There is no sunshine warm humble you

Every day I go to the film school and come back, I will pass the Beijing Film Studio. Sometimes, I will deliberately take the side road, so that I can pass them and smell their smell.

They are Beijing, a humble group of people. At night, I lived in the basement where there was no sunlight, and during the day, I sat on the steps in front of the North Film Studio, from sunrise to sunset, patiently and anxiously waiting for the opportunity to come. They are just as eager to play a small part in a movie as a migrant worker or a nanny waiting to be selected in the labor market. Even if it's just a silhouette, a body, a pair of eyes, a sigh, or, by a ruthless editor, a pair of scissors, only half an arm.

They were on the steps, waiting for some director to come out at the door, yawning bored, telling jokes, swearing, or playing a game of chess with no end in sight. Their clothes are dim and their faces are vicissitudes of life, like the accumulated stone statues covered with dust in the sun. Among them, there are fathers, mothers, wives, husbands, sons, daughters. For a mass role of a few tens of dollars, they will be madly crowded and scrambling. But during the long wait, they talked about their home affairs and difficult lives. Such small talk, for them, is a warmer comfort than the movie. If there is no communication with each other, I do not know how long they can hold on to their love for movies and their expectations for a better life here.

One day, I saw two 18-year-olds lying on the green and yellow lawn of early spring, their eyes slightly closed, looking at the thin, bare branches of a date tree leaning over the gray wall in the warm sunlight overhead. I would like to know, at that moment, they are slightly shaking in the wind in the small dream, there is another hometown of the same branches Qiu Qu jujube tree? Or a girl with a sweet smile in her first love? I looked at them for a long time until they opened their eyes and gave me a faint glance before I panicked, bowed my head and walked away. I suddenly felt that I was so rude and obnoxious, with such sharp eyes, tearing apart the mottled lives they did not want outsiders to point at.

I remembered another boy I had seen in an electronics store in Zhongguancun. About 18 years old, saw me pass by, very gently called me "sister", and led me to the store, poured water to me. I took a look at the few camera samples in the store and knew that such a store might not be reliable, so I planned to turn around and find a reason to leave. Turning to one of Canon's new cameras, I asked, Can you tell me about its features? He suddenly turned red and apologized to me in a low voice: Sorry, sister, I, I am new, I don't understand, you sit down and wait, our very professional colleagues will come to explain to you soon, OK?

I took a look at this hair is still in the high school simple period, has not been the city dyed colorful boy, there is a hint of soft heart, want to, stay, take a look at this camera? But even a moment of hesitation, and then the pursuit of the quality of the camera, still overcome my little sympathy. I politely said goodbye to him, and lied and said: something, come back later to see. He was suddenly confused by me, and begged me low: Sister, sit down for a while, just a while, okay? We must have the camera you like in the store, and even if not, we can go to other places for you.

I lowered my head too, not daring to look him in the eye, and walked quickly out of the store and straight to the elevator at the end of the corridor. And he, but do not give up do not abandon the ground, follow me behind, one after another, call my sister. His plea, not other stores, the kind of almost ruff-like loud Shouting and interception, he just called you "sister", and quietly followed. Like a kitten on the side of the road, or a puppy.

The elevator finally opened, I quickly into, the door closed at that moment, I saw him standing outside the door, a face of sadness and loss, for not to me such a potential customer, stay. I looked at the elevator numbers constantly changing, suddenly in the heart of a little sad, I think of his brother in the field of work, is it not, he has so hard to ask for a customer? Is it not, his first contact with people, also wanted to be sincere rather than ruffian, in exchange for their good feelings? When he walks in the city that does not belong to him, has he ever felt the same feeling of being left out as this boy?

I recall that in Beijing's 798 art District, I saw a purebred Persian cat, very thin, which was abandoned by a wealthy owner. I don't know how long it followed me, silently. All I know is that when I look back inadvertently and see its dirty hair blown by the wind in the cold evening, suddenly I can't help feeling sad. It has been mercilessly abandoned by human beings, but it still remembers the embrace of people because of the good things it has received in the past, and stubbornly follows me, longing for me to bring it home.

