.

I feel that all the resentment I have accumulated towards school and teachers has finally found some release at this moment. In the past, I often struggled with my lack of understanding and being taken seriously. Now, even when I have no friends around me, I would rather stay in that group where there are no true words, and no one will enter anyone's heart.

Seemingly ordinary life often adds some discordant interludes. I have seen too many humble and self-proclaimed great people. In this world, the rich have countless ways to entertain themselves, while the poor have only one way, which is to earn money, save money, withdraw money, and send money every day. All of this is inseparable from the word "money." I am gradually beginning to understand that a person's work is not exhausting because of how much energy and physical strength you spend to complete it, but rather because you have to frequently endure the boredom and monotony that work brings, and slowly integrate it into your daily life, making it a habit, a signboard, unchanging...

As I grow up, my conditions for sleeping become increasingly demanding. In childhood, I needed the light on and someone to coax me to sleep, but now I must have darkness and no noise to sleep peacefully. Life will always have many sleepless nights; insomnia before the age of nineteen may be due to a certain person, a certain farewell, or a certain unfinished matter. However, insomnia after the age of nineteen is often due to the needs of life and work. The background of insomnia usually shifts from bed and room to the streets or neighborhoods, watching the crowd gather and then disperse, watching the night slowly turn into day. The most exciting moment is when the streetlights turn off at dawn, and then the sky gradually begins to brighten. Some sleepless nights, however, always lead to dreams. Every time I wake from a dream, I feel that reality is too cruel, but last night when I dreamt of struggling in front of death for a long time, I finally understood how real it is to be alive in reality.

Recently, the two most touching films I have seen are Japan's "Norwegian Wood" and the British documentary "Seven Up." The former taught me what youth is, while the latter taught me what life is.

The movie "Norwegian Wood" has certain differences from the original work; it removes many unnecessary romantic plots and truly brings the details to the extreme. After watching it, my mood took a long time to recover. I do not know where this sadness comes from; it is very real and very warm, which is what I want. Watching the helpless Naoko and Kizuki, Watanabe and Midori reminds me of many things. No matter how complicated the process is, the ending develops as we imagine. Youth? It seems they never had youth. Naoko said on her twentieth birthday, "A person's age should always be fixed between eighteen and nineteen; after finishing eighteen, you go to nineteen, and after finishing nineteen, you go back to eighteen." Sometimes I lament the fleeting nature of youth, lamenting that in my youth, I have no shadows or friends worth remembering, so I sometimes feel lonely and sad, indifferent and melancholic, and I am even less clear about what I have and what I want. I would rather be nostalgic alone until death than share my lonely years.

Regarding youth, I think the best summary would be a quote from Junichi Watanabe: "No matter what age you reach, there will always be too many thoughts, worries, and confusions. If a person loses these and is content with the status quo, that is the true end of youth."

The documentary "Seven Up" records a group of people from the age of seven to fifty-six, documenting a process every seven years. I see that the reason China cannot catch up with European countries is—thought. More importantly, I see their wonderful lives, a group of people from innocent childhood to spirited youth, and then approaching old age, all within just a few hours of time, yet they have experienced a full forty-nine years. A person's life should return to simplicity; no matter how much strong family background you have, it can only guarantee your first twenty years and the last ten years of a worry-free life. But in the process of making a living for yourself, you still have to live an ordinary person's life.

Do not think that this world is truly beautiful, nor should you believe that human nature should inherently have its kind side...

A person's summer feels like it has lasted a long time; despair often outweighs any joy or anger. Through my current life, I see that the next year, five years, and ten years will continue in this way. Now I have redefined many things.

Regarding dreams: this is the two words I least want to mention. They should belong to those who have the conditions to possess them, not to me now. Dreams are worthless before they come true, and after they are realized, they become a topic for successful people to boast about. As long as there is a clear direction, it doesn't matter whether it is a dream or not.

Regarding growth: the best teacher in a person's life is your experiences. You are naive, confused, and lonely. Growth is a process of moving towards maturity; no one is born with a strong heart, but a strong heart is given by growth.

Regarding friends: I will think of you at my most successful times, but I will not crave your comfort at my most disheartened times. Cutting off contact with everyone does not mean truly forgetting you; rather, I want to give myself more courage to move forward. True friends are kept in the heart, not those who are frequently contacted. I hope you all are doing well.

