We've all been through a Hailsham-like school that taught us positivity, cleanliness, no smoking, and made up scary stories to scare us about the consequences of being disobedient and breaking the rules. There will also be teachers who tell us what the world really looks like, but a teacher who is loved by students is often not accepted by the leadership and the society. School is a place to teach us to be obedient, to obey the rules, and not to question casually. Here, we are sharpened off the edges and corners of our bodies, purged of all our curiosity, and lost the ability to think and judge independently to become the people a society needs.
Gradually, we grew up and were exposed to the outside world. We are afraid of making mistakes, we don't believe in ourselves, so we have to be like everyone else even when we order food. In this oppressive atmosphere, we often think: Is there another me in this world, and what kind of life does he live? We are lonely, hesitant, and overwhelmed. When love comes ignorantly, some people will hesitate to move forward, some people will think that those physical entanglements are love, and some people are just afraid of being alone and afraid of being alone. At that time, we always wanted to find some evidence to prove ourselves and to prove our love; at that time, we were afraid that others would not know our love, and wantonly show each other's intimacy and lingering; at that time, we really didn't understand love and were self-willed quarrel, claim, scramble, bind. This is our fearless youth, loved, hurt, and hurt. Looking back, there is no hatred, only gratitude. I am grateful to the person who has loved and hurt. He made me grow up, and he made me understand everything.
For the arrangement of fate, we have never thought of running away, nor will we cowardly choose to end. We are open to the impending donation. Life is a ruthless scalpel. It cuts our flesh and robs us of our lives. The ruthless years weaken our physical strength and deprive us of the right to live. We are powerless to prevent impending death, and we are powerless to change the course of fate. There is no way to delay donation, the so-called rumors are just a good sustenance in people's hearts. I once had such a question, since adults know that fairy tales are fake, why do they bother to tell them to children? If I had a child, I would tell him: don't believe those bullshit fairy tales! Now that I think about it, I can't help but feel a little childish. That deep rejection of impending misfortune, that sense of helplessness that leaves you with nowhere to swing your powerful fists and your full of anger. Who to blame? No one complains. what can we do about it? There is no way. Tommy's scream of pain reminded me of Munch's [scream].
Never Let Me Go. Since everything is going away, let love always be in my heart.
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