Have you heard that song?
It's the song sung by Cai Chunjia, Invisible Commemoration. I am always lost in her clean voice, but I can't catch a reed to talk to and understand my heart.
I want to go back to that year. I want to go back to that distant summer night.
I want to go to the border where time passes, even if I won't see you again tomorrow. I also want to tell you. Actually, I have never forgotten your face.
If it can be dull,
High school life is as dull as boiled water. Running around the teaching building and dormitory day after day, I always feel that it should not belong to the life of sixteen. Accustomed to claiming to be a pure liberal arts student. I don't know what magic mathematics and physics have. In short, they naturally light up a red light for me every time. When the chemistry teacher talked to me, there was infinite injustice in his eyes. After all, as I can lower my average score by two points, unless my personality breaks out, I will always be a thorn in the side of the science teacher. All right. I admit I'm used to it.
I remember when I got 4 points in the physics exam, my strong self-esteem drove me to cry all day long. The teachers were helpless, and they all comforted me and said that as long as they worked hard, their grades would come up. But then I didn't try hard. And I can still stare at my dear physics teacher without blinking an eye after practicing for only 3 minutes.
he asked, are you really not interested in physics at all?
I said, hmm.
he asked, you really don't want to study physics at all?
I said, hmm.
So the teacher gave in to me in a strange and helpless way. He told me to buy a math review material for senior three and do it from scratch. Feel free to ask him any questions you don't understand.
I was stunned for a few seconds. It turns out that it is quite proud to turn a famous physics teacher into your own math teacher.
math. mathmatics Every time after class, I start to talk nervously. My deskmate leaned in several times and asked me what I was doing. I carefully attached it to her ear and said that Zhang Xiaofeng and I learned a trick. I can recite the mantra. The deskmate is full of worship. What did you say? I close my eyes and calm down. I like math. Then she lay prone on the table and never got up, laughing and yelling. You, you like math? Who is that when the teacher handed out the papers, he couldn't wait to greet his ancestors? I silently bowed my head. Yes, it's me.
I like math. This job is a bit fake. There's nothing we can do about it. But to know that the fate of liberal arts students is in its hands, I have to force myself to like it.
Physical chemistry and everything are just floating clouds. I just like to study solid geometry while cutting Mapo tofu with chopsticks in the canteen, and recite trigonometric functions while humming a tune in the toilet. My happy little life often makes my deskmate have the impulse to send me to kindergarten and compete with the children for the world. This can't be allowed. Can't make it.
I remember the Chinese teacher said that when the ancients were in extreme grief, they would cry blood. I am a man of temperament. It is also common to feel sorry for one's life and grieve for spring and autumn. One day, I was about to bring rain to pear blossoms, and the onion on the left quickly handed me some tissues. He speaks eloquently, Amitabha. Just think of me as a poor monk and accumulate virtue again. I ignored the funny ingredients intentionally added by this fake monk, and when I took the paper, it was an overwhelming like a pouring of large and small pearls into a plate of jade.
after a while. I stopped crying. But suddenly I caught a glimpse of a small blood stain in the center of the paper that wiped the tears. I think it's urgent to attack the heart. I said to the onion with bitterness in my eyes, Brother Onion, if I leave, I will never see you again. He glared at me contemptuously, so let's deal with the pimple on your face first and then get nervous again. I was stupefied and grabbed a mirror. Sure enough, the blood on the paper is not my time. It's just a zit on my nose.
that's ok. I'm really sui's home
All the teenagers here have sad ventriloquism
Actually, I am a literary fan. The kind that is hidden.
After seven years of painting, I decided to enter the Academy of Fine Arts at the age of six, and then I dropped it. I have practiced calligraphy for seven years, and now I write a reluctant hand. Fill in the song code code when you are free to bask in the mood. Singing is ok. But I don't know music, which is true.
many, many times, I am not happy. I tried to tell many people that I was a sad child. First they showed disbelief, and then they burst into laughter as if they suddenly understood a cold joke. I don't think this sentence is funny, and I feel sad every time. Because I am really a lonely and vulnerable child. These have nothing to do with moaning without illness. These are not used to prove to what extent I am literary and artistic. None of them understand. I need someone who understands me.
Xia Mang is a person who understands me. In junior high school for three years, we all went to school together and went home together. We lay on the playground and watched the clouds being pulled into different shapes. We hid in the attic on the second floor, shivering with the silence and loneliness of the campus after the whole day. She grew up in a divorced family. I'm different from her. I have to be very reluctant.
so we all have unspeakable sadness. So we can understand each other. Then back to back to warm each other in cold weather.
Xia Mang likes to look up at the night sky devoutly.
she whispered to me, if only we were the north star.
I always bow my head without saying a word. Step by step, crush the glass-like moonlight that fell to the ground. I saw a summer wind sweeping the dust, blowing up her long light chestnut hair which lacked nutrition. Suddenly there is an indescribable love.
Later, her mother married another old man. She called me and said that she was going to wander. Told me not to look for her or think about her. I finally didn't say anything to stay. Have a good trip, I said. I know she will never appear in my life again. This is what she planned long ago. I know all this.
but I firmly believe that she just walked away. She will come back again. She just walked away.
