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 has happened to me in the past three years, it is hard to 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, and 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 with the evening glow, and I would be lost in thought, write a little, and then be lost in thought again. Thus, 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 became completely like 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 eighteen, spending 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 but also the youthful years that everyone wants to return to but cannot return to...

——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 turned 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 expressed 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 started 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 looking at books, 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 it 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 to study 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 that every time I see a piece, 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 self, and become someone who can let go of the past.

——Written at the end of 2015

(1) Humans are not such noble animals (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 my heart could not calm down to read. I thought, "I must start reading seriously in winter." In the blink of an eye, winter has arrived.

In a certain essay last year, I wrote: This winter, without the company of some people, will feel particularly cold. 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 the year of graduation, 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 mindless things, eat together, go to the bathroom together, just to make myself seem less lonely.

It is difficult to return to the kind of relationship in elementary or junior high school, where friends could cry and laugh together, and the opposite sex could write caring notes to each other and have a good friend help pass them along.

"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.

In our youth, we pursue romantic plots like those in idol dramas, but when we realize the reality, we find that the love we pursue is 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 lead to victory in the battle 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 own perspectives and attitudes, let alone to be loyal to a lifelong love.

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

Perhaps it is because I have not yet seen 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 keep a proud heart; 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 can turn defeat into victory in the battle against time.

It’s evening, the sun is setting in the west, 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 in winter is much more heartfelt 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, being awakened by the sound of rain in the deep night... even being awakened by an interesting dream at night, waking up to the sound of rain, then wanting to record that dream, but thinking about it and falling asleep again, only to wake up the next day and remember nothing...

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 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 leave, 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, but 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 bit of maturity in my heart and my unwillingness to adapt to this environment because, right now, you cannot 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, I and many of my childhood friends began our different life trajectories, and the current result 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 goes, because the former enjoys every minute and second of life now, while the latter does not know what they want, and can only stop wherever time pushes them.

People will experience explosive growth in certain years and gradually take on something called "responsibility." Three years ago, I and many of my childhood friends began our different life trajectories, and the current result 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)

Planning many things about the future.

I initially set the age at which I could touch 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, as my mother has poor health and finds it difficult 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 could not 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 may 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 that 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; at this time, there were not many people in the classroom, making it much quieter than usual. Reflecting on the experience of the game just now made me lose interest in anything at hand.

It stemmed from the fact that during our game, a group of people who could be called "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 body was much sturdier.

Then he was 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’s the point of competing over this win or loss?" and then I walked away as if avoiding him. What was even more frustrating was that we didn’t even exchange a word; I always turned my best friends 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 strive forward to ensure that my descendants do not 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 plot inside.

Now that I suddenly think of it, I feel it has some profound meaning. I saw how they grew up, saw their transition from youth to middle age, and saw 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 one has put into that future, it is ultimately difficult to escape the mundane life. All efforts are for the sake of living.

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 only someone who knows how to live.

The term "deserving" is very important, for example, dreams and ambitions, abilities and attitudes. One must pursue what suits oneself; a beggar on the street may admire Lin Chiling, but what good does it do if he marries her? We are always pursuing the extraordinary, seeking an epic life, but in the end, the best life is only what can bring 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 college, and after graduation, we spend a lifetime reminiscing about our lost youth. —2014,12,17

One day, we will long for the plain days of 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 only 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, only to end up bankrupt and with nothing; I curse those who are idle all day and do nothing, ultimately gaining nothing and living 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 thing that can give me peace of mind is myself; my little heart can only hold myself, and 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 content with loneliness and endure ridicule; they are stronger than others in their hearts, and they can focus on everything they do, regardless of how much doubt and disdain there is from the outside world, 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 can 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 in different places, busy with our own different things; time is 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 that 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," this was what I said when 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, to eighteen years old. He just gave me fewer advantages and more grievances and hardships. But now, in my heart, I blame him much less because what he gave me can only go this far; the rest of the road can only rely on me to walk.

I set the time for 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 every day, 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 experienced...

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 fresh things to fill my eyes because the system cannot keep up. 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. It feels like a life full of interesting things is getting further and further away from me, 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 these little bits and pieces 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 the memories are also beautiful. —2014,12,29 "This Little Thing Called Life"

(9) Sunny December 31:

No matter how memorable the past is, life is just life, and growth is ultimately growth, and 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 bad 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, and 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, with many satellite TV stations broadcasting the New Year's Eve concert, feeling bored for the first time with such a program, it was very plain, and just like that, a year has passed.

In 2014, I transferred from Class 22 to Class 16, during which 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 nine-thirty, but due to taking care of some classmates who want to read a little longer, the lights-out time is delayed by 30 minutes, to ten o'clock sharp.

This is particularly suitable for young couples in school, but there are few students who can hold hands with their lovers in the dark; most students 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 ten o'clock; it is not that I love studying so much, but because the bell ringing after class 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 takes 15-20 minutes depending on the crowd.

And at that time, I started to become a person who likes quiet. I have walked through countless nights like this alone in nearly three years, 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 group of people. Because of a long corridor, there are only a few people scattered around.

She has long straight hair tied in a ponytail, tall and thin, as if she could be blown away by a gust of wind; not outstanding, but easily remembered 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—we are in the left room on the upper floor. The teaching building for the third year of high school 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 go 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 will wait in the corridor, and when I see her coming down from the third-floor corridor, I will deliberately slow down.

I thought maybe she would come over and gently pat me. However, no, every time we just walked past each other as usual... 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 for a moment, 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 emotion in her eyes that is similar to mine because we always pause for 0.5 seconds when we make eye contact.

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 seems to be much deeper than their own emotions. Perhaps this is the reason for the many disappointments I have experienced, including with 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 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 after 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 secretly glance at the stairs a few more times.

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 to approach, will he like me?

In countless such thoughts of doubt, 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 the future; life is meaningful because of its unknowns and incomprehensibility. Every bit of pain, discomfort, and sadness actually has clues leading to joy behind it. 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 force it, it won't help. 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, 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 often think of "Secret That Cannot Be Told" during my daze, remembering Lu Xiaoyu. Ten years is a long time; just like from the first time I saw this film until now, it has been eight years. Songs from ten years ago like "Fairy Tale" and "Lilac Flower" I thought would fade away with time, but they did not; they touched the most innocent feelings of my youth, and they will always exist. The first decade, unfortunately, I did not have enough ability to narrate all of this. 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 and disguising my loneliness, but unexpectedly, it has matured. Life is like a play; some people strive to perform this play perfectly, shaping themselves to be as perfect as possible, 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 much ridicule and sarcasm, and after being hit by setbacks, your hopes will instantly drop to zero, and your confidence will diminish, leading to self-doubt, treating yourself as an ordinary person, or even not being an ordinary person. For others' ridicule, you can only make yourself better. —2015,01,14

We cannot see far ahead, exploring the path step by step; do not think your dreams are so great; dreams are just dreams, and they cannot be realized. We see countless examples of dreams coming true every day, 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 the sacrifices 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 reasons within yourself, rather than blaming those around you or the environment. You can be misunderstood, but you must never let others dislike you; you can distance yourself 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 dreams shattering. —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; no one is irreplaceable, and we can all continue living 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 longed to grow up because I always thought the road was already paved for us, but when I slowly understood the hardships of life and realized that the future road could only be walked by myself, I was terrified. Who can know what the future will be like? It is also hard to imagine what the next ten or twenty years will be like. Some things are already 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 your family; some are working the hardest for the lowest wages. —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 see 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 ball again on Saturday afternoons, after thirteen times, we will graduate. After walking through every stretch of dark nights and persisting for 120 days, we will graduate. After finishing this collection of essays, this time 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 your sincerity. —2015,01,31

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

In school, there are countless great dreams, but at home, I am just a child with nothing. Dreams can withstand ridicule; the more ridicule, the faster they disappear. We always care too much about others' opinions; when we reach halfway, we may slowly doubt whether we have done something wrong because of someone else's words. There is no need to be like this; if you want to succeed in something, just maintain an attitude of never looking back. —2015,02,08

Many things often happen unintentionally: unintentionally discovering that you like someone, unintentionally realizing that you have walked a long way in life, unintentionally hurting someone's heart... Every day that has passed becomes a permanent past. Not everyone knows that you treat them with sincerity, nor does everyone you treat sincerely treat you sincerely. —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 have not recovered...

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

At this age, you have already 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, with endless coffee and unending 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 around us who grew up with us, they are already starting 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, our family. I have always been pursuing, pursuing various things different from rural people, thoughts? Or behaviors? 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 grown up; 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, and I want to use my first manuscript fee to start a business. You will definitely say 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," something that cannot be realized. But really, until now, I do not even know where to find the shadow of this dream.

Life in the third year of 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 put it this way; I have basically given up on the dream of college 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?" What I want to answer is 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 experienced the feeling of being alone at home with no one to talk to or accompany you? No. My mother’s illness is slowly worsening every day; I do not want to wait until she can no longer walk, until she is disabled, to repay her kindness. She is a typical rural woman who has never been to a real big city, has never been to an amusement park, zoo, brand store, or beauty salon... 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 at all. 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 can be confirmed that he will never take good care of my mother; he only knows how to take care of himself.

