My high school had no handsome desk-mate, none of those dramatic plot points from coming-of-age movies—no skipping class, no dropping out, no teenage pregnancy, no smoking. No motorcycle boyfriend speeding down the highway with me on the back.
Not even the chance to wear a pretty uniform skirt. None of those classic, earth-shaking youth drama moments ever descended on me.
What I encountered was simply endless classes, struggling to drag myself out of bed each morning, the impossible choice between washing my hair or eating breakfast to save time, endless hair loss and heavy dark circles, living every day in constant dread of failing the college entrance exam.
That was my youth.
Sometimes I'd also mock myself—this utterly unremarkable youth would be hard to look back on someday, because it was just too ordinary, too mundane.
The small desk lamp lit my workspace as I sat there.
Page after page.
Sobs filled the entire night.
22
"October 20, 2020—Sunny—Tuesday" There are many things I don't want to write in my diary. Those awful, rotten emotions. Writing them in my diary feels like staining it. I'm afraid of passing them on to you.
But I still want to tell you—I haven't been very happy lately.
"October 22, 2020—Cloudy—Thursday"
Got called to the office by the teacher.
There were other people there.
And my dad and my mom.
In that cramped office.
My future was laid out clearly for me.
I didn't even have the right to add so much as a comma.
"October 25, 2020—Light rain—Sunday"
Where the will goes, no distance is too far.
No mountain or sea can hold you back.
"October 27, 2020—Light rain—Tuesday"
The parasol trees along the avenue scattered their leaves all over the ground.
A desolate autumn.
All scenic words are emotional words.
"October 28, 2020—Heavy rain—Wednesday"
It's gotten cold.
Remember to dress warmly.
"October 29, 2020—Sunny—Thursday"
Maybe in a while I'll have to leave here for Beijing.
The chances left to see you are getting fewer and fewer.
"October 30, 2020—Cloudy—Friday"
Have you been really busy lately?
Haven't seen you on the balcony in a while.
"November 1, 2020—Sunny—Sunday" The school handed out a target university survey today.
I used my position to look at yours again.
Bea.
Target university: University C.
I'd imagined this day countless times.
A future with each of us in a different part of the country.
But when this moment truly began to approach.
I still felt like I couldn't breathe.
Blaming today's oppressive weather.
Making my chest feel suffocated with pain.
During evening self-study that day.
I couldn't write a single word.
My life doesn't allow me to have a say.
How ridiculous.
Reading this, some memories suddenly surfaced.
I knew the story that came next.
How could I not remember?
Lucas left for University B through early admission that winter break.
And the University C I was heading for.
Was worlds away from there.
In my timeline, Lucas was just a distant, dazzling figure. We were like two parallel lines in a math problem.
Never intersecting.
I buried my face in the desk, letting tears overwhelm me.
We had already missed each other.
Looking at these pages, I suddenly didn't have an ounce of strength or courage to keep reading.
After he was recommended for early admission.
I never heard another word about him again.
It was as if this person had completely vanished from my world.
I didn't dare read any further.
Didn't want to read anymore.
I closed the diary and hid it in my drawer.
Turned off the light, pulled the covers over my head.
And cried out loud.
23
I cried under the covers for a long time that day.
All I remember is eventually falling asleep in a daze.
I had a very long dream.
In the dream, a familiar figure brushed past me.
This time.
I turned my head.
And called out to him.
"Lucas."
The moment the words left my lips, the dream broke.
I struggled to open my swollen eyelids.
Staring at the lamp in my bedroom.
Staring until my eyes went blurry again with tears.
I dragged myself up.
Grabbed my phone from beside the bed.
Lots of people had messaged me.
All high school classmates and friends.
Asking how my exam went.
Asking if I'd picked up my books from the records room.
Tian Yaqin lamented that we'd graduated without ever being in a relationship.
Tang Jia's voice messages were anguished, reminiscing about her youth.
I listened to her messages, smiling, then crying.
I might never again get the chance to see them in their school uniforms.
I asked Tang Jia if she knew Lucas from Class One.
She replied instantly.
"Of course I know him. That super smart, really handsome guy."
I held back my sobs and asked her.
"Do you know how he's doing now?"
