Chapter 22 this is my last little bit

I still remember the day of the college entrance examination - the time of the college entrance examination. Under the dazzling sun, we all stood outside the examination room, and there were many, many people around us, including Mr. Zhang running around. A A group of them helicoptered to see us off.They stood in front of us, smiling, wishing us success in the exam, and telling jokes. I stood there looking at A.His appearance is still the same as on Ruijin Road three days ago, but now it makes me feel uneasy.Three days ago, in the golden and blue dusk of Ruijin Road, he stood in front of me panting.Smile at me, touch my head, pat my cheeks, hold me in my arms - I seem to have fulfilled my mission, I can just stay at the bottom of Ruijin Road like this, let the bubbles bubble up to the sky, and then , quietly, do not speak, do not say anything.

Do not say. But now, I'm sweating in the sun. A shook hands with us one by one and said I wish you success. I always have this picture in my mind: the sun is up, and the heat is still high in the sky, not completely dissipated.The fine and small sweat particles seeped into the surface of the skin and turned into a thin layer, and the bright and bright sunlight above the head was like drizzle, drifting down.In the examination room behind him, the glass was shining, and everything was very clear.We all stood outside the door, and the people who took the exam shook hands with us in turn, taking turns one by one.We laugh, arms crossed...

A came over, held my hand, and said with a smile: "Okay, I have reviewed for you for three months. After the college entrance examination in three days, I can never see you again." I grinned happily at him and said, "Yeah yeah!" We exchanged glances for a long time, as if genuinely happy that we would never see each other again. However, in the first week after the college entrance examination, I began to twitch and miss my dear A like a malaria. words written on the back It seems absurd to me now to go back and tell the story of that time.Does anyone remind you of yourself five years ago?I think something like this might only happen in a trial.

Gu Xiang is my friend.She was acting when I entered East China Normal University, and now I am still at East China Normal University, and she is studying advertising in Moscow.We started writing fiction at about the same time, and people who liked her novels tended to like mine, even though our writing was so different, it seemed to me.I am a fluent author, and she is melancholy, viscous, beautiful.I generously dedicate these words of praise to Proust to her, because, as anyone can be envious of what they don't have, I envy her.Naturally, we both have similarities, the most notable of which is that we both seem to be so difficult to become popular.

Gu Xiang stayed in Moscow for a long time, and became as kind and chatty as a Russian.She lamented to me the numbness and vulgarity of Chinese Internet literature for a long time on MSN.She didn't know that on this side of MSN, I was entangled in a bunch of shameful media mundane affairs, and it was difficult for me to spare even half of my energy to sing with her.So she sighed: "I'm too free now, and my free time has fostered my habit of talking." I smiled and said: "You are a female Luo Ting." I also have sighs.My sighs are silent.Or I often vent my anger on irrelevant things.

It is my smug work, and now it is difficult for me to fully restore the state of mind at that time.I only know that Xu Jia five years ago was smart, innocent, ambitious, and not good-looking. Like most high school students, she had never seen much of the world.For most of my life, I have envied those who have seen the world.My thinking on this has actually not changed to this day.I envy those who know the exact location of bars just by hearing their names; I envy those who know the customs of foreign countries; I envy those who can bargain.This is one of the reasons I adore Hemingway.I have a wide range of tastes, and besides Hemingway, I'm often drawn to flashy things.I am deeply humbled by the impurity of my temperament, but at the same time I believe that impurity is a normal feature that people should have, so I often doubt the authenticity of some people who appear to be too pure.

Gu Xiang said dejectedly: "What should I do? I can't write a novel, and I only wrote more than 400 words in a week." I understand her very well, because I happened to come to the bottleneck of writing with her.We are no longer the little girls who had their first novels in their hearts. Writing novels is one of the few skills we are familiar with in this world. If we can’t write novels, it’s almost like half of our souls have been robbed—yes, this It's worth serious panic. The summer in Russia has come, and I follow the map, recalling fragments of Turgenev's novels, about woods, gardens, and sky.In the middle, I want to forcefully insert a picture of a big Moscow market-this is the place where Gu Xiang described to me, where she works odd jobs.She had a good odd job, and it went well, but it made her miserable.She said that being unsuitable for work is not our genius, but our defect—why can’t we do it when other people can do it?Visible is a defect.Meanwhile, I'm in Shanghai, fretting over my media job to the point of crying, remembering the leisurely days when I was unemployed.In this regard, we can comfort each other.When there is no job, all we think about is working to make money; when we have a job, we always want to quit.Not being able to write bestsellers, but loathing labor, is a reality we have to face in addition to carefully protecting our literary ideals.

Wu Hongfei said: "Every genius will not discover his mediocrity and the difficulty of his dreams until he grows up." This is so true that I can't help but introduce her as a confidant, even though I have never met her.We are no longer the seventeen-year-old gifted girls of the past. No one forgives us for being lazy, and sometimes some people suspect us of being cunning.I was overjoyed to read a passage by EB White recently. I felt that no one could sum up all the troubles I was born with so succinctly, so I put it at the end.He said: "If the world is only attractive, don't bother. If it is only challenging, then it is not a big problem. The bad thing is that I wake up every morning with the desire to improve the world and the desire to enjoy the world. I don't know what to do with my desires."

EB White wrote, "Stuart the Mouse" and "The Trumpeter Swan".He made me happy when I was a kid, and he still makes me happy now.I hope one day I can be like him. Xu Jia November 10, 2003 END