Third, 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 a hundred days later, 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 college day and night, I have already seen through a lot. I have started trying to write novels, essays, and other things. I am also afraid of the day of graduation, 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 job that looks decent, I want to be rich, and I want to 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 is my home not 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, you cannot change it. 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, and during such times, the most easily missed 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; I hope 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 on vacation, finally graduated, finally left here, finally celebrated the New Year, as if any farewell was a kind of relief. In the end, we realized 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 gaps; with gaps 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 story, or perhaps it is a chance encounter like Cinderella and her prince. We desperately pursue them, thinking they are fictional and cannot exist, but they are not; they have always existed, but 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 during his cynical moments is often the one who will be with him for a lifetime. —A meaningful day, wishing my sister a happy wedding! —2015,02,14

I am a dreamer; I am even a fantasist. I do not have the qualifications or ability to manage my dreams, nor do I understand what life is. How did I spend 19 years like a child? How many people remember me? How many people remember me? We once had countless partners, but as we grow up, this concept becomes more and more blurred. I cannot find different people, nor can I find someone who understands me. Time is ruthless, and it has hurriedly sent 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 quiet 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, and 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 mud, and the ground was also mud. If it rained or if some water splashed on the ground, the mud would stick to the shoes, and the paper hanging 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, when I put my phone in, the 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 year before the Spring Festival, we would buy a toy gun or several; usually, right after the New Year, we would all break them in unison. On the afternoon of the 30th, we would wash up, change into new clothes and shoes, and then take our toy guns to compete in shooting skills. We would run and jump! Often, after a few minutes, our new clothes would be almost as dirty as the old ones. At that time, we had not experienced so much, and we never knew 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 lot of food. However, 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 on the phone; I still remember that at that time, phones were not popular in every household. They would call me and my sister at a neighbor's house, and then they would call us to come and answer. Looking back now, it still feels a bit shabby. Our parents had the only advantage compared to other children, which was that they would come back every Spring Festival 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 took the food from the table to the kitchen pot to keep it warm, then added a lot of charcoal to the fire pit, and 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 with a fan, blowing hard, my nose and face all black, just to make my parents feel a little warmth when they returned home, even if it cost me a lot.

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 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 were all plastered. 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. Growing up, I wanted to remain this poor, hoping that no one would become rich.

Last year's Spring Festival, our family spent it at my uncle's house because my uncle had built a new house in town and moved out. Moreover, our old house had been too long, and even the well for drawing water was blocked. My uncle's house is not new, but it is a tile-roofed house, very unique, spacious, and bright, with ventilation from north to south, and the house has a large yard, just like our own, with a well. I and my sister lived in the two rooms on the north side of the yard, and the back of the room was right next to a big mountain, so I would close the windows tightly at night, fearing that snakes 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 yard. This year, my father came back a bit early, staying at home ten days before the Spring Festival. 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 estranged for a long time, we could not 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; 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 the year, occasionally quarreling, while I stayed in my room, occasionally opening the window to look at the back mountain, although I could see nothing, occasionally flipping through the novels on the table, thinking that this year has passed.

After the Spring Festival, everyone packed their luggage, with mixed feelings, and continued the unfinished journey of the previous year. Only we know the warmth and coldness; perhaps everyone feels that the festive atmosphere is fading, and such a brief gathering is meaningless, but no one will say it out loud; everyone just wants this form.

This year, I spent the Spring Festival in my new house, 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 Spring Festival. This house is the largest, but the number of people is the least. The house is 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 is beautifully decorated, and all the furniture is 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, with people filling the front and back of the house, drinking, chatting, and laughing. Every time I see such an occasion, I always feel uneasy; perhaps it is loneliness.

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

The regret is not only being born in the countryside but also being fixed in a life trajectory and being teased by 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 at the age of fifteen or sixteen, living alone in a foreign place, and possibly supporting a family. Up to now, their work has hardly improved, basically as carpenters, waiters, security guards, and laborers...

They may have quite rich life experiences, 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, sleeping together, and then being together, after which they have children, the men work outside, and the women take care of the children, waiting until the children are weaned or can walk before handing them over to their grandparents, and both couples work outside, sending money back to support their education.

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

This situation has been passed down through every generation of rural people; we are destined to be born in the countryside. 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 and forests when we were young, but these thoughts almost turned into fantasies and illusions within a year or two, three or four years after we left.

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, allowing them to have face at school, and possibly getting 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 the society, and even the shadow left to us rural children by the feudal thoughts of the past, 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, such as 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," which 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; at that time, he was over fifty, with very dark skin, wearing a sun hat, and his clothes had not been changed for several days. He said that 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 gradually became familiar. In our conversations, I learned that he had learned masonry from a master a long time ago.

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 hard and bought the cheapest piece of land in the city, gradually building 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.

Coincidentally, that summer, his youngest daughter had just graduated. 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 that 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. He worked desperately to earn money, thinking that this would lay a foundation for a happy future, but in the end, he gained nothing. I have almost forgotten some of the things he said that summer, but I 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 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 don’t even 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 more was there to say? My mother was very frightened and would often grab me and ask what I would do if one day she died like that. 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 come without 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. During the toasting, he made everyone at the table laugh, 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 that 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 twitching, no matter how hard we pressed him down, we couldn't stop it.

In the end, when he got up, he couldn't remember anything...

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 before the uncles who came with him could leave, he left first.

His son was also there, probably of kindergarten age. 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 remained 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 misfortune will strike. Every person who suddenly encounters misfortune must have had a past worth reminiscing about before that moment. They don't want this, but fate has arranged it this way. 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 vanish 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 not worth mentioning. Too young, too crazy, believe in fate, not in dreams! — 2015,03,01

I have imagined my future more than once, each time with unrealistic reasons. Am I more handsome than others? No. Am I from a better family than others? 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, tall, handsome, and beautiful, our 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 with a bad 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. 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 continue to 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 can I hear a hint of hope. This work is mixed with a process of joy and sorrow. Every smooth event will soon lead to tragedy. In fact, life is like this, filled with both 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 experience I will have. Perhaps by then, I will be more mature, with an incredibly strong heart. My father has also aged, and 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 my mother. — 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, the most I think about is 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 dull, but in fact, some happiness can only be sought by oneself, and others, even the whole world, cannot 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 work in 2012, in the third year of junior high school, during the prelude of a local radio program called "钟情此声."

Perhaps I am still savoring that time—trying to find everything that is pseudo-sentimental. At that time, the night was illuminated by paper light 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 of you far away." After singing this line, there was a long pause. The café, in my imagination, is poetic and romantic. 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 once. I still remember a classmate in junior high school 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 this. 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 without a little sadness and a little music, I couldn't continue to survive. Slowly, I adapted to this environment. I think actually, laughing can also be carefree. — 2015,03,10

For a long time in the past, I was a person who loved to watch stories. Those stories were about our current youth, with Guo Jingming's "Summer is Not Over," "How Many Flowers Fall in Dreams," "Sadness Flows Back into the River," 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 Jing Teng'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 pretentious and touching moments, as well as words, but some people just won't say them, trying to appear strong in front of others, indifferent, because they don't want others to discover their inner weakness. 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 is enough to show that he (she) cares about you. — 2015,03,14

(Fifteen)

I have dreamed of flowers blooming

And 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 tree-lined path

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

The first eye contact lasted so long

In my memory, 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 have a good conversation 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 again? The truth is: she has been in my heart for a long time, perhaps for a lifetime. Life often experiences many such unfortunate events. 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 ten days; originally, I regarded crossing off this day as 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 span of time because the deep feelings have not faded even slightly over this decade. On the contrary, it can be more profound and more worthy of remembrance. 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, and 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 a few players on the desk, and next to them was a long and heavy stereo. I remember when it was first moved here, 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 with "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 unchanging scenery from my hometown to school. There were many partners in 2005, including the rough little A, the shy little B, the unique little C, and the indescribable little D. 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, but unfortunately, during these ten years, we rushed towards our own skies too early, with no contact and no communication, and the feelings faded away. 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, and with his extremely slow and lyrical voice, he sang the feelings after parting 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 autumn breeze, 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 dinner, 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" does.

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 illusory future has not become any more real because of this decade. The dream ten years ago 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 up a little, 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 desperately, 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, playing better than me, and slowly I began to feel inferior, and then more and more inferior. Recently, I set that dream as 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 have never known what experiences are worth writing about, yet I seriously record my feelings day by day, word by word, hoping that one day in the future, my words can be seen by many people.

In ten years, I have said goodbye to many people, and 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 such boring classes, boring people, and boring things. Busy with a boring life. But who doesn't think like this? But who can change anything?

There has never 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 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 visitors, rushing past after leaving scars in my heart. 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. Perhaps it will rot, but it will never be forgotten.

—— 2015,03,14 "Ten Years in Memory"

The leaves of the school 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, but I found that in 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 there will often be as many kinds of helplessness. 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. Everyone, after growing to a certain extent, 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 have taught me a lot. Many people appear "cool" in front of outsiders, but they must have a passionate side inside; many people appear indifferent to everything, whether they love 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. 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 reaching thirty, holds a detached attitude and recounts 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 won't 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 show affection in various occasions, but I know this is not love; perhaps it is a way to pass the loneliness. I have many girls living in my heart, 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. Back then, my family had nothing, and I often ran to the neighbor's slightly 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 performed and various actions on stage. "Nunchaku," "East Wind Breaks," "Love Before the Year," and "Simple Love" were all learned there.

As I grew older, my family bought a player and speakers. At that time, there was no mp3 or mobile phone; the only way to see him was through the CD player. 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 my childhood.