"He got recommended to University B, right? Someone like that is from a different world than us. Why are you suddenly asking about him?"
I typed back to her one letter at a time, my fingers feeling ice cold.
"Nothing."
After that, the diary stayed in my drawer.
Along with my meal card, my school ID badge—everything locked away in that sealed drawer.
I locked away all my high school memories together.
I was afraid that every time I saw them, they'd remind me of exactly what I'd missed.
I'd stand at the bus stop for Route 15 and zone out for ages.
Occasionally I'd linger at the "Wangyue Residential" stop too.
Buses would rumble on past. I just never boarded again.
I'd still wander around that bookstore I used to frequent.
But never had the courage to go inside.
At the supermarket on Wangyue Cross Street.
Wandering between the aisles, trying to slip through the cracks of time.
And that was how I slowly waited until the day the college entrance exam scores came out.
My senior year mock exam scores still fluctuated, with big swings in my marks.
Even my last mock exam I underperformed and scored low.
Countless times I sobbed on the phone to my dad, telling him I didn't know what to do if I didn't do well.
My dad said.
As long as you're healthy and well, that's all that matters.
Then he'd crouch by the phone and cry hard.
Then drag himself up and keep studying.
So after the college entrance exam, I told my dad that if I didn't do well, we'd just accept our fate.
My dad once cautiously asked me if I was confident about getting into a Tier 1 university.
Looking at my dad's expectant eyes, I had a hard time saying I wasn't sure. But I was also afraid that giving my dad hope would make the disappointment worse when the results came out.
So I pretended to be casual and said, "Dad, don't even think about it. With my scores, I can't go anywhere good."
My dad walked away looking deflated.
And I felt even more down.
In the days before the college entrance exam scores came out, my dad's colleagues were practically bombing him with questions, and he'd just smile and say it would be fine no matter how I did.
The day the results came out happened to be a bright, sunny afternoon.
At noon.
My dad rushed home from work. The second he walked into my room.
My score refreshed on the screen.
When I saw my results, I burst into tears.
I sat at the computer desk crying, shouting that I'd gotten in.
I scored really well—my best result out of all the mock exams combined.
Mom and Dad were both right beside me.
My mom held her phone, filming me while smiling.
I turned around.
And saw.
My usually tough dad had red eyes too, secretly wiping away tears.
My mom looked at my dad, then spoke.
"Your dad hasn't had a good night's sleep these past few days. He's been worrying about what to do."
"Mom and Dad don't have much ability. We can only help you walk out into the world through studying."
"Our Xiaobei is the best."
The college entrance exam is a battle fought by many, crying slowly through the torment, never daring to stop. Looking back, only relief remains.
I slumped in my chair, feeling utterly drained.
The desk was still piled high with senior year materials and books.
They seemed to be celebrating for me in unison.
"Congratulations. You're free."
Actually, before the results came out, I didn't even dare to sell my books.
I'd already prepared for the worst.
I had no fallback. The only path left for me was to keep getting better.
A few days later, my dad and I sorted out all my books from three years of high school.
The Du Fu I'd drawn into a handsome guy on my Chinese textbook, the "so hard" I'd written next to the math problems, the English listening pages I hadn't finished, the various principles leaping off every page of Politics Volume 4, the ocean current maps in Geography that I still couldn't figure out even after graduating, the various artifacts in History that remained vivid in my mind.
I always loved flipping through notes in the corners—it was like picking up a lost piece of memory.
Right after graduating, I hadn't yet realized I'd finished a journey. Only as days passed and I looked back did I suddenly awaken.
These kinds of days would never come again in my lifetime.
A friend asked me that day.
If I could, would I go through high school all over again?
I thought for a long time, and still shook my head.
High school was too exhausting. The beauty exists only in my memories.
At the time, I wasn't very happy. I didn't know someone liked me. I didn't know if I could do well on the exams. The problems I couldn't solve, the functions I couldn't grasp, the English listening passages I couldn't understand.
I certainly had regrets, but it's precisely because of those regrets that my memories aren't just the sad parts.
My dad and I hauled books back and forth in multiple trips.
Big and small books and materials filled the trunk and back seat of his car.