Regarding humility: in the same dormitory, everyone sighs for their own humility while also sighing for each other's similar fates. In the dormitory, there is a middle-aged man, even approaching old age. In a conversation, I asked him, "How old is your child?" His answer was, "Not yet born." So for a long time afterward, every time I see him, I deeply sigh in my heart. I am not only sighing for him but also for many others like him who have no one to care for. I think of birth, I think of family, I think of humility. I also think of a person in the village called "Gong Lao," who was seven when we were eighteen. We laughed at him, bullied him, and said he was nothing. From the time we were seven until we were eighteen, he was thirty. In the end, only sympathy and pity remain, realizing that what we laughed at at seven was also ourselves at eighteen. In fact, we can see that these humble people do not wish to be so; they are arranged and toyed with by fate. I want to respect them because humility is greatness.

A person will not truly lose their direction of progress due to such small twists and turns. As long as they genuinely care about their innermost feelings, then others' opinions are just clouds.

Finally, I want to summarize with a quote from Han Han: Every person's path is different. I walk on my wild path, and she walks on her grand road. Both deserve blessings, as long as they do not walk the wrong path, every road has its way to success.

（Thirty-four）

Written before turning nineteen:

Recently, I have seen many people on Weibo and in my friend circle using a phrase: If I could return to eighteen, I could... Standing on the edge of eighteen about to end, looking back at the road I have walked, I am very fortunate that after many twists and turns, my eighteen is finally about to pass. With infinite joy yet a hint of sadness, I want to ask those who complain: If one day you can truly return to eighteen, what can you do, what will you do, and what do you want to do?

Maybe you want to study hard? To make up for the lack of knowledge and ability in the future;

Maybe you want to have a passionate love affair, to quell the flood of love you want in the future;

Maybe you want to have more partners, to make up for your current impotence.

Maybe you want to have more dreams, so you won't have to worry about losing one dream after another in the future. It seems that in your eyes, youth is limitless, and all the beautiful things missing in life are lost in youth, wanting desperately to return to youth to find them back.

Perhaps I am too foolish, standing in the prime of life, yet wanting to skip these ten years of confusion and struggle, wanting to ignore this process and truly see the results. Sometimes I look at myself, appearing mature on the outside, but my heart cannot keep up. Other times, I see my heart mature, but my appearance does not match at all. I feel like I have never placed my thoughts in a specific suitable age group; either too immature or too mature. Thus, I suffer every day but can never find the reason.

Once, I was so ignorant that I always placed too many promises and commitments in the years to come. Six years ago, when I just entered junior high, I silently hoped that three years later, I would enter a certain high school with a certain score. Hearing this wish, my whole family was proud of me, but three years later, did it come true? Even I forgot. Three years ago, I told a pretty girl from my first love that we should make a ten-year promise, but we broke up before even ten months. Promises and commitments are things that can be easily broken; the longer you want to promise someone, the more steadfast the commitment, the faster it will fall apart. In a recent contact, I helplessly told her that I can guarantee nothing now, ten years? Seven years? The further I go, the less hope I see in life. I think this seems to represent all my feelings from the past eighteen years and even the next ten years.

There are too many unrealistic fantasies, escalating; too many unfinished dreams are harshly put down after being laughed at by others; there is a lot of time to strive, but it gradually wastes away due to a lack of reasons to want to succeed and fight. All of these are fully reflected in my eighteen or nineteen years. Compared to anyone in the same age group, what I want more is a clear goal and motivation to strive for, wanting a maturity that can be displayed at any time and can disappear at any time. Every day, standing on the street, the first question I ask someone I can talk to is: What year are you from? Among those I can interact with, they are mostly the lower-class post-80s, but then I dare not ask: Are you married? How old is your child? Because I am very afraid their answer is no, which would make me feel very awkward. I listen to them say that they have been working since they were eighteen, and at thirty, they are still the same, with no changes. I feel very cold, as my fate seems very similar to theirs. Working at eighteen, having nothing after three years, starting to decline after five years, beginning to waste time after eight years, and after twelve years, having no wife, no children, no friends, no attachments, no money, no dreams, no goals, and no plans. This is what I have come to know as the so-called middle-aged man after the age of thirty.

If I could really be thirty, I would find it hard to imagine what I would become. However, I think my resentment and unwillingness will ultimately allow my life to change a bit.