"Seven Li Fragrance," "Back to the Past," "I Don't Deserve," "The Longest Movie," "Step Back," "Where's the Happiness We Promised"… These songs have not faded from memory with time. I wanted to write down all the lyrics by hand in a notebook, but now I should have lost it. 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 inside, leaving a few tears. At that time, I didn't understand why I cried? I didn't watch the second or third time... The film tells a romantic piano love story. The female protagonist, 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 once 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 protagonist, 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 sentence "The weather is so nice today." The beginning of the song, I think, is unmatched by 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, 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 sang in "Rainbow": perhaps time is a kind of antidote, and it is also the poison I am taking now. I will collect those bits of memories, and perhaps on a quiet afternoon in the future, I can still hear his "Dandelion" slowly playing. — 2015,04,13

(Eighteen) Sharing Stories: Days Running 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 the 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. The next morning, my father rode his bicycle to the market several kilometers away to sell the tofu. That was

In my impression, those were the rare years when my father was very diligent. And during the few healthy years of my mother, she played a very tragic role.

My eldest sister, who was three years old, could no longer stand up due to an accident with my mother, and 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 just two months pregnant and was taken away for abortion due to family planning. The fourth child was taken away at 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 with a very thick syringe directly stabbed into the child's head from above the navel, and then used some method 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, and my parents gave up making tofu and began working in other places. At home, 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 uncle'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 group of people 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, you should get up where you fell, but in the end, he didn't make any money, and the debts kept increasing with interest.

Every year during the Spring Festival, my mother would take out some money to pay off those interests, 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 the clothes left by my cousin. My irresponsible father became even worse, never thinking about paying off any debts, constantly eating well and playing well outside, and every year when he came back, he would have several big fights with my mother. I still remember one year, when he quarreled with my mother, she chased him around the village with a kitchen knife at night, and another time, she 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 broke. 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 the past.

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 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, not with the theme of "mother's love" but "the most unforgettable thing."

Now looking 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 after graduating 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 mud 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 floor. My father and I would sleep on the ground, while my mother and sister would sleep in bed.

The only appliances were a rice cooker and a hot water heater, and the four of us squeezed into one room. My sister and I slept on the ground, while my parents slept in bed. They would get up early and come home late, working hard, and together they still earned only 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 because everyone had moved into new houses. The western-style houses were quite a distance from the earthen houses, and the Spring Festival became a carnival for our family. Every year, I would see my parents once or twice, and I always clamored for us to build a new house. For this, I even helped them calculate their 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 for 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 there is still 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 lost my feelings for the new house. The everlasting youth in front of the door has flourished and withered, but no one appreciates it anymore.

My mother's illness has been dragging on, and from the day her foot started to limp, she has never walked normally again. In recent years, life at home has improved somewhat; the bank debts have been paid off, my sister has married, and my father has settled down to work, 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 Running 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 the days are, we must live on without hesitation. Whenever I mention the past, my mother always says: "The hardships of your generation have all been endured by me, and 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 encounter misfortune throughout their lives but have never experienced true tragic emotions. On the contrary, those who seem to have smooth sailing may also experience great inner tragedies.

I hope people do not change

May we last like the stars

Shining like stars every night

Always there every night... 2015,03,20 "Days Running 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, and in mid-March, I saw the shadow of summer. It got hot for a while, then started to cool down a bit, 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 unlike autumn, there are no tender green leaves now. 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, and 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, I see many students in junior high uniforms passing by, and I don't know how I look at them, really like how adults look 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 has a feeling in my heart, she brought me many memories worth reminiscing about. Compared to L, Z is like adding white 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's the coffee itself or the person drinking this cup of coffee. I was in the same class with her for a year, and only during that year did we have learning and communication. In the following six years, we never said 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 hated to look at her again. To this day, the regret and shame in my heart outweigh any feelings I have. I regret that I didn't clarify the relationship at that time, and I regret that I never advised him to be more serious and work harder. I hope that in the future, she will always have a better life than me. If we meet again 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 at sixteen, we would never have thought about 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, and we shouldn't hold grudges 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 films I have seen, "Those Years" occupies a very important position. The biggest impression this film gave 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 the relationship. At that time, I liked to listen to Hu Xia's song of the same name, and his clear voice like spring water slowly played... 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 protagonist's name is also Jiu Ba Dao's real name. I think he set it up this way because he hopes that when people see this movie, they will remember the girl they secretly loved but dared not speak of in those years. 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 them, 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. Life always has some regrets that cannot be realized, just like the love between Ke Jing Teng 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 doesn't mean I don't have that feeling anymore. Now I begin to understand, "Two people from different worlds," you will stay in my heart, but will never return, and what about you!

—— 2015,03,25

In the 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 that the college entrance examination was very far away. I kept thinking about it until I experienced everything that every senior 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 post-90s writers," and there are many, but I only know a few 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 know 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 slanders from the past are not worth mentioning. — 2015,03,29

I think I can finally become that kind of person, hypocritical and detached from human feelings. I remember those times in junior high when I could be so frustrated by a poor exam result that I would be upset until the next monthly exam. 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 up 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's enough. — 2015,03,29

—— To Leslie Cheung on the twelfth anniversary of his passing: In the year you passed away, I was still a primary school child, and hardly anyone knew you. The only ones who could be said to understand you a little were in the past few years. A successful person will always have something different from us 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, and 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 Running Towards the Future," and "Midnight Song," all representative works of your sad creations. 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 so scary. A person who can face death calmly must have first obtained and seen through those things that can only be experienced as one grows old. 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 eternal. — 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 see, and very few could run over to that side past the teaching building. In middle school, through the window, we saw all buildings, and looking down, there were only scattered people. Now in high school, the trees outside are lush, but the sky we see is incomplete. Sometimes when the sunset comes, we often see a piece, unable to see 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 can't figure out until now. I am about to leave an environment I have lived in for a long time, only to find 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 recognition from 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, and another person is pleasing the first person, just like a dog, trying any way to make itself happy for a moment. — 2015,03,31

(Twenty)

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

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

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

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 full of 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 from elementary school and entered 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 to take me wherever it could, and then I began to adapt.

The second farewell came when I graduated from fifth grade and entered junior high school. I remember that year 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 sad; everyone happily 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.

So far, 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 really 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 unrestrained journey has finally passed halfway. Worried that most of my life has passed like this, that I have already lived through all the passionate and fleeting years, and that the remaining years will be spent in boredom and tedium. More regrettably, you no longer have the ability or opportunity to change your life and family.

The afternoon sun is very abundant, and 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. Thinking about how I have spent many afternoons like this, I have walked through this loneliness.

(Twenty-one)

Flipping the calendar again, it has been ten days since I last crossed off a day; originally, I regarded crossing off this day as 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.

— In life, what matters 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 be recorded 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, arriving at a certain place, resting for a while, eating something, and then circling back.

I always thought I lived in a narrow space, where there are all kinds of people and some mundane things. After 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 of walking down it and feeling how boring it is. 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 been excluded since childhood. 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 time 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 basketball desperately, just to be the one who passes the ball to others, not the one 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 at a high place, 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, whom I used to be very close to. I gently patted her, greeted her briefly, 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 the other way. After that, I encountered many familiar friends, and I always passed by them on their distant left, because I was afraid to greet them. I was even more afraid that after greeting, when walking together, I wouldn't be able to say a word. I hate this awkwardness. I am a silent and introverted person. I think this level of silence can only be felt by the heart.

In my circle of friends, there are very few people with common topics, or perhaps none at all. I find myself walking on a path of distancing from the crowd, just like this journey. In the end, what I deviate 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 every day, I play the role of a clown to make others laugh, while a small part of the time, I maintain a serious demeanor. During those times, I fear hearing jokes or happy stories from others; because I can't laugh then, it dampens others' spirits...

I initially 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, and in my heart, there has always been a scale to measure right and wrong, yet I ultimately chose more of the wrong.

If we view this journey as life, we always end up back at the starting point. We walk in curves and end up where we began. I remember a saying: when you come into this world with nothing, then when you leave, remember something, but you are destined to take nothing with you.

Three years ago, when I arrived in this new environment, I tried to convince myself to forget some extremely unimportant people or evaluations from before, to be a brand new person, to treat others sincerely, and to 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, every time I thought of it, I would feel childish and ridiculous.

I am also truly amazed at my rate of growth. A year ago, I could still talk openly with friends, but a year later, walking together, I 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 middle school, 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 very grateful because with such a restless heart, I have thought of many things that others cannot think of (I wonder if I can say it this way accurately).

And that homeroom teacher was someone who often reminded people in their ears. At that time, he said many heavy words that perhaps I did not understand then, and I did not understand why he would say such things at such an immature time. Looking back now, I really wish I could have someone like that around me again.

Time does not change the content of a person's story, but it can change the way a person narrates it. — 2015,04,03 "Remembering a Training Session"

Do I have enough reasons to give up on college? Yes, I am foolish, I lack many things compared to ordinary people. Be indifferent when necessary, do not crave those things that can never be obtained, do not 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, dominate yourself, do not let others dominate you. — 2015,04,05

“Concerns” are something 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, yet when I return home, I cannot say anything. In front of my mother, I cannot say anything; I am afraid that any choice I make in the future will affect their lives, and I do not want to disappoint them or let them suffer. It is precisely because of such concerns that my originally resolute heart becomes hesitant. The closest seven years 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 remain mediocre. I do not know how I will repay my mother at that time. I do not want to just make a living; I want to live. — 2015,04,07

In these brief five days, I have already tasted summer and felt the sensations brought by winter. I have never had such a brief encounter that spanned a season between winter and summer. After finishing Zhang Jiajia's "Passing Through Your Whole World," I realized that there are so many beautiful stories missing in life. I want to be a storyteller, but the protagonists of all the stories still have not been discovered. I want to become a writer, but I am unclear whether I should write real or fictional stories in the future.

Fiction can be overly pretentious, while reality is hard to write about. This world is truly wonderful. In my eighteen years of growth, the only things worth writing about are childhood, old houses, childhood friends, and black-and-white televisions...

