graduate

Peking University summer, only memory is wet. We are not plants, can not live on this land. Youth is drifting away in the wind near the window. The wind chimes of glass came crashing down with a last, short cry for help. Who's going to save us? The water bottle lay at the foot of the bed, covered with dust. Senior, no one as industrious as before, ran to the water room to fetch water. It is better to be thirsty than to drink cold water. The star girl's smile has been pale, like a withered nepenthes. The tape recorder was still full of the same annoying old song, the bad tape, almost dead.

The words on the graduation thesis, like ants, go back to their own home. We either stay or leave the city, which we have not yet known for four years.

So-and-so went abroad, so-and-so went to grad school, so-and-so got a lucrative job, so-and-so was repatriated to a remote hometown. Everything is said in a calm voice, and nothing can arouse a little excitement. The last few months of senior year were a backwater.

A friend who took a lot of effort to get into graduate school said to me sincerely: "No fun." After receiving the coveted notice, he quietly carried a basin of clothes to the water chamber to wash. The rushing water in the water room, there are always kind students to close. And time can't be closed, even if we don't say anything.

Our hearts began to sing before the cicadas sang. We are young, after all.

That cigarette burned to the end without taking a breath, and that string was lonely for a week without being played. Many old houses have disappeared and the campus is under construction. The old house stays in the picture. What about us? Can we stay in the picture, too? Including those artificial smiles and those exaggerated "V" signs?

Late at night, a long row of bicycles crashed down, is a bad guy. A few distant curses came from upstairs, but they seemed to be the voice of God. He rolled over and fell asleep again. Save the anger for the freshmen and the boredom for yourself.

As graduation approaches, pimples ignore the change and continue to grow unabashedly on our pre-bearded faces. The small mirror I carried with me was broken several times, but I was reluctant to throw it into the garbage. Look at it, there's no way a girl would like that face. Moonlight is hurtful, in one unhappy night after another.

'The parties are all about goodbyes,' Mr. Kundera said.

Still thinking of Gangnam? Are you still writing those poems about Gangnam? Are you still worried about that girl from South of the Yangtze River?

"No "-- when I say no, I feel weak. The lecture hall was demolished and there was no place to see a movie. And that last movie, just watched.

To love and to be loved, it doesn't seem to happen. I was riding too fast. When I suddenly realized that I had to stop, I found that I was stopped at a crossroads with no direction.

The classmates were stranger than strangers, even the brother who slept on the upper bunk. It was never clear how he got his haircut. So many times I wanted to ask, but I didn't.

They read in bed, they stopped going to class, they stopped going to lectures, even though they were lectured by witty professors. They don't go to the library, even though it has 4.6 million books. Lying on the bed is free, can not stand to see, then casually put the martial arts and love thrown under the bed.

The walls of the dormitory were also filled with poems, inspired by the poets, and covered with oracle bones, waiting to be interpreted by the next generation of paleographers. Can they imagine what kind of predecessor lived on the iron frame they lived on?

The poplar tree in front of the girls' building is used to hearing all kinds of calls, long or short, or like a giant bell, or like an electronic organ, or deep feeling, or despair. The Shouting boys stood under the tree and called out the girls' names and the flowers behind them day after day. Later, it was the same scene, the same cry, but with a different name.

Poplar arch guard girls building, silent, a couple of lovers against it kissing. On the other side, another couple.

This large and small campus.

Guys are playing poker, girls are knitting.

Poker is not for poker, knitting is not for knitting. One must find a way to "pass" the days before graduation. It is not up to us to decide whether our future is satisfactory or not. To leave, more or less a little fear, although the slightest effort to hide the fear. When we graduated, we found the difference between each other, the bottom of the fish float to the surface, the surface of the fish sink to the bottom.

Campus can't be taken away on the sole of a shoe. The sheets have been washed white. The tie still feels awkward. The professor's criticism and praise are forgotten, because we will live there.

The luggage is packed when the cicada chirps. Hit the road, graduate.

two

Outside the pavilion, the side of the ancient road, green grass blue sky. Halfway through the song, tears were streaming down her face. Just for the campus on the ruins of the Old Summer Palace, for our unburned youth?