Imagining that I have succeeded, I would definitely have the mark of a successful person. My thoughts and insights would have reached a certain height. I would live in a big villa that belongs to me, together with my dearest loved ones. In every sunset, I would lie on a rocking chair in the garden, next to my mother, enjoying the warmest sunshine together in the winter. My work hours and location would be flexible, whether in a newly opened café or at home by a south-facing window. Even if my face is wrinkled and my hair shows signs of graying, it would not affect my appreciation of myself or others' appreciation of me. Perhaps one day, I could meet my most beautiful first love, have a cup of afternoon tea, share our thoughts, or slowly reminisce about the feeling of our first hand-holding and first kiss. These might be my most dreamy thoughts, and they represent my definition of success from the perspective of an eighteen or nineteen-year-old.

Imagining that I am thirty and have failed, with no changes, is also forgivable. After all, how much courage and cultivation does a successful person need? I might be forced into a loveless marriage under my parents' pressure, and I might have children. At that time, I would still be doing the most ordinary job in the most prosperous city, earning the lowest salary, with meals and accommodation provided, clocking in and out. But this would also be something I willingly accept. I would not be picky about work, even if it is the hardest and most tiring job as a mover or factory worker, I would be happy because I need to use that meager salary to support my family. I would not be as indifferent as I was at eighteen; I have my goals and direction, which is to work hard to improve my life.

Life is a journey full of unknowns, during which all feelings of loneliness, loss, and achievement are self-imposed. Unwilling to change, looking down on everyone and everything around, feeling that they are so fragile compared to my noble dreams, unable to tolerate this or that environment, believing that no one can understand you, feeling out of place with the world, thus deepening the sense of loneliness; holding immense expectations for the future, yet forming a huge gap with one's own abilities, unwilling to change, and even less willing to face real life, only wanting to rush to the peak. Thus, the sense of loss gradually increases.

I have to say that all of this is reflected in me.

After being raised by my parents for eighteen years, when the identity suddenly needs to be reversed in a certain year, I realize how difficult it has been for them these eighteen years. When I truly boarded the long-distance bus to this city, I told my mother, "I am the one at a loss; you only raised me for eighteen years, but I have to support you for thirty or forty years." For this "support," I do not have a clear understanding. I do not know if it means sending them money every month, or living together with them, cooking for them when they are hungry, buying clothes for them when they are cold, or just being by their side when they are tired, just like they were for me back then. The things I think in school and after leaving school are completely different. In school, I always thought about how to improve my ranking in the whole school (okay, I admit, this is what a good student should think, but I haven't thought about it for a year or two), thinking about what kind of clothes to wear to attract more people's attention. But after leaving school, in this society, I can only think about how to improve my future life, how to earn enough money in the shortest time... In other words, all of this is just a fantasy, because in the long time to come, it is basically impossible to achieve.

When I was in school, I thought that at nineteen, I would be working in a dark factory day and night, earning a decent salary. But I did not expect to be doing eight hours of easy and boring work every day, earning a negligible salary, and even having time to feel melancholic here.

I recently made a 22-year-old friend, who often says: "Living is suffering." When I try to enlighten him and express my inner feelings, he says, "At nineteen, I was just like you, even more unwilling, full of vigor, but now? I can only muddle through every day." I think experiences and encounters are truly harmful; perhaps some people succeed because of them, but most people fall because of them. Some time ago, I forced myself to use twenty days of spare time to complete a twenty-thousand-word story, but in the end, I couldn't even bear to read it myself. This feeling is like many years ago when I thought I was excellent at playing ball in a small school. But when I got to a formal competition, I was as weak as an ant compared to those people. I feel that for nineteen years, I often liked to lock myself in a small space, thinking I was cool, talented, and capable... But when the space expands, feelings of loss, frustration, and inferiority come flooding in.

In childhood, I wanted to grow up quickly to eighteen, and at eighteen, I think of thirty. I do not know if I will want to return to eighteen when I reach thirty, just like I want to return to my childhood now. Sometimes I am grateful that the days pass quickly, day by day, just like my twelve years of school life; sometimes I feel sad that the days pass so quickly, and I still understand nothing, know nothing, and wonder what to do in the future. From the first day I started working, people who have worked for three, five, or ten years tell me that after coming out, they realize how beautiful and enjoyable the time in school was. But I think that even if I suffer and toil in the future, I will not want to return to school.

The dignity on the surface can be put down at any time, but the inner dignity cannot be put down. I thought I had let go of all the ridicule and unwillingness, that it was all in the past. But in my heart, it is not; they are like scars on my hands, which can only fade but cannot disappear. In a time when I do not have the ability to change and cannot change, all the unwillingness and accumulated grievances will become a form of self-mockery. My dreams can be stagnant, but they must not be given up.