Middle school, high school, what I can write about is only my naive first love and the plot that is not much different from those melodramatic TV dramas. Times are progressing; even if you do not want to change, there will always be things that force you to change.

People born in the 70s and 80s can recall and collect much more than we can. The most beautiful stories still happen in those times without mobile phones, the internet, and underdeveloped communication, where the background can be alleys, lanes, intersections, and large squares.

In our generation, thoughts are often vastly different, and we oftenget angry at others for not understanding us, unable to imagine together. In fact, it is the same; you do not 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, unwilling to let oneself depend on others. — Annie Baobei "In the Simple Years"

Every time I finish a book, I always pick out some meaningful sentences or write some book reviews. I used to like to write a sentence from my favorite quotes and post it online, only to find that the number of people who could see it was just over sixty. Now I start to write them down in a notebook, whether everyone sees them or just I see them, as long as I remember them in my heart, that is enough.

"In the Simple Years" is the first book by Annie Baobei that I have read. You are just some warmth now; most of the book is essays. If it is not understood, you will forget it ten minutes after reading it. I think I am like this, but what impresses me is "The Moonlight Record." This story is merely about Chongguang and Qingyou, and apart from that, there are only two people. It is enough to see how high his writing skills are. When describing Chongguang, everything is so natural. I think there must be real emotions mixed in the author's heart, and perhaps Chongguang is herself, free, 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," Ke Jing Teng's "Those Years."

A good literary work can often elevate 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. Do not be a slave to life; what you want, time will give you. The partner you want is not to be treated as a vase for others to admire. I will still live my life; the best people will always wait for you in the distant future.

— 2015,04,13

I want good grades; I want to start caring about these scores. The results may not be that important, but the process must be important. Put away that indifferent attitude; do not 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 is on 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 will not 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, let 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. When I flip through articles from five months ago, I cannot believe that nearly 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.

Such days are plain, yet I still cannot find any freshness in these plain days. A few days ago, I took my quilt downstairs to dry in the sun. The quilt, which had been used for almost a winter, was very bright in the sunlight, and it had a certain smell. When I spread the quilt on the iron rod, I thought of my mother. Those scenes of drying quilts were something I had seen on television when I was very young. They say that the sunlight on a winter afternoon is the warmest, but if you feel carefully, doesn't the sunlight in spring and summer bring a sense of peace? In winter, I would be afraid to go into the house while drying the quilt 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, but now she is alone. However, it is good; the view from the rooftop on the third floor overlooking the back mountain is excellent. She probably has never seen it!

What was originally time for doing exercises, I used it to daydream or to open my notebook, only to find that I couldn't write a single word. I repeat this every day. I have almost forgotten that I am a senior high school student. If at that time I were in a Starbucks, in some cinemas, or working in a building of my own, how wonderful that would be! If I could ignore the ten years of struggle after graduation, how comfortable that would be! 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 entirely a narrative book, with many shortcomings. A friend said this is the second best book she has read, the first being "The Years Are Ineffective Letters." I think such books are really only suitable for people of our age group. I found that most of the people around me who like to read are inconspicuous like me and do not have complete storylines. We all long to find solace in these books, yet 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 relive it because I have never experienced a complete first love or worked hard 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 step out of the classroom, I do not know anyone. I am the most talkative in front of acquaintances, but in front of a bunch of familiar faces, I cannot say a word. The state I most want to achieve is: do not ask others, and try 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 reach. Day by day, I find that I am getting further away from my former self. For things I could not let go of in the past, I can now say that if I let go, I will let go. Gradually, I convince myself that no one is worth your concern. For those who left a deep impression on me in 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 cannot be realized, 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 ravaged by life. We all carry our own innocence and simplicity to connect 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 that someone was 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 was full of vicissitudes, the beard at the corners of his mouth began to turn white, and he exuded the charm of a mature man. He was very familiar with this road, so much so that he could find the right direction even at night without turning on the headlights. The moonlight shone down, and I saw his destination, which was an unknown cliff. — 2015,04,23 "The Time That Will Never Return"

At first, I treated the things to be completed as the last time I would do them. In my quarter of a life, I have met many people, but very few of them are still in contact today. The environment is always changing, and the people in the environment are not fixed; things change, and people 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 Nine Knives, 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 do not have time to enjoy it, and it is already lost.

Love is like that coffee, carefully brewed, but if it does not suit your taste, then just pour it out.

Everyone may have a simple person beside them who genuinely wants to treat you well, but we, being too young, often overlook this and take it for granted. When one day 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. Everyone does not want 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 do not 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. It is easy to say things, but it is so hard to do them. 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 is not far away. I am willing to leave behind a carefree version of myself in others' hearts, the kind of person who will not be remembered forever. — 2015,05,02

Will we, in the future, live like strangers as we did in the past hundred days? We are not parallel lines, but after slowly approaching and intersecting, we gradually deviate, and the gap becomes larger. If that is the case, then we have always been two parallel lines, how nice that would be. Now saying "We are in senior year, we should..." actually means we have been in senior year for a long time, approaching graduation, and we will all have our own different lives. At that time, I hope we can all 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. In the past, it was 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 completed, I realized that the scenery along the way in my hometown is beautiful. I remember when the road construction started last year, I left a message for 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 that is really 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, and when we took 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 are different. When passing that road, I have also somewhat forgotten what it used to look like. Many things are like this; it has been the same for a long time, and you think you will always remember it, but once it changes, after a day or two, you forget what it was like. People, isn't it the same? — 2015,14,19

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

If time is simply left 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 your 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 are thirty, and your work is still not improving. The couple is arguing, and the children are about to enter elementary school, middle school, and high school, and you will 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 mediocre life, 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 had family blessings, but I did not feel sorry for myself because I did not say any blessing words on other people's birthdays.

I once thought I had many friends, many people to laugh with, but after leaving a circle, I realized that actually everyone had left. I once required 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 seem less lonely.

Try not to ask others and not let yourself depend on others, because in this world, some people are friends, and some people are dogs.

I think we should not need to contact each other if we are on two different life paths after graduation. 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, but after countless rushes, I thought it would always be the last time. However, the closer it gets to the last time, the more easily the heart takes these as reasons for nostalgia, but this should not be too much!

At ten o'clock at night, it started to rain lightly. In my room on the second floor, I can feel some heat.

Such times are very suitable for music. I opened the player, and it randomly played a song that was both familiar and unfamiliar, "Dream a Dream." A piece of text I once liked was "At the end of the year, squatting down to listen to the gossip." Before this, I had specifically searched for this song but had not found it. Now, I heard it without deliberately 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 have already begun 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 seven years old, and most of the stories are vague. Even when I see these, I still cannot remember what happened at that time. At this age, my mother also likes to share stories from her childhood, elementary school, and middle school with me. Every time she tells, I listen carefully, and she talks about her most genuine thoughts at that time, while I do not say a word. I want to keep those words until I truly mature, and when my mother’s hair has turned gray, I will tell her. I think that time, when I recall it, will be more meaningful. In a few years, my mother will be in her fifties, and the closer it gets to that time, the faster I realize that my mother is aging so quickly. The medicine at home is coming in one package after another, and my mother is getting thinner and thinner. I feel that in eighteen 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 there are 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 keep 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, but I happened to have things to do.

At that time in middle school, I admired non-mainstream culture and some sad texts. So whenever I had time to listen to such a program seriously, I would always place a blank notebook on the table to record the more profound words. What I remember deeply is from an online article titled "My Girlfriend Who Accompanied Me for Ten 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, 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. The café should have enough space to accommodate bookshelves and various types of tables.

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

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

Selected pure music will be played in every corner of the café. Of course, there will also be many things that I consider artistic and romantic. I will 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 will still be what I want to hear the most. — 2015,05,05 "The Time That Will Never Return"

（Twenty-four）

I once thought that dreams were supreme, and friendship was 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 am I tired of the buns near the school. I have not confessed to the girl I have had a crush on for a long time, nor have I done anything crazy at such a young age. The new paint on the basketball court at school has not started to peel yet, and the tree with yellow flowers under the dormitory has not fallen down after several days of strong winds and heavy rain. The beef noodles and rice rolls in the cafeteria have been eaten for three years, and the taste has not changed. The bus from school to my hometown has been crowded for three years, and I may never be able to squeeze in again; the road from the county town to my hometown has just been repaired, and it should be a year before I can walk on it again.

The stories I have written over three years have only been half-finished. I have been clamoring to complete a novel, but as soon as I write a little, I cannot 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 my first year and Teacher Wen from my 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 sixty classmates. I do not mean to ignore you; it is just that when I see you, indifference involuntarily spills out. If one day in the future, you really see such words, you may understand that I have always regarded you as friends.

I once thought that three years of high school would be long, but I did not expect that a person's time would occupy most of it. You did not expect that there are so many beautiful things in this world, yet none of them belong to me. What I did not expect is that it would end like this. Sometimes I feel that living the same life every day is not boring but a kind of tranquility. The least I wanted to hear in my first year was "To Youth," in my second year was "The Love Precept," and in my third year was "Meeting is a Song." I do not 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 if you say to forget them, while some things cannot be forced to forget.

Suddenly, I feel that time is not that important. In middle school, I hated having such a mature face. The joy that others can obtain, I do not get at all. After years of experience, I find that I also like this mature indifference, which does not need to be pretended, just 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 that I think about it, it does not matter whether I learned or not. After three years, I finally reached eighteen, and I can feel the subtle changes between them.