The little restaurant on the eve of graduation was full of graduates, Shouting and drinking glasses in silence. Wine is the symbol of youth. The most heart-wrenching words, is just drunk when out of the heart.

Get drunk for the first time. The taste of the original drunk so uncomfortable, sleep and sleep, stand and stand unstable, the brain is stopped rotating windmill.

The owner's wife said she was used to seeing such a scene every June. For this generation of graduates, it's the last hurrah.

There's only enough money left to order a plate of peanuts, so have a plate of peanuts.

Someone suggested burning textbooks, but not many people responded. There were actual burn marks in the walkways, and ash was flying in the wind like something out of a Hong Kong ghost movie.

The dust settled. Crumple up the excess self-recommendation materials and throw them into the foot of the room. The beautiful words groaned in pain, and their master climbed back into bed. Is there such a small bed in the world? Books take up half the space, and the rest is less than a foot. Beautiful dreams often grow out of humble beds, so we will always miss them.

Graduates are the first group to patronize the canteen. Younger students are still obediently sitting in the classroom listening to the class, they walked into the canteen with slippers, while frowning, while picking food to swallow. The experience of eating the corpse of a gecko out of a salad kelp will become an enduring allusion. In college dining halls, allusions are the only good things to eat.

Graduates no longer write home. Every time on the phone, a few words languidly. It doesn't mean they have fallen out of love with their parents, they just can't find a better way to say it. Graduates love their mothers more than freshmen. Freshmen love their girlfriends best, but graduates who have experienced ups and downs know that the cutest thing is their mother.

Graduates talk more about their hometowns, whether they return home or not, whether ostentatiously or contemptuously. Talk about hometown as if talking about the campus, talk about the campus as if talking about hometown, talk about mixed up. Campus, will become another island, another hometown.

The cottage in my hometown and the dormitory in my campus are overlapped.

Where is real home?

Where does it feel like home?

Outside the fence, the traffic was heavy." 332 for the Summer Palace." This is the bus we must take to go out. Will you do it again?

What to ask for in life, this is the song of Chen Hundred.

What do you want in life? It's a graduate song.

So many philosophical works have not answered this question. There is no time to think about it in the rush of days between two and one. Test scores, rankings, scholarships, these are some people's lives. Pass, indifferent, muddle through, this is another part of people's life.

Both lives are the same. It's better to laugh at yourself than at each other. The paper is like withered grass, green and yellow, yellow and green. Every graduate wants to smile at the memory of racking his brains to set a problem for his teacher.

How is it already senior year? The marks of senior year are the holes in the mosquito net and the holes in the lunch box where China was dropped. And what have we lost? Unfortunately, we are not mosquito net, nor lunch box, the mirror is still not handsome face.

After receiving the graduation certificate, take a look at the campus, only to find that the campus is strange like Grand view garden.

Do you take a picture in gown and cap? Is it more serious or more funny?

Open those have read the book, the dense comments are their own writing? How come you can't read it yourself?

Every book represents some time, some place, some mood. There are no two nouns in the world as close as "book" and "student". In college, the only thing we do in common is reading.

At six o 'clock, wait at the gate of the library. As soon as the guard opened the door, he rushed in like a group of crazy investors. In fact, it was not the treasure house of Alibaba. There were only books and seats to read. Once there was a crash and the glass on the door was crushed.

Looking up your name in front of the library computer, looking up the names of books you've checked out, like calling an old friend far away. The first book is Bing Xin's For Young Readers. At that moment, tears misted my eyes.

Graduated, did not wave, that is too pretentious. Hunched on the back, carrying a heavy bag on the back. Remember when I came, my bag was not so heavy.

three

The bike that has been riding for four years should be passed on to the teachers and younger brothers. Do they still look at the scarred bike? Once sitting on the back of the bicycle girl in the end of the world, the end of the world is really far away, not the heart can contain pregnant distance.

The OARS of the bicycle gave out a long sound, like the OARS of the water town south of the river. Jiangnan, Jiangnan, the dream of the poem, condensed into a piece of transparent amber in the cold wind of the North.