I didn't take the stray cat back after all. I just bought a bottle of yogurt from the little shop down the road and put it in front of him. He gave me a meek look, then bent over to eat his yogurt, stopping every few sips to rub against my shoes. He was obviously very hungry, and finally buried his head and sipped sweetly like a baby. And I, the human he hoped would adopt him, walked away just as he bowed his head.

I have not looked back, but I know that behind, is a pair of sad eyes, has been looking at my cold back, refused to bow down, and then drink the bottle with sympathy also contains heartless yogurt.

The sun of this city shines every day, and it gives each of us the same temperature and heat. However, when I walk on the road, see those humble lives, see them in the sun for a job, a role, a glass of milk, and to another life, begging, I always hope that the sun, will be a little eccentric, and a little eccentric, until there is enough warmth, they have the same dignity of life, gently encircling.

It's like a mother's arms around her frail daughter's shoulders.

Shin and I met when we were teenagers. That year, Shen transferred to a school, I heard that because of fighting puppy love, was expelled from the previous school, but without much effort, he relied on his father, who was a leader, to transfer to our high enrollment rate in the middle school.

As soon as he came, he became my deskmate. I reacted strongly and immediately went to the teacher and said that Shen should be transferred from my side anyway, otherwise I would rather stand and listen to the class. The teacher tried to persuade, and revealed the secret, said Shen around, are as I do not love to learn good students, even if he wants to talk, who will pay attention to him? After a long time, he feels boring, he will stop some bad habits, maybe you can let him lead on the good road, it is not necessarily. I despise the teacher's long-term plan, I simply do not believe that such a squint-eyed ruffian, will "close to the red"; Of course, we will not "close to the black ink", is this self-confidence, let me finally, stop the appeal, return to the original seat.

He was clearly equally dismissive of me, a straight-A student with black-rimmed eyes. In class, I repeatedly raised my hand to answer questions, very ostentation, then left my mouth, nose "hum" a sound, like a fly, touched the tip of the nose. If I answered correctly, the teacher could not help but praise me for a few words, his eyes, glanced at my beaming face, and then bent down on the table with a face of frustration, hand, very bored to turn the pen, in touch with the book, the pen issued a slight discontented clap. If I stand up confidently and make an impassioned statement, and the teacher completely disclaims it, he becomes very proud and keeps glancing at me with a little sympathy and regret in his eyes. He was obviously aware that such sympathy was the most powerful blow to my self-esteem and pride, and that one shot at a time of sight always pierced my inflated ego and left me a tired empty shell.

And I, too. Many teachers, for such a poor student with a background, do not buy, they value only the results, and believe that only students who learn well can bring them real glory and light; As for the students who do not have any help in the admission rate, there is not much difference between one more and one less, and knowledge and ignorance. When the teachers saw his "bad track" file, they were already in their hearts, treating him as a mass of hidden air. I often shot in the indifferent sight of the teachers, morale, it seems that I do not need to spend a soldier, will be able to knock this opponent down easily. I will also in the ten minutes between classes, by letting the teacher talk about the opportunity to try to swagger in class, he raised his hand a dull stick.

This is just a small and small friction, like a warm-up before the master moves, in addition to making us despise each other more, and there is no greater effect. I have always thought that we are just in two unrelated roads, walking people, no matter how the flow of time, we will never intersect, but there is still a time, two people shot out of the cold arrow, in the middle of the air, rubbed each other, burst out cold dazzling flame.

It was at an end-of-semester summary meeting, and I went up to speak as a representative of outstanding students. And he, as a bad student typical, to do a review. When two people passed each other on the stage, he suddenly stopped me with his shoulder and said, after school, wait for me in the classroom. I ignored him and walked straight on. But after the meeting that day, I was not afraid to stay. I think if I could end this hidden feud between us with my fists, I'd be happy to do it.

With the people in the classroom, less and less, the air between us, also more and more tense, I can almost smell the rich smell of gunpowder, like a snake, spitting out the core, moving over. All it takes is for the last person to leave to gently close the classroom door, and a vicious fight breaks out.