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 alone

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. 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 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 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?" are often insecure. Their personality can be completely divided into two parts, or it can be said to be a split personality. Their inner self is very mature, 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 others' recognition of 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 others 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 a spacious seat this time. 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 on this journey, 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. Only after experiencing certain things can you sing out their true meaning. We are all rushing towards different destinations in life. 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 light rain at midnight, because the aftertaste of dreams still lingers, because of the faint sound of water in the room, because the window keeps shaking, because the end 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 have not read any new books or new texts. The closer I get to the end of a certain stage, the more impatient 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 life without earplugs. Walking on campus, sometimes I feel 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 time, I wanted to write it down, but after thinking about it, I fell asleep again. The next day, I could not remember anything. There are 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, and I realize 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 there.

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 go, 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 beginning to understand some meanings assigned to "on the road." Living "on the road," treating all hardships and experiences as part of training and refining emotions, only when you have truly tasted everything and seen through it can your life be considered complete. — 2015,05,16

I remember in Guo Jingming's "Summer Is Not Yet," when describing taking graduation photos, he used a term "people scatter like beasts." In eighteen 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. The first two photos are placed 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 photo who have always been with me. The three of us are not particularly close; we just greet each other when we meet. The graduation photo in the third year was taken in the morning, and the sun 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 a rain. If the first two graduation photos were just taken to get by, then this one has more nostalgic value. After the third year, I did not expect that many years later, when I look back at the graduation photo, I would actually miss it. At that time, we were not prepared to rush towards our respective skies, always thinking that after saying goodbye, we would meet again. But now, looking back, I understand: a hasty farewell will be a farewell for this life, and we will never meet again. — 2015,05,26 "Graduation Photo"

（Twenty-six）（Ending篇）

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 began to wither. I hid in the corner of the classroom, usually writing only a few 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 the window, painted red by the sunset. I would daydream, write a little, and then daydream again, thus creating the first page, the second page, the third page...

I do not 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 am more like an immature child trying to show my mature side but not wanting to be discovered by those around me.

The notebook contains my most worthy thoughts and understandings since my senior year. I do not 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 a person who can support myself with words, so I desperately want to do something related to this profession. That is why I started writing, wanting to write stories, but after all, I am a science student and have not read many classic books. What I write seems to be nonsense, but I think no one can write a work like "Fortress Besieged" from the beginning.

Recently, I saw a blog by Hou Xiaoqiang that left a deep impression on me, titled "Tonight, I Go to Attend a Nonexistent Banquet." It talks about his entrepreneurial experience, but what I see more is the sincerity of a middle-aged man. 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 talent and a willingness to work hard, such as some post-90s writers I really like: Zhang Xiaohan, Wang Changzheng, Zhu Yanran... Perhaps they do 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 degenerate 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 dislike. All suspense should be left to time to reveal, so I should not feel too much emotion. I should think about what I have gained in three years of high school.

In fact, I also regret that over these three years, I have not found a trustworthy partner to endure hardships and start a business with.

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

I once naively believed in "forever," but in the end, I realized that "no one is indispensable."

"Cherish the people who are good to you," I have heard this for six years. Now I want to say that if it were me, I would not cherish it because I am a bad person and do not deserve to receive 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. I am fortunate that over the past three years, I have not invested too much emotion, have not relied on anyone, and have not let myself depend on anyone. I think I can set off lightly on my journey and meet the most beautiful future.

At that time, I was eighteen, and there were 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" would be such a sad term. No matter how much "deep affection" there is, in the end, it will turn into a phrase "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 it is all 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 find that without the nagging of old friends and various complaints about old things, it can actually be this quiet.

I thought walking the red carpet would be a grand farewell, but in the end, it wasn't as reluctant as I imagined. I remember around this time last year, I thought I must give a hug to my favorite teacher, Zhong Xiaoying, and Liu Lingyan on the red carpet. Unfortunately, on the 10th, I felt that all the formalities didn't matter anymore; what mattered was that I had kept all the important things in my heart.

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

I once thought three years would be long enough to experience everything I wanted, but I found that I had walked a long way down a path I hated. Fortunately, I met many wonderful people who taught me so much. There are Wang from Class 22, Wu, Li, Wang, and from Class 16, Li, Qiu, Xiao, and Lai. They are all people I want to remember from high school. Of course, there’s also LHY, who has appeared in my dreams many times.

Some I don't see often, and some, even 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 reluctant to let these three years pass like this. Sometimes I feel like it's enough, and sometimes I feel like I haven't gained anything. But one thing is certain: we have grown a lot and met many people. However, perhaps the experiences are few and boring, often wandering between the dormitory and the classroom. I think some of the beautiful fantasies I once had will eventually be realized in your university life.

Finally, I want to share a piece of self-encouragement I tell myself when I am alone: Life will not go the way you want it to. It will give you a period of time to feel lonely, confused, silent, and depressed. But if you use this time to be alone with yourself, read more books, do what you can do, and let go of the people from the past, once you get through the low tide, those reading times will surely illuminate your path forward. It is precisely these unbearable moments that accompany you to mature. So now it’s not that bad; what seems like life’s debt to you is actually a blessing.

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

In the years of growing up, we have never changed; we have just 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, Li Jian's "Like Water Flowing Years," pure music "Love in April Snow," "Childhood Memory." I believe those who read this short article will surely like them.

——2015,06,10

（Twenty-eight）

A Thousand Arrows Piercing the Heart

There are always some emotions that are suppressed in the heart and cannot be expressed. It has finally passed June, and the new life I want has yet to arrive. Sometimes I feel that a repetitive habit of living is not a boredom but a kind of tranquility, which 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, and everything outside is very clear, like in the morning or dusk. If it weren't for the hot weather, it would resemble a scene in winter when frost sets in, silver-white. The long-extinguished lamp still shines dimly 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 nothing but love, yet I think about when we can meet again after a long separation.

"Everyone has lived more than half their lives; no one is much better than the other." This is a line I recently saw in a movie called "A Thousand Arrows Piercing the Heart." It is a thought-provoking and memorable Chinese film, set against the backdrop of Hong Kong in the 80s and 90s, 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, which in her eyes 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 him at the moment he succeeds. The story leaves much to be imagined, like the mother's future life and her top-scoring son's future. The film is filled with deeply moving scenes, especially at the end, where the mother sits alone by the river, gazing 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 line of subtitles, and through makeup, we really see 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 a decade can change many things: the growth of children, who will try to let go of their hatred, but in the film, it only deepens, 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 reach a conclusion, and every time they latch onto a point, they dig deeper. Every joke turns into an argument, ending with the mother saying, "If I hadn't married you, would I be like this now?" They are devoid of feelings, mutually disdainful to this day. 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 rural areas. So in the eyes of some people, love dramas are completely unbelievable; the idea of love and hate, of mutual support, simply cannot exist. As long as you satisfy him or her, whether materially or in bed, the other party will not leave you. There aren't that 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 much of a hassle as choosing to be together.

Sometimes I ask myself: Do the mistakes made in the past have to be paid back 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 tune it, the sound will still be wrong. No matter how good friends or partners were in the past, after a rift, you can never return to the previous relationship. So almost every cold war with friends is never initiated by me; I would rather find a friend who just agrees with me than have a confidant.

Last night I had a dream where I returned to my high school life from a few months ago, facing the most tangled issues 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 back asleep 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 I also wrote 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 on some day in the future, 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, in countless glances. One day, they will be gone. And at this moment, they are showcasing their most beautiful posture before withering, and at that time, I can say it was the last time I fought for my dreams, leaving some feelings behind. I love this feeling. Just like many years ago, the ending was still far away, the dream was still long, and now, knowing the end of the struggle, I am only pursuing that feeling.

It has been almost a year since I wrote this, and I can no longer write many such passages. So every time I see them, it feels like seeing a story that can no longer be replicated.

Yes, every sudden inspiration and sudden words must have a story and experience behind them. I remember that in the past, such words would mostly appear in classrooms bathed in sunlight after lunch or during every holiday dusk, and rarely at such late hours.

Many things, after the first experience, can never have the same feeling again. Just like sometimes spending a whole night writing an essay, and waking up the next day to find the document unsaved, even if you spend several days organizing and rewriting, it cannot compare to the initial piece. Many people are like this; they can clearly see past mistakes but still do not want to reflect on them again, preferring to bury those mistakes deep 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 cut off contact with everyone; I don't reply to messages or answer calls. I silently persuade myself: this is not avoidance, it's growth, and the price of growth is letting go of all the past, facing the future alone, and before achieving anything, I have no right to look back at the past.

Sometimes when I understand something, I often feel a piercing heartache.

A person who overly focuses on results will only start to recall the process after getting everything they want and will care about those who care about them;

A person who has not invested 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 when they put on earplugs one night.

——Written on July 7, 2015

（Twenty-nine）

A letter to a friend

TO YOU:

I have to face my own life eventually. "I want to take the train and leave here forever, never to return." I have liked to say such things since middle school, but most people didn't pay attention, thinking it was just a way to express my non-mainstream self. Well, I admit that saying such things was not heartfelt; I actually wanted more people to think I was a person with a story. But this thought did not come out of nowhere; I was still young then, 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; after writing a letter to you or her and not getting a reply for several days, I wanted to leave...

Now I can finally take the train and leave, but most of the feelings from that time 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 various reluctances I felt every time I returned home after three years of high school. Life at home was very plain, planting vegetables, watering 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 it was never at night. This seemed to contradict those great creators; in the bright mornings and afternoons, I revised and organized many old 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, a novel from ten years ago, which I accidentally finished after watching its adapted movie. I was very touched by the story inside. It is not as moving as the life-and-death separations in Chinese films; everything is natural, including Fujii's departure and death. In fact, the most touching moments in life are these small accidents and coincidences, which evoke the most profound memories. A letter from Boku is unintentional but deepens the memories of the female Fujii that were originally beginning to fade. The hardest to see the reality 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 only, just like once loving a partner to death; after breaking up, 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; 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 this. These regrets and regrets should be left to my first love.