I really like a line from Ma Liang in "The Confession":

All my arrogance comes from my inferiority, and all my heroism comes from my weakness. Speaking with conviction is because my heart is full of doubt, and deep feelings come from hating myself for being heartless. Nothing in this world is born in vain; standing in the light, there will be shadows behind. This silence in the deep night is because you have not yet heard the sound.

I am nineteen, I have nothing, but fate is in my hands.

—October 10, 2015

（Thirty-five）

Insomnia:

The book says: Insomnia is because you are busy in someone else's dream.

I have been someone who easily suffers from insomnia since childhood, which may be related to my imagination as a child. The old house next to my home is right next to an alley, and in that alley, there are two coffins placed on wooden boards. Every day when I pass by there, looking up at them feels like a dead person is placed in front of you, and only a group of people dare to pass by. Thus, since childhood, I have believed in those ghost stories. For example:

If you cut your finger and it bleeds on your clothes, the clothes must be placed in a place with iron for a day and night before they can be washed;

When you are young, you must never sleep with your grandparents, or they will suck away your yang energy and shorten your lifespan;

If you hear someone calling your name at night while you are sleeping, you must not respond; once you do, your soul will be immediately taken away...

Similar unintentional rumors from others were easily remembered in childhood and kept looping in my mind. Every time such things happened, I would follow them, even though others would have many misunderstandings. As a result, every night I had to hold onto the headboard or hug my mother's arm to fall asleep. Even when I reached junior high, every time I returned to that old house, I still had to sleep in the same room, or even the same bed, as my mother. Until we no longer lived together.

Not living together? This can be divided into two stages during those sleepless nights. The first stage began when I started kindergarten, and my mother entrusted my siblings and me to my grandparents, who lived in the north, while my sister and I lived in the south. The house in the north belonged to my second uncle's family, who would only return home once every year for the New Year. However, their house did not seem very old; at least it was newer than ours because every room was plastered with cement, while our house still had dirt floors, and every time the south wind blew, the ground would get very wet. My sister and I would eat in the north and sleep back in the south. During that time, I slept with her, each at one end of the bed. Whenever I was scared, I would touch her foot, and I could still sleep peacefully.

But starting from the third grade, my sister had to go to the central primary school in town to study in the fifth grade, and she could only come back once on weekends. From Monday to Friday every night, I would sleep in the old house in the south yard. Of course, I was not alone; I had two game consoles. One was a keyboard-style Little Tyrant, which could only be played when connected to a black-and-white TV. Almost every child in my hometown had one, but in our family, it was hard to come by. It was bought by my mother as a trade-off to keep me from going to the city where my father worked. So I cherished it; every time I finished playing, I would wipe it down with a cloth and cover it. The other was palm-sized, and this type would change every year, usually at the beginning of the year. My parents would buy it to comfort me before they left, and it could only play games like Tetris, Snake, and Tank Battle. They accompanied me through every sleepless and fearful night of my childhood. Not only them, but also the mice on the wooden floor of the second floor, the wild cats that occasionally came to the roof, and the dogs from who knows whose house outside the door. They would always run around and bark in the middle of the night, never allowing for any peace.

Every day after dinner, around seven o'clock, I would go down to the yard, turn on the black-and-white TV in the room, and wait for the daily two episodes of the TV series. My grandfather was just like me; his family's TV was in the living room, and the window of the living room faced the window of my room. At that time, there were not so many channels; I could only search for a local station. After waiting for "News Broadcast" to finish, it would start, and I would generally only watch one episode before turning off the light and hiding under the covers to sleep because I needed to fall asleep to the sound of my grandfather's TV and the light projected into my room through the yard and window. However, the time I could sleep peacefully like this was very short because I was very worried and scared. If his TV suddenly turned off and I had not fallen asleep yet, what should I do? My heart would be hanging, and I really could not sleep. Whether I slept on the left or right side, or looked up at the wooden boards, the result was the same. This kind of panic still exists today. I fear that something will end, and it will definitely end without any preparation.

However, before I fall asleep each time, my grandfather would quietly walk into my room and prepare a bag of snacks by my pillow as rations for my journey to and from school, usually consisting of biscuits and peanuts, and sometimes two oranges as an extra. When he left, he would also pull down the blanket covering my head. I pretended to be asleep, but often after he left, I would eat these snacks little by little in bed, as a compensation for my insomnia. I guess this would be a secret my grandfather never discovered after he passed away.

