Saying these words is very unconvincing, a very unartistic school, and an even more unartistic major. But I would still sigh that if I was unfortunate in my grades a little better, I didn't think about it, and I accidentally went to a serious university, I don't know what I would miss in my life. For example, when passing the piano room when the water was turned on, there was a burst of drums; for example, the saxophone was dusty in the corridor at night after the lights were turned off in the bedroom. At that time, we didn't understand art, but perhaps it was the closest moment to art since then. We chatted about bland movies, we made phony short films, we sang so-and-so next door, and we really really loved the stage back then. We hope to write a script that others can't understand at once, and then rehearse in the classroom or the playground all night long, until the teacher can't help but say: such a short scene cannot be darkened so many times. We didn't understand art at that time, so we dared to approach art so struttingly.
By the way, we still loved sadness at that time. We felt sadness was the most arrogant and elegant temperament, so we practiced and simulated so hard that we often thought we were really sad.
Because of these, I love to watch movies like Fame.
Coincidentally, just after watching the film, a junior brother told me that his current doctoral supervisor was one of my teachers back then. One of the most important teachers to me. He said they were talking about me, and the teacher said, I remember when I dyed my hair yellow and wore earrings, but shyly handed in my homework. I remember that when she gave me the new bookmark, I almost swore to myself that I would go back to see her with the first book I wrote after graduation.
Almost ten years have passed, and no fart has been written.
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