For the first time, I want to talk about emotional topics, which may have been extremely hidden and unwilling to be spoken in my heart before. For so long, in moments of inner loneliness and the desire to express, the one I still easily think of is her, not because of what she brought me in the past, but because every time I see her, and now think of her, my heart feels comforted. I can't explain why I still can't let go after all this time; it gradually makes 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 a pot of cool boiled water.

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

The most recent 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. Good night!

To this day, we have not been in contact, including our respective college entrance exam results and future plans. It feels like we have 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 ten years; at that time, I should have known we couldn't last long. During that time, she taught me many things. That was also one of the few happy times in my entire high school life. After that, she said not to be together anymore, and I hated her quite a bit then, and still do now. 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 it's fine now; 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 will regret not cherishing years later. But the confusion is that I don't know when I will 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 the 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 have 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 memories.

I never thought I would have to face my future and life so early, even though I occasionally complained in the past, pretending to be mature on the surface, but deep down, I have always been very timid, with no certainty at all. The ones I worry about the most and the ones I can't let go of are my family. They advise me every day to continue studying, as if in their eyes, only by going to university can I have the right to a decent job. And yes, for us rural kids, studying is the only way out. They are always afraid I will suffer, struggle, and be bullied at work. But what I worry about more is that this job might be a lifelong thing for me, which is not what I want to give my family. But I also 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 things I have said in the future.

“Be clear-minded and adaptable, do not cling to the past, and do not yearn for what has passed.”

This is a very interesting sentence I recently saw, especially "do not yearn for what has passed": since the past is already gone, there is nothing to cling to, right? This month, many friends sent messages and called, but I didn't reply to any of them, no socializing, no contact. It feels like I have disappeared from the world; whether they remember me or not seems not that important anymore. Every time I change an environment, I will meet different people and experience different things. No matter how many confidants or close friends 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 have longed for, but it is 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 so unappealing that I can't even bear to read them myself. But I think I will keep writing, even in the most tiring and difficult times in the future, after all, this is 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 and 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 from similar experiences but from the fact that you have both become better people in different lives, and growth is mutual understanding.

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

——Written on July 18, 2015.

（Thirty）

Departure (Written to every past self)

I rarely see this bright windowsill anymore. Under the morning sunlight, the room seems to have been painted with a new coat of powder. Outside, on the back mountain, the pines are thick, and the birds are chirping, but it's hard to tell which tree they are coming from. The annoying cicadas are chirping incessantly. Mom's vegetable garden, after last night's rain, has bloomed with tender flowers. The dried flowers I planted a month ago are finally starting to stand tall. The hen is slowly crossing the vegetable garden with her chicks, choosing a cool place to quietly settle down...

This is truly the most beautiful scene in my memory. On every piece of land illuminated by sunlight, green grass will grow; in every place where the breeze blows, tree shadows will sway. I will remember this place that is beautiful without needing 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 others think you have matured. So we should be grateful for those opportunities that allow you to mature—those who mock you. These days, the most common words I hear are "the outside world is not easy; you are not capable enough," "work is 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 will not gradually doubt myself because of friends' distancing, nor will I be angry because of others' disdain or mockery. 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!

The future me needs to strengthen my heart through repeated failures.

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

Perhaps you will find yourself drinking 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 recite like those who see reality: the future is not as good as imagined. Once, I wanted to be a lawyer, an athlete, a doctor, a singer... As time passes, dreams are gradually abandoned, and 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 greater price. A person's success must come with an equal measure 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: People can live for the past, can live for today, but cannot live for the pointless worries of the future. Recently, a phrase I often say is "take one step at a time." Generally, those who say such things are in the same mood as I am now, worried about the future, but unfortunately, you cannot change the future.

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

Having seen so much warmth and human feelings, when it really comes to experiencing it, the heart will yearn for it immensely.

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

Written on July 21, 2015

（Thirty）

I envy

Now I walk alone on the street

I start to envy everyone

I envy the young children

Riding bicycles without a care

I envy the young people in uniforms rushing off

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 for food and warmth

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 newborn child

Who can live without worries for the first twenty years

I envy everyone who is about to die

Who can say goodbye to the world's ruthlessness and indifference

I envy every woman

Because their paths are ultimately paved by us men

I envy every person 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 most frequent sounds in my mind are the foghorns from the distant seaside and the lovers embracing to say goodbye. In reality, the most common sounds I hear are the various shop doors being pulled up, grandpas and grandmas riding tricycles, selling breakfast, buns, and soy milk to different places along the street. Most of the people waiting at the bus station are young people in uniforms, full of vitality as if welcoming a brand new day. At dusk, however, the scenery is different. 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 completely unfamiliar streets.

This city is vastly different from my hometown, but the only similarity is that storms come without warning. However, it is scarier in the city; the strong winds make the trees sway, and the heavy rain beats against the buildings, even the windows seem to resist. When the rain stops, I can imagine that around the ponds in my hometown, there will surely be bright rainbows hanging in the sky, while here, all I can see when I look up are tall buildings. One moment, the wind is howling, and the next, 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 yet hit the road. The most frequent emotions that flood in are those that come suddenly. It is undeniable that such times are most easily reflected in tears. I think of every touching story, listen to every sad piece of music, and reminisce about every sorrowful past, and I can't help but shed tears, feeling like a patient with a terminal illness, wanting to say countless last words to family and friends before leaving.

The hardest times gradually fade away 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 forget, even I cannot clearly say. I have always insisted that thought and belief 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. There is a line in it: "Thoughts are like beards; if they are not mature, they cannot grow."

Some people say that the adaptations of what is said to most people are not unbelievable.

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

"After graduating for a long time, your classmates will have less and less contact, and eventually drift apart";

"Sad people shouldn't listen to slow songs"... After slowly experiencing these, one can ultimately understand them.

Even if you are noble and untainted, after staying too long, you will also become like that mud.

"Is there true friendship in this world?" In school, I heard many brothers and close friends say they would travel together in the future, start a business together. But after coming out, the most I hear is: the one you can’t trust the most is your friend; 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 passage from a Douban user: The reason why love songs are so beautiful is not only because of their beautiful melodies and excellent compositions but more importantly, we see our own stories in the lyrics. In the singer's heart-wrenching and passionate singing, we can't help but want to take the opportunity to touch the wounds in our hearts, and then put on a face that seems to be enjoying the pain, almost wanting to stop 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 my dreams would never die, that I could give the one in my heart the happiness she wanted in a few years, and that I would definitely shock those indifferent people... After stepping into this society, I have nothing more to say.

The biggest feature 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 surging like water flowing out of 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.

In addition to dreams, accepting reality also requires great courage.

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

I hear different people talk about dignity and fairness. However, society's gaze forces people to be divided 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 the lowly class. If this society is to abandon and slaughter some people, it will definitely start from the lowest end of the pyramid. So there is 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 civil servants sitting in offices are actually on the same level as migrant workers on the streets, each performing their different duties and doing their jobs based on their abilities. However, society's gaze forces people to be divided 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 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. So there is 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, common, or 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 through physical labor envy those who can earn money just by typing on a computer keyboard and looking at a screen. And those who earn money with their brains also envy those who can move their limbs and exercise every day. People in different positions envy each other, but very few truly enjoy their work. In this society, survival is always the priority, while interests are pushed to the back. Only when people's basic needs are met can they develop their abilities in other areas. To survive, they can only go against their original intentions, rushing towards money. This society is more realistic than imagined, and reality is more cruel than imagined. No matter how young, there will be a day of aging; no matter how capable, there will be times 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. This society, while achieving many people every day, also eliminates many others.

A few months ago, I wanted to make a bold statement: let's compare ten years later and see whose life is better. Now I am grateful that I didn't say it back then because fate is something 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 three years, my heart became 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 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, it is wandering everywhere." 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, walking down 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 most is to have a home, a support, and a companion who understands them. I believe his thoughts represent the desires of all those who have matured after spending a long time away from home; they have a desire to start a family, to seek 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, he continues to persist. His meals are simple; he buys a few loaves of bread from the street-side supermarket, sits on the ground to eat when hungry, indifferent to the rushing passersby and their gazes. The most frequent phrase on his lips is, "People are born to suffer; only when they die do they have no suffering." This city is far from what I imagined.

For a living, for ideals, for feelings, for unavoidable reasons, or for peace of mind, everyone can find a reason to justify their arrival or departure, even if that reason once made you passionate or heart-wrenching. But all of this is your own choice, regardless of good or bad, without right or wrong, and 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 confusion and bewilderment

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 table by 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 washstand of moderate length. The washstand plus a stool forms a quiet writing place.

The long-standing boiled water tastes like tap water when drunk;

Living in a location away from the bustling street, the most frequent sounds in the early morning and evening are the cries of children and the barking of dogs;

Woken up several times in the middle of the night by mosquitoes, sometimes it’s hard to fall back asleep even when I’m so tired I can’t 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 loves to plant flowers and vegetables. Since I live on the top floor, when I open the door and turn right, there are many of her potted plants. Every afternoon, as the sunlight fades from the rooftop, 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 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 they form not even a small alley.