Later, I occasionally went back to the primary school in junior high school and walked through the path floating with the fragrance of memories. I also look up at the stars devoutly. Then look back and say softly, if only we were the North Star. I think of Xia Mang's innocent and sad face again. No one responded. Only the sound of cold air whistling across the border. No one can understand me anymore.
Polaris represents an eternal promise.
so, Xia mang. You must have become a North Star.
An injured patient with depression
Sanmao is really a poor woman.
I woke up from my dream several times. Dreams are probably the same. A woman, in the graveyard at night, shouted the name "Jose" over and over again to a white cross buried in rotten land. She became more and more hysterical and her voice became sharper and sharper. This makes me feel an unreal sense of despair. I forced myself to wake up from my dream. In a cold sweat. Jose is the name of San Mao's dead husband.
My roommate told me that listening to Asan's songs for a long time would lead to depression. I nodded. Said it was like this.
I said that if you read this anthology of San Mao for a long time, you will get depression. They laugh. What? You mean that homeless kid Sanmao? I shook my head. So I stopped talking.
maybe it's my fault. Sanmao has so many anthologies that I chose this one. I can't see how bright the world is in her eyes. I can't see how complicated the city she walked through is. I can't see how free and easy she is as a wanderer. I can only read deja vu loneliness and fear in her words. The dormitory is very quiet. This silence should not be so solemn and low. It's so depressing that I just want to exhale and don't want to spend a little energy inhaling. I'm going crazy if I keep reading. I don't know how Sanmao subtly gave me her calm despair. I am desperate, too.
what is the ending of San Mao? I asked the girl in the lower berth. She has read many books, many, many. She must know.
she suddenly got excited and moved to my bedside. Said, SAN MAO was in the hospital with silk stockings around the neck to suffocate. Her eyes sparkled with excitement when she said this. I may have read it wrong, or I may have an illusion.
I "oh". I knew this would happen. But those loneliness and despair now seem more logical. I think I can continue reading this anthology.
I miss Chaman. She is sure to like San Mao very much. Next time, you should read Sanmao's words while listening to Asan's songs.
But maybe I shouldn't imitate others' sadness so deliberately.
the significance of traveling
I'm going to travel. As long as it gets me out of this city.
a white shirt. Jeans. Canvas shoes. Big backpack. Let's go like this, don't think about anything.
I want to be a lonely wanderer like San Mao. I want to pretend to meet Xia Mang inadvertently at some end of the world. I will ask her if you are here. She will smile at me.
I am really tired of this city. Not prosperous, not simple, I don't know how to define it well. I once took a train ticket, when I was fourteen. The price of that ticket is almost equal to my living expenses for half a year The terminal is Nanjing, thousands of miles away.
I arrived at the platform very early that day to wait for the bus. I asked for a bowl of millet porridge and a tea egg at the food stall set up by the roadside hotel. I really don't have more money to splurge on a big bowl of beef noodles with coriander. Because I have to live. Eating and eating, tears pattering into the bowl. The more I drink this bowl of porridge, the more salty it becomes. I just think that cooking smoke has hurt my eyes. Cry if you want. It's time to start after crying. The boss came out of the warm room and watched my students dress up.
Ask, go to school.
I shook my head.
he said, why didn't my parents accompany me?
I nodded.
then I can't eat any more. Grab the bag and run and cry. Mom is still waiting for me to go home. Right? It must be.
I'm not going to the big city, and I don't want the train ticket. I told the tricycle master to ride faster and faster. I want to go home soon. Tear the ticket to pieces and let it out of the window. There is a lot of noise, like snowflakes floating suddenly in summer. I was in a trance, but I really almost never went back.
it was a long time ago. Time fades away, and youth is only mottled into a thin distance like a yellowed ticket.
About the dream of nowhere to put
My mother is very kind to me.
I went shopping that day and passed a music box shop. It's the music of the city of the sky. I walked in and saw the crystal ball at a glance. That's what I've described in my notebook countless times and got as a dream. Angel. Crescent moon Snowflakes. Outline my love for that era, and outline the cool thin years when there was not much laughter.
I also saw the big "88" yuan written with a black marker at a glance. Buy it if you like, mom said.
no, I don't like it. let's go, let's go. At that moment, I was actually a little sad.
I think it's expensive. Mom asked me.
I replied, no. Some dreams, once realized, have changed their taste.
Mom tilted her head thoughtfully and looked at me. In other words, it is time to leave some regrets for life. I think she gets it. But then I thought, maybe she thought of dad.
Some dreams should be regretted, otherwise, years will dilute its original color.
monthly exam. Due to poor grades, he was assigned to the top examination room. Looking down at me at this time makes me feel ashamed. So when my mind was blank in the chemistry exam, I wrote a sentence heavily on the draft paper. It's a shame to forget about it today, but it's a shame to look down on it tomorrow. Admire my unruly, I read this sentence over and over again. It seems a little loud. The invigilator finally couldn't bear it. He warned me that you would stand outside if you made any more noise. I immediately shut up and didn't make any noise. Although at this moment, I really want to scold him, hand in my papers quickly, and then leave smartly. But I remember clearly that this is the fifth floor, where the poor students live. No more jokes. I still have this backbone. Even though I watched helplessly as the paper equivalent to a blank sheet was taken away mercilessly.
it's nothing. Because I don't care.
but I noticed her. Very strange dress. No grades