In winter, the campus path more snow and ice, bicycle wrestling is a common thing. Sometimes, a long line of students rushing to class fell into a heap. Everyone laughed, got up, patted the snow, and galloped away.

Just because you're young. Are elderly officials really more comfortable in thermostats than we are in limousines? How do they feel when their cloudy eyes gaze at the young bodies rolling on the snow? Does it also recall the green years, bookish spirit?

The only "old man" in Yan Yuan is the ginkgo tree at the West gate, which must be older than this school. Since when did it tremble in a brilliant splendour between the sky and the earth? Ginkgo leaf that stretch smooth life color, I do not know how many times more moving than gold.

Graduates have to take pictures under the ginkgo trees. People are names, trees are shadows. Names are illusory, lists change every year; The shadow of the tree is real. It is the sky giving to the earth. What is "mature"? Go under the ginkgo tree to find out. Ginkgo trees will continue to shine, because there will be summer; Graduates will continue to shine, because they have this campus in their hearts.

So, looking back, where do you stand?

All we have is youth, but that's enough.

Youth means iron shoulder moral, good hand article, that is Li Dazhao's youth. Lu Xun said, Among the youth, there are bastards, cowards and traitors. Youth, it seems, is also questionable.

Their youth slumbered, and they called themselves the "Jiusan Society "-- up at nine in the morning and three in the afternoon. There is no "common space" in the dormitory. Only sleep can reach a tacit understanding. Between the miserable philosopher and the happy pig, the latter is often chosen, and snores form a resounding chorus. My short sleep is often awakened by snoring.

The graduates sat sleepily in front of the building. Negative small talk, only talk about old news, not news, everyone is only interested in old news, even if it is just some plain as water. The days leading up to graduation seem like a dream. Graduates do not belong to the campus, nor do they belong to other places, both are nowhere to be seen, the foot is a piece of floating ice, the floating ice is melting.

Insist or betray, identify or deny, this is not a question, to which village, do as the Romans do.

More than half of the cinemas and video halls were graduates, idle graduates.

Sitting in movie theaters and video halls doesn't mean you enjoy watching movies, it just means the atmosphere suits your mood. In the dark, the weak parts are delicately wrapped and there is a rosy world on the screen. The story itself is poorly constructed, but graduates are no longer as critical as they were in their freshman year. They can smell the director's helplessness. They're the directors. That's what they do.

In the dark, enclosed space, time does not exist. Staring at the moving picture, but thinking of yourself. Say what fat is thick, powder is sweet, how the twinkling of an eye zero completed mud? The protagonists laugh, cry, love and kill while the graduates watch silently, sitting as stone statues of ancient heroes with little expression on their faces. Those expressions, for the day of goodbye. Before Hongyi sat down, he wrote down the words "sorrow and sorrow". Before the graduates left, the expression on their faces could also be described by these four words.

A young doctor quipped that Chinese students would rather watch movies for four years than listen to lectures for four years. Talent and inspiration can not be heard from lectures, but watching movies may be able to see talent and inspiration.

That's what every graduate wants to say.

However, campus life is not a movie like Love Story after all.

When the large lawn in front of the library was erased, the singers moved to the quiet garden.

I don't like the lawn of the Jingyuan Garden. Surrounded by the surrounding yards, the lawn loses its calmness. But the graduates don't care so much anymore. On those starry nights, they gather in a circle and sing to themselves in the corner.

I remember when I first arrived in Beijing, I could still see the sky full of stars. Later, it became rare, and by the time of graduation, there were none left. Not the stars disappeared, is the heart covered with dust. I can't wipe it off.

Tonight, there's a bright moon, and they're singing Carpenter's songs. I sat in the other corner, and the song came from the tip of the grass, from freshman to senior, from arrival to graduation. Perhaps only the deceased can grasp the essence of life so accurately, perhaps only the graduates can truly cherish this already unlovely campus.

The Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes says, "One generation passes and another generation comes, but the earth endures forever. And the sun rose, and the sun set, and hastened to the land from which they had come. The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; it never stops spinning and turns back to its original course. All the rivers turn to the sea, but the sea is not satisfied, and the rivers return to the place from which they flow."

This is the only thing graduates believe in.