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

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

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 I would loop the same song for a whole day. Sometimes, facing the empty room and my empty self, I would stay there for a whole day. Sometimes I think of the seven years of dorm life, realizing that I won't have to return to school every year anymore. 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 sharing their university acceptance letters. I don't know what I will use to catch up with them in these four years and even for the rest of my life, and slowly, we have started to become two different levels...

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

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

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

I no longer dare to 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 here.

Although I have passed a crossroads, 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 boss is a young man in his twenties, almost 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 boss works shirtless all day, his face and body covered in gasoline. Fixing a bike tire or other tasks takes a long time, and the pay is minimal. Although the income is low, every time I sit in their shop, he always takes a bottle of drink from the fridge for me and sighs, saying, "Why didn't you go to university?" "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 matter of getting an office job.

They, including the increasingly worldly me, also think that if one could study a bit more, they would surely find an easy job. In fact, we, who lack education, have always admired those who have decent jobs, but we don't 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 by it. If we 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 work hard, 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 to have a good boss who pays on time.

Despair is not just about the confusion and helplessness of life, but also the feeling that the world seems 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 representative of the broad masses. A man from the 70s, he insists on his own beliefs 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 despised and looked down on such people, using terms like "good-for-nothing" since middle school. But now I find these things forgivable; you cannot impose your imagination on everyone, such as how someone should be at twenty, how they should be at thirty, and how they should be at forty. Their abilities determine that they will become such people, and these are unchangeable. So I can't blame him entirely; after all, no one wants to become wealthy and be respected by everyone.

My mom is a typical 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 little happiness. In her youth, she had to worry about the family, and when she got old, she had to take care of her grandchildren... Her whole life has been spent calculating how to get by. My sister is becoming worldly; since the moment she gave birth, she has increasingly aligned with my mom's way of life, living like a rich person but without the fate of one. 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 a person 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 become so worldly and have bad tastes in many years.

Now, every day I have to reflect on how far my current life is from the ideal one. I feel dazed and confused every moment, with no background, no family background, no education, no experience, no ability... At this moment, the thing I least want to hear is those successful people recounting their bitter pasts. 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 glitz and glamour belong to a minority, 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 worth. Do not think that this world is truly beautiful, nor should you believe that human nature should have its kind side. The easiest people to fail are those who live in their imaginations.

If a person's life value is measured by money, then civil servants sitting in offices are actually on the same level as migrant workers on the streets, each performing their different duties and doing their jobs based on their abilities.

Those who earn money through physical labor envy those who can earn money just by typing on a computer keyboard and looking at a screen. And those who earn money with their brains also envy those who can move their limbs and exercise every day. People in different positions envy each other, but very few truly enjoy their work.

Entering society, survival is always the priority, while interests are pushed to the back. Only when people's basic needs are met can they develop their abilities in other areas. To survive, they can only go against their original intentions, rushing towards money.

“The storms of this season come without warning. The trees by the roadside sway, and the heavy rain beats down on the ground, as if even the windows are resisting,” said H.

——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 experienced much disappointment and gain.

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

What I have gained is a sense of wandering and hesitation, and I have finally learned a bit about the skills needed to survive in this society and some meanings that life has bestowed upon me.

I thought that leaving school would mean a permanent farewell to dormitories and cafeterias, but I discovered that without the ability to navigate life, I would still be arranged and planned for like an immature student, no matter where I went.

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 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 in someone’s thoughts.

It feels like all the resentment I had towards school and teachers has finally found some release at this moment. In the past, I often struggled with feeling misunderstood and not taken seriously. Now, when I have no friends around, I would rather stay in that group where there are no true words and no one enters each other's hearts.

Life, seemingly plain, often adds some discordant interludes. I have seen too many humble people and those who consider themselves great. In this world, the rich have countless ways to entertain themselves, while the poor have only one: 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 what makes a person tired at work is not how much energy and effort you put into completing tasks, but rather the frequent need to endure the boredom and monotony that work brings, and slowly integrating it into your daily life, making it a habit, a signpost, unchanging...

As I grow, my conditions for sleeping become more demanding. As a child, I needed the lights on and someone to coax me to sleep, but now I must have darkness and silence to fall asleep peacefully. Life will always have many sleepless nights; before I turned nineteen, insomnia would come from a person, a farewell, or an unfinished matter. After turning nineteen, insomnia comes from life and work demands, and the background of sleeplessness usually shifts from bed and room to the streets or neighborhoods, watching the crowd gather and disperse, seeing the night slowly turn into day. The most exciting moment is when the streetlights turn off at dawn, and the sky begins to brighten little by little. Some sleepless nights, however, I love to dream; every time I wake from a dream, I feel that reality is too cruel. But last night, when I dreamed of struggling in the face of death for a long time, I finally understood how real it is to be alive in reality.

Recently, the two most touching works 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 film "Norwegian Wood" differs somewhat 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 don’t know where this sadness comes from; it is very real and warm, just what I wanted. Watching the helpless Naoko and Mizu, 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 melancholic, indifferent and pensive, not knowing what I have and what I want, preferring to be nostalgic alone until death rather than sharing my lonely years.

Regarding youth, I think the best summary is a quote from Junichi Watanabe: “No matter how old you are, there are always 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 their lives every seven years. I see that the reason China cannot catch up with European countries is—thought. More importantly, I see their respective wonderful lives, a group of people from innocent childhood to spirited youth, and then to approaching old age, all in just a few hours, yet they have experienced a full forty-nine years. A person’s life should return to simplicity; no matter how strong your family background is, it can only guarantee your food and clothing for the first twenty years and the last ten years. But in the process of making a living for yourself, you still have to live the life of an ordinary person.

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

A person's summer feels like it has lasted a long time; despair often outweighs any joy and anger. Through my current life, I see that the next year, five years, and ten years will continue like this. 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. A dream is worthless before it comes true, and after it is realized, it becomes a topic for successful people to boast about. As long as there is a clear direction, who cares about dreams 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 maturing; 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 lowest times. Cutting off contact with everyone does not mean I have truly forgotten you; rather, I want to have more courage to move forward. True friends are kept in the heart, not those you frequently contact. 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 who is even approaching old age. In a conversation, I asked him, “How old is your child?” His answer was, “Not yet born.” For a long time after that, every time I saw him, I would deeply sigh in my heart. I was not only lamenting him but also many others who, like him, have no one to care for in their lives. I thought of birth, I thought of family, I thought of humility. I also thought of a person in the village called “Gong Lao,” when we were seven, he was 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 remained, realizing that the one we laughed at at seven was also ourselves at eighteen. In fact, those humble people we see are not willing; 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 because of such small twists; 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: “Everyone's path is different; I walk on my wild path, and she walks on her grand road, both deserving blessings, as long as we 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 brink of eighteen coming to an end, looking back at the path I have walked, I am fortunate that after many twists and turns, my eighteen is finally coming to an end. With infinite joy but also a hint of sadness, I want to ask those who complain: if one day you really could return to eighteen, what would you do, what would 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 to have in the future;

Maybe you want to have more experiences, 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, and you want to desperately 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 my mature appearance, 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.

In the past, I was so ignorant that I always placed too many promises and commitments several years ahead. 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 about my first love, “Let’s make a promise for ten years,” 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’t guarantee anything 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 goes to waste because there is no reason to want to succeed or strive. All of this is fully reflected in my eighteen and nineteen years. Compared to anyone else my age, what I want more is a clear goal and motivation to strive for, 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 reach, 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 afraid their answer is no, which makes me feel very awkward. I listen to them say they have been working since they were eighteen, and at thirty, they are still the same, with no changes. I feel cold; my fate seems very similar to theirs. Work at eighteen, nothing after three years, start to decline after five years, start to waste time after eight years, and after twelve years, no wife, no children, no friends, no worries, no money, no dreams, no goals, no plans. This is what I see as the so-called middle-aged man after thirty.

If I could really be thirty, I can hardly imagine what I would become. But I think my resentment and unwillingness will ultimately change my life a bit.

Hypothetically, if I succeed, I will definitely have the mark of a successful person, my thoughts and insights will have reached a certain height. I will live in a big villa of my own, with my closest and dearest people. In every sunset, I will 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 will be flexible; I can work in a newly opened café or at home by a south-facing window. Even if my face is full of wrinkles and my hair shows some gray, it will not affect my appreciation of myself and others' appreciation of me. Perhaps one day, I will meet my most beautiful first love, have a cup of afternoon tea, share secrets, or slowly reminisce about the feeling of our first hand-holding and first kiss. These might be my most dreamy thoughts, and also my definition of success from the perspective of an eighteen or nineteen-year-old.

Hypothetically, if I am thirty and a failure, with no changes, that 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 perhaps have children, while I am still doing the most ordinary job in the most prosperous city, earning the lowest salary, with food and accommodation provided, clocking in and out. But this will also be my willing choice; I will not be picky about work, even if it is the hardest and most tiring job as a mover or factory worker, I will be happy because I need to use that meager salary to support my family. I will not be indifferent like 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, and all the feelings of loneliness, loss, and achievement are self-imposed. Unwilling to change, looking down on all the people and things around, feeling that they are so fragile compared to my noble dreams, unable to tolerate this or that environment, thinking 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, even less willing to face reality, 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.

Raised by my parents for eighteen years, in a certain year when my identity suddenly changes, I realize how hard they have worked these eighteen years. When I truly stepped onto the long-distance bus to this city, I told my mother, “I am the one who owes you; 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 money to them every month, or living together, cooking for them when they are hungry, buying clothes when they are cold, or just being by their side when they are tired, just like they were for me back then. What I think in school and after leaving school is 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 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 it is basically impossible to achieve in the long time ahead.

