High school is probably the best time of a person's life. When I was 18 years old, I felt the burden of my studies for the first time. At the age of 18, it was also the heartbeat season of the beginning of love. That kind of emotion is real, and I can only let hormones and pressure play against each other.
At that time, I often wondered, is reading really a better way out? Why can't we be nihilistically in a daze, can't understand life in the intertwined cups, but have to smash our heads and blood on the way to higher education? If we didn't break out of the cocoon into a butterfly, but died inside, would our life be over?
Desperate for one's life at the age of dreaming and growing up in the experience of lies Fire, burned by the poisonous sun, can we, like Jenny, open our eyes in the gradual awakening of self-consciousness, and then bravely go to know the world and ourselves.
2011.2.10
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