The distance from school to my hometown was quite far. Every morning, I had to get up before dawn to set off, and I should arrive at school just after daybreak. In our village, there were about a dozen of us heading to school together, usually gathering at someone’s house, and once we were almost all there, we would set off. I always kept an alarm clock by my pillow, and sometimes when I couldn't sleep, I would fall asleep listening to its "tick-tock" sound. Occasionally, when the power was out, I would wake up to find it was already bright outside, and then I would rush to school. However, such scenes often occurred on winter nights. When frost hit and the moonlight shone, it was almost as bright as daytime, so I would sleep very uneasily every winter night, waking up suddenly in the middle of the night to run to the yard to ask my grandfather what time it was. Sometimes, even when it was time, I still couldn't fall asleep, so to this day, I still have this feeling: waking up at two or three in the morning and realizing I can still fall back asleep is an incredibly happy thing.

In fifth grade, I followed my older sister's path and started my long boarding life at the central primary school in town. Two people shared one bed, and a small dormitory housed twenty people. Finally, I no longer had sleepless nights due to ghosts, and insomnia gradually became less frequent. However, that year, there were many memorable events, though I often couldn't think of them during those nights. About happiness, for example: the four kids from our village who were the same age began to have an unprecedented tacit understanding. Every Sunday afternoon at two o'clock, we would go to school under the blazing sun, and on Fridays, each of us would buy an ice pop and a bottle of iced soda for one yuan each, slowly enjoying them on the way home. Sometimes we could even play for an hour in the empty arcade before heading home. About sadness, my grandmother passed away that year. I wore a white suit for the first time to attend the funeral. There are many funeral customs in my hometown: a day of vigil, a day of leaving the ancestral hall, and a day of burial. In the past, every time I heard the sound of drums and crying at midnight, my grandfather would help beat the drums for others, and I would be home alone, hiding under the covers after dinner, afraid to hear those sounds. After experiencing it, my superstition about such legends intensified.

The first stage ended in sixth grade when my grandfather passed away in an accident. My mother returned from out of town and began to accompany me until I graduated from middle school. She worked in a cafeteria contracted by a relative at the school, earning only a few hundred dollars, so I spent almost all my middle school years at this school, yet I truly felt no emotional connection. In that kind of school, as long as you were serious enough and obedient, you could earn the teacher's praise and affection. With the teacher's affection, classmates would also gradually like you. In the first two years after I arrived, I was watched by all my relatives and appeared to be more obedient. Thus, many happy moments only happened in those first two years, thinking less and eating more, with weekends and basketball to play. From Monday to Friday, I slept in the collective dormitory, and on weekends, I slept in the staff dormitory with my mother, sharing a room with my cousin and a thirty-year-old aunt. Occasional insomnia only happened when I changed to a new dormitory or switched from one bed to another.

The last two years of middle school felt much more exhausting, and sleepless nights increased. Perhaps it was then that I developed a demanding habit regarding my sleeping environment. If a light was turned on or there was a little noise at night, I would suddenly wake up, and falling asleep again became very difficult. At that time, I kept listening to the same song, and even now, I haven't grown tired of it. In the dormitory with twenty-four people, working late with the lights on, I still don't know where that seriousness came from. Yes, many things become hard to find the reason for once a little time passes. Just like the next morning, I could no longer feel how painful last night's insomnia was for me. I remember my homeroom teacher in the third year of middle school said: "It's hard now, but later you will want to return to this time immensely." However, I still feel that period was a nightmare in my life. Perhaps I would like this dream, but only when there are truly no dreams left to dream.

The second stage began in high school, which was when I truly understood insomnia: insomnia from loneliness, insomnia from not fitting in, insomnia from monthly exams, and insomnia from a girl I had a crush on. Gradually, it became the beginning of my depression, making me extremely sensitive to everything around me. Sometimes I would suddenly lose my temper and not want to say a word. I would lie down at ten o'clock, eyes wide open, whether closed or awake, whether feeling sleepy or not, I couldn't fall asleep until one or two o'clock. I would repeatedly think in my mind, "Fall asleep quickly, fall asleep quickly," and as long as that little thought existed, I couldn't fully fall asleep. At first, I would think of beautiful scenes, like lying quietly in a sea of flowers and grass, or sitting at the bow of a boat on the sea, watching the sunset... A few times I would fall asleep halfway through thinking, but soon the method would fail. Then I imagined myself as a character in a movie, constantly playing it in my mind. This was useful, but it would gradually lose its effect. After that, I would stuff my ears with headphones, turning the volume up to the maximum to listen until I fell asleep. This was the most reliable method, but sometimes, upon hearing a deeply sentimental song, it felt like opening the floodgates of memory, and even when dawn broke, my mind would still be wide awake.