When I was in school, I thought that at nineteen, I would be working tirelessly in a dark factory, earning a decent salary, but I did not expect to have a job that is easy and boring for eight hours a day, earning a meager salary, and even having time to feel melancholic.

I made a new friend who is 22 years old, and he often says: “Living is suffering.” When I try to enlighten him and express my inner feelings, he says, “I was just like you at nineteen, even more unwilling, full of spirit, but now? I can only muddle through every day.” I think experiences and encounters can be quite 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.

As a child, I wanted to grow up quickly to eighteen, and at eighteen, I think about thirty. I don’t 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, 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, I realize how beautiful and enjoyable the time in school was. But I think that even if I suffer and tire 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 resentment will become a form of self-mockery. My dreams can be stagnant, but I must not give up.

I really like a line from Ma Liang in "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; deep feelings come from hating myself for being heartless. Nothing in this world is born out of nothing; 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 there are two coffins placed on wooden boards in the alley. Every day when I pass by, I look up, and it feels like there is a dead person in front of me. Only a group of people dare to pass by, so from a young age, I believed many legends about ghosts. 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 a night before they can be washed;

When you are young, you must not sleep with your grandparents, or they will absorb your yang energy and shorten your lifespan;

If you hear someone calling your name while sleeping at night, 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 a thing happened, I would follow it, even though others would be puzzled, so every night I had to hold onto the headboard or hug my mother's arm to fall asleep. Even when I reached middle school, every time I returned to that old house, I still had to sleep in the same room, 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 started when I began 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 or so for the New Year. However, their house did not seem very old; at least it was newer than ours because every room was plastered, while our house still had dirt floors, and the southern wind would often bring up a lot of water. 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 for fifth grade and could only come back on weekends. From Monday to Friday every night, I slept in the old house in the south. 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. After 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 bought it to comfort me when they left. This one 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 stray cats that occasionally came to the roof, and the dogs from who knows whose house outside the door, would always run around and bark in the middle of the night, never allowing me to have 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-episode TV series. My grandfather was like me; his 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 the "News Broadcast" to finish, it would start, and I usually only watched 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 was very short because I was very worried and scared. If his TV suddenly turned off and I hadn’t fallen asleep yet, what should I do? My heart would be hanging, and I really couldn’t sleep. Whether I slept on the left or right, or looked up at the wooden boards, the result was the same. This kind of panic still exists today. I am afraid that something will end, and it will definitely end without any preparation.

But before I fell asleep every time, my grandfather would quietly come into my room and prepare a bag of snacks to put by my pillow as my rations for school and after school, usually biscuits and peanuts, sometimes with two oranges. When he left, he would also pull down the blanket covering my head. I pretended to be asleep but often ate those snacks little by little after he left, as a compensation for my insomnia. I guess this is a secret my grandfather never discovered before he passed away.

The school is far from my hometown, and every morning I have to get up before dawn to rush to school. By the time the sky brightens, I should be at school. In our village, there are about a dozen people rushing to school, usually gathering at someone’s house, and when almost everyone is there, we set off. I always have an alarm clock by my pillow, and sometimes when I can’t sleep, I listen to its “tick-tock, tick-tock” sound and fall asleep. Occasionally, when the power goes out, I wake up to find that the sky is already bright, and then I rush to school. However, this scene often occurs on winter nights. When frost hits and the moonlight shines, it is almost like daytime, so I sleep very uneasily every winter night. I suddenly wake up in the middle of the night and run to the yard to ask my grandfather what time it is. Sometimes, even when it is time, I still can’t sleep, so even now, I still have this feeling: waking up at two or three in the morning and realizing I can continue to sleep is an incredibly happy thing.

Starting from fifth grade, I followed my sister's path and went to the central primary school in town, beginning my long boarding life. Two people share one bed, and a small dormitory is filled with twenty people. Finally, I would not lose sleep over ghosts, and insomnia gradually became less frequent. However, that year, there were many memorable things, but I couldn’t often think of them during those nights. Regarding happiness, for example: the four peers from our village began to have an unprecedented tacit understanding. Every Sunday afternoon at two o'clock, we would come 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, slowly eating our way home. Sometimes we could even play for an hour in the empty arcade before heading home. Regarding sadness, my grandmother passed away that year, and I wore a white suit for the first time to attend the funeral. The funeral customs in my hometown are many: 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 the deceased, and I would be the only one at home. After dinner, I would do nothing and hide under the covers to sleep, fearing I would hear that sound. 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. Her job was in a cafeteria contracted by a relative at the school, earning only a few hundred yuan. Thus, I spent almost all my time in middle school at this school, but the emotional connection was truly lacking. In that kind of school, as long as you are serious enough and obedient, you can receive praise and affection from teachers. With the teachers' affection, classmates will also like you in turn. In the first two years after I arrived, I was watched by all my relatives and appeared to be more obedient. Therefore, many happy times only happened in those first two years; I thought less and ate more, had weekends, and played ball. From Monday to Friday, I slept in the collective dormitory, and on weekends, I slept in the staff dormitory with my mother. In the same room, there was also my cousin, a thirty-year-old aunt. Occasional insomnia only happened when I changed to a new dormitory or moved from one bed to another.

In the last two years of middle school, I felt much more exhausted, and sleepless nights increased. Perhaps it was then that I developed a picky habit regarding my sleeping environment; as soon as a light was turned on or a sound was made at night, I would suddenly wake up, and falling asleep again would become very difficult. At that time, I kept listening to the same song, and even now, I have not grown tired of it. There were twenty-four people in the dormitory, and at night, the lights were on for overtime. To this day, I still do not know where that seriousness came from. Yes, many things, once a little time passes, it becomes very difficult to find the reason for doing that thing. Just like the next morning, I can 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 is hard now, but later you will want to return to this period of time.” But I still feel that period was a nightmare in my life; perhaps I would like this dream, but it would only be when there are truly no dreams left to dream.

The second stage began in high school, which is when I truly understood insomnia—a time for insomnia due to loneliness, for not fitting in, for monthly exams, and for the girl I had a crush on. Gradually, it became the beginning of my depression, being overly sensitive to everything around me, sometimes suddenly losing my temper, and suddenly not wanting to say a word. Every day at ten o'clock, I would lie down, eyes wide open, whether open or closed, awake or sleepy, I would not be able to sleep until one or two o'clock. In my mind, I would repeatedly chant, “Fall asleep quickly, fall asleep quickly.” As long as that little thought existed, I could not 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 a sea, watching the sunset... A few times, I would fall asleep halfway through, but soon the method would become ineffective. Then I would imagine 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, turn the volume up to the maximum, and listen until I fell asleep. This was the most reliable method, but sometimes, as soon as I heard a deeply moving song, it would open the floodgates of memory, and even when dawn came, my mind would still be wide awake.

The most recent and final 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. In the lead-up to graduation in the first half of the year, I would keep recalling some of the regrettable things I did in high school, and sometimes I would start writing randomly with a pen. In the deep night, I thought of countless words I wanted to say to many people. After waking up, it was not that I forgot, but I felt it was unnecessary because even if I said it, no one would care. So, it is said that the source of inspiration for all creators mostly comes in the dark, and some hidden emotions can only burst forth in the night.

Habitually narrating the past, I find that I cannot 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 extremely indifferent; they can fall asleep as soon as they lie down. But perhaps those who can sleep peacefully also envy us who are easily insomnia-prone because a person only thinks of what they truly care about when they are insomniac, 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 fun at the most interesting times, wanting to have fun at the most boring times, but being unable to find any meaning. Or in other words: when you cannot see through it, a beautiful life does not look beautiful; when you see through it, you want to live beautifully, but you can no longer see it.

Now, my life occasionally involves dreaming, but it has not yet reached the level of insomnia. Even if I sometimes suffer from insomnia, the things I can do are not as monotonous as at home and school. I can go to the desolate streets at night to feel the wind, or buy a bottle of beer, get drunk, and sleep is just a matter of seconds. During these days outside, the pain of insomnia is very rare, and I even welcome the arrival of insomnia, which may also be the reason I feel so secure and do not want to return to school.

Life has passed in the blink of an eye for several years. By then, who will still remember for whom those sleepless nights were spent and why? As a child, I hoped those times would pass quickly and not return, and then they really passed and never came back...

Will you still suffer from insomnia in the future?

Where?

For whom?

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

This was a promise I made to myself at fifteen for what I would do after eighteen.

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

This “thought” I do not know when it started, nor do I know when it will end. Perhaps it is because the loneliness and depression of eighteen made me realize that those words I usually cannot express can be well expressed on various sheets of paper; or perhaps it is because I heard that every writer's creation happens at night, and I happen to be someone who is prone to insomnia, so I began this similar beginning of a creation.

Unfortunately, most of the time at eighteen was spent in the third year of high school, and I did not 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 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, painted red by 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 didn’t even know what I was writing. At first, I wanted to write an essay, then I started to express myself, and finally, it completely resembled a diary, but more like an immature child trying to show his mature side while not wanting to be discovered by others.

These nonsensical “diaries” I treated as treasures because they can be considered a small structure and beginning of my great ideals. I do not want to say that my third year of high school was always accompanied by 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 indeed express worries that are different from everyone else. Many people say that only after graduation do they understand nostalgia, but I really do not want to return 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, occasionally flipping through the thin diary, I have countless times wanted to revise it. If I wanted to embellish this work at this stage, I might describe it more emotionally; then I slowly realize that all of this is completely unnecessary.

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

“Eighteen” records not only my 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 every time I see a piece, I can recall many stories with those people. Unfortunately, I cannot send greetings to them from time to time; I hope to slowly change myself, become a better version of myself, and become someone who can let go of the past.