The difficulty of homework and the lack of fun, the teacher's seriousness restrained laughter and heavy pressure, which created our troubles of growing up in dreams. Open the heavy book of memories, a little bit of thoughts, perhaps some tireless looking back on the past.
When I first arrived here, a fragile me was shot at by the enemy. I, who was vulnerable, died on the bloody field, but stood up again when I was sleeping, reading by the light, dreaming that the bell rang and reciting poems. In those years, I was lost in the dark. After the research, sometimes I also found a lawn that has not yet withered and yellow, sometimes it is in front of my desk, beside the window sill, watching the rows of trees standing in the distance struggling, just to give off the last touch of bright green. What trees are those? I don't know, but what does it matter? As long as it's a tree, it's enough. When I watch them in a daze, my heart will be full of thoughts. When my eyes return to the tree, my mood will be suddenly enlightened, and the pressure will be gone. I will devote myself to my busy study.
As if the fragrance of tea filled the world, my mood was boiling.
My efforts have overcome my troubles and everything, making it seem like the last bright green, and also releasing the brilliance equivalent to summer. Teenagers don't know what it's like to be bored, but anyone who relaxes at the corner of this mountain has thousands of miles of swamp thorns waiting for you. On the contrary, if it is hard work and persistence, a bright future awaits you. Do you really want your troubles to turn into a wisp of smoke, haunt your soul and make you bored and upset? If growth is a work, then worry is a typo hidden deep in the paragraph; If growth is a blank sheet of paper, then worry is a flaw stuck on the back. These tiny things seem deja vu, and they seem to bother us all the time. In the growing nature, learning, which was once like a breeze, has been attacked by storm-like learning and pressure, blowing away the depths of memory.
My hands can't feel the temperature of the tea, and the clear fog that pervades the room has quietly disappeared. Taste the bitter water with joy more attentively, taste the troubles of growth, worry about it, time is walking and experience a lot. After another sip of tea, the bitterness seems to disappear with the temperature and the time measured by heart.
600 words of time is like sand falling in an hourglass, but no one will turn my hourglass upside down. I walked on the beach of memories, and the tide of thoughts came up. I picked up a grain of sand and listened to it tell this memory. ...
The autumn wind slowly spread into the classroom, and the light of the sunset was surrounded by the wind and entered the window lattice. When the monitor came to see me, I vaguely heard a voice of "debate". Looking at his hasty eyes, I seemed very interested and agreed.
When I got home and put away my schoolbag, I remembered the scene just now. I opened the bag, "ah! There is also a note. " Open the crumpled note, which reads the debate topic-"webcasting does more harm than good to society", and the word is engraved in my heart.
After finishing my homework, I jumped up and down in front of the computer, my hands were scratching and typing, and the cursor flashed in front of my eyes like a movie. A message was presented to me. I browse word by word and occasionally find useful words, just like a treasure. In this way, the image of memory keeps playing and my world keeps moving forward.
I can't count the first few nights of preparation. The night is deep, the stars are still cold, and people are still sitting by the computer. I don't know how many times the footprint of time has gone. I carefully read the revised manuscript for many times, smiling with satisfaction from time to time, frowning from time to time, and picking up a pen to write something.
Picking up the sand of memory, the image of memory is still playing, and Hazama jade has hurried through several days and nights in the forgotten time. At that time, he was already standing on the debate field.
I can't help thinking of that late afternoon after school. That's my debate. I debated it four times. There are several A4 printing papers scattered on the desktop, which are full of words. I can't remember what it says any more than I can remember the manuscript.
His legs are shaking, shaking, and his eyes are looking around, but there is no goal. I can't even wait to step forward, lean over his ear and whisper "Don't be afraid".
After a while, the timer on the whiteboard showed that it was his turn to speak. The sky outside the window has already darkened, but I found that there is only boundless light in the eyes of teenagers! I still can't remember what he said. The sand of memory was polished by the tide, but I clearly saw that his legs had stopped shaking, and the statement was clearly a firm rebuttal. I want to drink lottery tickets!
Silence-the image of memory plays quickly, and it ends before it starts, for fear of scratching the fragile memory: in an instant, the crowd dispersed and the debate ended. The eight debaters on both sides opened their eyes and ears to listen to the final result. The evening breeze left by autumn falls in the classroom and lifts the curtains, as if to cover up the curious eyes outside the window. Needless to say, his confident eyes have revealed the answer: he almost cried-but after all, the judges made a speech: "I declare that the winner of this debate is Class Five!" After a little surprise, "The best debater is …" I grabbed the sand of memory and didn't need to read it. His name has been written on the whole page. The image darkens, I put the sand of my memory in my pocket, and the tide of my thoughts sings loudly.
Years don't live, but the four seasons flow. The tide of thoughts overflows the beach of memory, and the images of memory are played all the time. The pace of time will never stop because of me, but I know that this time is beautiful because of me.
Chapter III: Memory Selected Pictures 600 Words Excellent Junior High School Composition In the ever-changing memory, has there ever been a person who made you fantasize again? -inscription
Hua Lin thanked Chunhong and left in a hurry. When the sun shines, cherries turn red, bananas turn green, and your black hair is bleached, leaving only a little China hair.
You have no outstanding appearance, no outstanding life experience and no wealth, but you work hard and are my half mother. Now, looking at your faltering back, blending with your newly arrived figure, causing ripples and evoking that most precious memory!