The most recent method is that I keep recalling the happy things I did in the past, like learning to ride a bike as a child, swimming in the river, or thinking about the process of a story but not its ending. On the eve of graduation in the first half of the year, I would keep reminiscing about some regrettable things I did in high school, even thinking about them so much that I would take a pen and start writing randomly. In the dead of night, I thought of countless words I wanted to say to many people. After waking up from a sleep, it wasn't that I forgot, but rather that I felt it was unnecessary because even if I said it, no one would care. So, the source of inspiration for all creators often comes from the night, and some hidden emotions can only burst forth in the dark.

Habitually recounting the past, I find that I can't even clearly express what I truly want to convey. This is very contradictory, but perhaps a person with insomnia is inherently contradictory. I envy those who see everything clearly and seem utterly indifferent; they can fall asleep as soon as they lie down. But perhaps those who sleep soundly also envy us who are easily sleepless, because a person only thinks about what truly matters to them when they are sleepless, while those who are carefree may not even know what they truly care about.

A deeply memorable online article titled "Life is a series of seven days" says: Living a lifetime often means not having interesting experiences during the most interesting times, and wanting to have interesting experiences during the most uninteresting times, yet being unable to find meaning anymore. In other words, when things are unclear, a beautiful life looks unappealing; when one sees through it, they want to live beautifully but can no longer see it.

Does your current life still involve sleepless nights?

Years have passed in the blink of an eye, and by then, who will remember for whom and why they lost sleep during those sleepless nights? As a child, I hoped those times would pass quickly and never return, and then they really did pass, never to return again.

Will you still lose sleep in the future?

Where?

For whom?

“Take a trip, release an album, hold a concert, make a movie, publish a book.”

These were some promises I made to my future self when I was fifteen, for when I turned eighteen.

At that time, I always wanted to leave all the best things to be realized after turning eighteen, but when I actually turned eighteen, I found I dared not think of anything, and all that was left was a thought: to complete the creation of a new book as much as possible.

I don’t know when this “thought” began, nor do I know when it will end. Perhaps it was the loneliness and depression of being eighteen that made me realize that those words I couldn’t express in daily life could be well expressed on various sheets of paper; or perhaps it was because I heard that every writer creates at night, and I just happen to be someone who easily loses sleep, which led to the beginning of this creation.

Unfortunately, most of my time at eighteen was spent in my senior year of high school, and I didn’t spend much time reading books or planting some seeds worth remembering. Some reasons and some grievances were clearly written in “The Ending” on May 31, 2015:

I started writing in late autumn, as the surroundings began to wither. I hid in the corner of the classroom, usually writing only a few dozen words in an afternoon. I would open my notebook, lower my head and think for a long time. Sometimes I would look up and see the sky outside the window, painted red by the evening glow, and I would be lost in thought, write a little, and then be lost in thought again. Thus, I had the first page, the second page, the third page... I didn’t even know what I was writing. At first, I wanted to write essays, then I started to pour out my feelings, and in the end, it completely resembled a diary, but more like an immature child trying to show a mature side of myself while not wanting to be discovered.

These nonsensical “diaries” I treated like treasures because they could be considered a small structure and beginning of my great ideals. I don’t want to say that my senior year was always filled with this kind of depression; after all, I still feel that I am far from “depression.” At most, it’s just that some inner feelings cannot be expressed, making me feel troubled.

But sometimes, I did express worries that were different from everyone else. Many people say that you only understand nostalgia after graduation, but I really don’t want to go back to those times.

I am not a professional writer or novelist, but I can easily express my current inner state. I am inexperienced, have not read many books that I consider meaningful, and what I can write is only the most genuine thoughts and ideas from my heart.

Now, when I occasionally flip through my thin diary, I often think about revising it. If I wanted to embellish this work at this stage, I might describe it in a more touching way; but then I slowly realize that all of this is completely unnecessary.

Because being eighteen means being inexperienced, which means that what is written is nonsensical and chaotic, with uneven grammar knowledge. But if readers can stand in the perspective of an eighteen-year-old and spend ten minutes reading the first and last pieces, I believe you will always find an emotion that resonates with you.

“Eighteen” records not only my own eighteen but also the youthful years that everyone wants to return to but cannot...

In the future, I will share a piece daily, as many people have appeared in the profound diary, so that every time I see a piece, I can recall many stories with those people. Unfortunately, I cannot often send greetings; I hope to slowly change myself, to become a better version of myself, and to become someone who can let go of the past.