On a warm night, I met a hundred percent girl.

This is particularly suitable for young couples in school, but after all, there are few students who can hold their lover's hand in the dark; most classmates will still come down from different floors and rush onto this long path. The dormitory is much more comfortable than the classroom.

I am one of the few who did not hold my lover's hand and was willing to leave only after the lights went out at ten o'clock. It's not that I love studying so much, but because when the class bell rings, it is the noisiest time.

If I walk back to the dormitory at a normal pace, it takes ten minutes; if too many classmates come together and it gets crowded, it can take anywhere from 15 to 20 minutes. And at that time, I began to be someone who likes quiet.

In nearly three years, I have walked through countless nights like this alone, enjoying the rare sense of ease that this distance brings me, but sometimes I can't help but fear: will I always walk down this "one-way street"?

I forgot from which day it started, but whenever I look around or raise my head to look into the distance, a girl keeps appearing in front of me. Occasionally, I would be with friends. I can change the world and change myself.

Most of the time, she is also alone, occasionally with a friend, but it is rare to see her in a group of people. A long corridor, sparsely populated with just a few people.

She has straight long hair tied in a ponytail, tall and thin, as if she could be blown away by a gust of wind; not outstanding, but easy to remember 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—right across from the left room upstairs.

The teaching building for the senior year has two circular corridors, east and west, 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 doesn't necessarily leave the classroom only after the lights go out; sometimes when I happen to see her going downstairs, I will slowly follow her. Sometimes I would wait in the corridor, and when I see her coming down from the third-floor corridor, I would deliberately slow down. I think maybe she would walk over and gently tap me.

However, no, every time we just walk past each other as usual...

I think we have had many direct eye contacts, such as: when we both look around on the long path back to the dormitory, and also when I just stepped out of the classroom, and at that moment, she happened to be looking down from the corridor, but we have never said "Hi, what a coincidence" or smiled at each other.

Maybe I can accurately perceive a hint of emotion in her eyes that is similar to mine, because when we make eye contact, it always lasts for 0.5 seconds. This kind of "reading eyes" in my naive years can be said to be a very narcissistic and rare ability. 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 and watch?"

Thinking about it, I look up and see her, but the result is that I silently lower my head, due to 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 think about it but can't achieve it, I gradually let go of that feeling, because no matter how much I struggle inside, I still can't take that action. I simply extinguished that impulse.

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

When the scenes in my dreams truly appear in our real life, we often feel 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?

So in countless such thoughts of doubt, the fortunate time quietly slips away. Then I regret in my heart, how nice it would be if that story really happened to me.

Understanding small joys can help turn defeat into victory in the battle against time

Recently, whenever I have time, I will reread the words from my diary at eighteen; after each reading, I can always gain something new. The following content is from November 29, 2014.

01

In the evening, the sun sets, and when I look up, I can see the yellow 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.

In winter, any bit of warmth is much more touching and emotional than in other seasons; yet, being here, I have not felt much of that home-like warmth.

Recently, I placed a calendar on my desk and developed the habit of crossing off a day after it passes; thus, I slowly realized that the thing I remember most and want to do every day is to cross off that day.

Not every day is that meaningful, nor is there so much to remember or so many people to remember every day.

This is the result of staying in the same school for more than two years.

Of course, this does not refer to everything; there are still many moments I want to record but have been delayed due to the inability to do so. For example: running alone on the playground at dusk, being awakened by the sound of rain or dreams in the middle of the night... or sometimes waking up to the sound of rain. Then I want to record that dream, but while thinking about it, I fall asleep again, and when I wake up the next day, I can't remember anything...

02

Under the desk are several novels, some borrowed from classmates or the reading room, and some exchanged with my monthly allowance from the school's discount bookstore a few days ago; they are all books that have little nutritional value after reading.

When I see the books exchanged with my allowance, I start to feel a bit reluctant; this feeling has increased significantly after turning eighteen—whether it's buying snacks at the school supermarket or getting new clothes, things that are not related to my basic life.

Because I am using the money that my parents earned with their hard work and sweat.

I don't know if this can be considered thinking from an adult's perspective. The more I grow up, the more I realize:

Actually, I am very willing to step into the adult world, to think what they think, to do what they do. Although I still often play and joke around with my classmates.

I try to hide that little maturity and unwillingness to adapt to the surrounding environment, because I really can't change anything now.

03

People are undoubtedly the most sentimental when they are lonely;

I don't know if others express loneliness differently at different stages. But for me, I often listen to Leslie Cheung's music now. From Jay Chou to Guo Jingming's novels to the classic nostalgic songs of Leslie Cheung, it has been a long process.

But this does not mean an end; in the different stages to come, I can find things that are different from this stage.

I forgot from which work I read that each person's life is a process of slowly moving from the group to loneliness, and from loneliness to simplicity and quietness. In the end, the only one who can accompany you is yourself, and the only one who can understand you is your own heart.

Although I cannot experience the mindset at the end of the text, I believe that each stage must have its specific meaning,

and loneliness is one of those stages.

In the process of growing up, a person develops their own thoughts about many things. The existence and disappearance of these thoughts, whether to implement them or suppress them, often depend on yourself. In other words, the hardest thing for a person is to maintain the ability to keep their inner thoughts consistent;

04.

Recently, I was inspired by the promotion of the movie "You Are the Apple of My Eye," so I read the original novel in advance, and my subsequent feeling is:

Every touching friendship or love can only appear in novels; in reality, we change with our perspectives and attitudes over different periods, making it difficult to find someone who truly appreciates us, let alone a love that is loyal for a lifetime.

Perhaps I currently lack the ability to see those mundane things as the shining points of my hard journey, which leads me to appear indifferent to many things around me, while desperately longing for the care of others.

Another way to say it might be that the things we care about the most deep down are the hardest to express (for example: LHY, WF, ZXY)

The more hurried the senior year is, the easier it is to think of certain people, and the more easily one becomes distracted. I am unclear when I will reach the point of not reminiscing.

Many stories end with regret and unwillingness, just like "You Are the Apple of My Eye." But no matter what, in the end, we are all strangers, and we owe each other nothing.

So I can only mutter:

Some people are meant for growth, some are meant to be unforgettable, some are meant to be remembered, and some are meant to be forgotten. For all the things in time, we must retreat, endure, restrain, and show compassion. Understanding small joys can help turn defeat into victory in the battle against time. Those happiness that belong to you will come uninvited.

Opportunities to meet my father are few, and with my mother, it's once a month. The three of us are in different places, busy with our own different things; time is neither fast nor slow, it does not slow down even a little because of a touching moment; when I have always been protected by my parents, I did not notice that they are aging day by day. Until a few days ago...

My father decided to give up his job because he couldn't do a heavy task, 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 argue, but now? I would sternly scold them, "If you want to get a divorce, just go ahead and do it."

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

But now I think no matter how I blame him, he still raised me to high school, to eighteen. It's just that personal suffering is a bit much, and the favorable conditions are very few. But now, the blame in my heart has decreased a lot because what he has given me can only go this far; the rest of the road still has to rely on myself to walk.

I set my independent time at nineteen, which is in nearly six months. I will start to look for a life that belongs to me, although I am not clear about what "belonging" means.

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

I will become a working person, wearing a uniform on the bustling streets, just like most young people; I won't go to Starbucks, and I won't buy luxury goods. But I want to work hard, hoping that one day, my mother won't have to use money to measure her mood, and she can also live a wealthy life, and my father won't 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...

These can be ordinary, but they can also be great. —2014,12,28 "I Don't Want to Survive, I Want to Live"