Smiling expression
When I was a child, my parents often went on business trips, leaving you with meticulous care. Changing diapers, feeding, washing, even when you do housework, wet urine has penetrated into your camel's body. Just as Sally taught Helen, you also have a unique smile. I am led by you step by step, without exception, for fear of negligence. Your smile brings us closer together.
Duanshe
I used to call my aunt a kindergarten teacher, but one day I made a mistake. I hope she can talk and laugh in a group. Although I wanted to find a crack, I still couldn't find any news, so I burst into tears. You came running at full speed, carrying your back, saying comforting pleasantries. But I don't know: a cold is your tears; Sobbing is your crying; A phone call:
Hey, mom! What happened?
Come back quickly, your father is ill.
I know, but
Oh, no, I feel it. When I was a child, I didn't understand the love and hate in the adult world, but it's important to know that you made a choice. As everyone knows, this is a break between love and tolerance and a farewell without hesitation!
Someone's back
But as time goes by, things have changed. The begonia flowers outside the window have withered, so it's time for you to go. Reluctance, sadness and hatred flow in my heart, but I remember: you come gently, make a scene, and finally you have to leave quietly.
Suddenly, looking at your floating back, I suddenly felt relieved: it seems that in the early spring of next year, the flowers of Begonia bloom and the powder of trees saves many people's worries; That figure is also a broad and long-term reunion!
After the video of memory is played, walking in front of the window, the begonia flowers look dazzling and shining in the sunset.
Look! The spring tide is dark, the spring water is full, and the spring breeze is ten miles, but it is not as good as you.
Chapter 4: Memory Selected Pictures 600 words In my messy memory stream, I found a stranded picture. I am amazed that it has not been annihilated by the rush of years, and I have finally found its eternal value by looking closely; Hold me like a strong palm and let me know what life is.
If it's ridiculous, then the picture fixed in memory, the protagonist is just a little turtle who overreaches.
A long time ago, about the year before last, this little turtle came to our house. I also forgot why I bought it at that time. I thought it was for fun. And this little turtle is extremely lively. When he first came, he was shy and reserved. In a few days, he was too busy to stop. At first, it was raised in a cardboard box, and no one noticed it and ran out; Grabbed it back and put it in a higher carton, but it knocked over the carton and fell out; Finally, I had a hard time getting a small jar, and the wall was about half a turtle shell higher than its head-when it stood up.
When it came out, it could do nothing, but it was caught again; But every time I come out, I seem to have the feeling of wandering around with its freedom for the second time-it enjoys breaking free, even for a moment. But this time, it really can't climb out, I think.
The clash of turtle tanks on the balcony resounded all day, and I looked at it helplessly-it had been on the edge, tiptoeing, jumping, rolling, struggling to get up and repeating. ...
I never thought that I despised the limit of life so much. I only took this as a stupid temporary insistence until one day, I walked into the bathroom-it was moved because of the cold weather-and I couldn't help freezing. It climbed to the edge of the top of the wall, grabbed it with a short palm, stuck its head out of the tank, kept pedaling, and kept pushing its dull shell out, trying its best. I seem to see the deep turtle shell shining with strength and the firm belief burning in the clear eyes. Finally, it succeeded. After numerous attempts, it finally embraced the dream of freedom.
At this moment, it is fixed in the soul and emits a radiant light. Don't bite off more than one can chew? I am the only one.
What is life like? Life should never be bound! Life is never depressed in difficulties, never stops running towards your dreams, never stops staring and longing for the light. The miracle continues here, the hope continues here, and the limit is fragile.
In the face of such a belief, I bowed my small and humble head. The picture fixed in my memory, the little turtle with its head held high, is always remembered by me when I am depressed, which makes me straighten my back and stride forward!
Chapter Five: The Image of Memories Selected 600-word excellent junior high school composition "Twilight". Anxiety; worry
The biting night breeze blows the trembling brush in my hand, and black ink runs rampant on the white paper. "The structure is not well written and the strokes are poor." The teacher's comments shattered my fragile self-confidence like a hammer. The afterglow spilled into the calligraphy class, making the strokes so dazzling. The breeze blew away the dust on the copybook and gently wiped the wolf's hair on the nib. When can I walk away like Yan Zhenqing, showing a mellow atmosphere? I closed the door and said goodbye to the calligraphy teacher. Tears swirled in my eyes, and the gray afterglow sprinkled on my body. It's like a sad oil painting, but it's also the beginning of my brush journey.
Quiet night. think
Moonlight gradually climbed to the zenith, like a newly soaked ice wheel and a jade plate. I sat quietly in my chair, thinking about the strokes on the copybook. Why can't I write well? Milky moonlight broke into the study and sprinkled on my back. I quickly picked up my pen, and the ink blossomed on my paper, and the nib took me forward like a beautiful dance. At this time, my palms are all sweaty, and I finally understand that no matter what I do, I should not be impetuous and try my best to finish it. Gradually, I found that I could write fluently. I walked on the road of writing brush. I gathered a smile, rare, but not enough. I picked up another piece of paper and continued to write. A pen, a piece of paper, wrapped in the sweat and persistence of a teenager.
Early morning. realize
The last night was like an unpolished pebble, which was thrown into the sky. I look forward to giving my work to the calligraphy teacher. He smiled and said, "Yes, your boy understood so quickly." I'm embarrassed, too Suddenly the teacher took out a ticket from his bag and asked me to take part in the calligraphy competition. I took it to say goodbye to the teacher, the breeze was slight, my eyes were full of tears, and my heart had blossomed.
A brush is like a trip. I have been studying on this road, and all the images in my memory have been shown by me. I will continue to write my life with a pen.