zhuge /
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title: Memories date: 2015-03-11 tags: [“nostalgia”] categories: [“nostalgia”] author: Zhuge
organize: Erhua
Some say that when a person gets old, they start to enjoy reminiscing about the past. Others say that when a person starts to enjoy reminiscing about the past, they are getting old. Although I often find myself immersed in memories and unable to break free, I do not admit that I am getting old. While my body ages day by day, I am more convinced that I am getting younger. So, they say, when a person refuses to admit that they are getting old, that’s when they truly become old.
Whether or not I am getting old is not for me to discuss. All I know is that I really enjoy reminiscing about the past.
I don’t remember if I reminisced about my elementary school like I did about middle school when I was in high school, but I do remember constantly reminiscing about my middle school days when I was in college. Back in high school, one of my favorite things to do was to talk with classmates about our middle school days. We would discuss the run-down dormitories, the homework we copied, and who wrote how many pages of self-criticism. Then we would talk about who spent countless nights together, who is now scattered around the world, and who is still our classmate. We would also talk about who we went to buy meals and sing songs with, how many math classes we slept through together, and how many novels we borrowed from each other… Then we would part with a lingering taste in our mouths, each going back to savoring our memories in our own way.
Later on, I learned that reminiscing about middle school in high school is like drinking a strong wine. You must drink it together with friends and finish it in one go, never getting drunk despite a thousand cups, infinite heroics. But reminiscing about middle school in college is like drinking a glass of light wine with a faint aroma. You must savor it slowly on your own, often getting drunk before sipping the wine.
When reminiscing about middle school in college, I always did it secretly, afraid of being discovered, as if I were a thief. Looking back now, I was indeed stealing. I secretly took out fragments of beautiful memories from the past and used them as seasoning for today, with a hint of sourness, sweetness, and mixed feelings. I would always remember that brave and spirited little girl who competed with me for the position of class monitor, the tall and thin boy who ran with me on the playground and listened to me analyze his ranking. I would recall the group of naive girls who called me by various names every day. I would remember whose name I wrote in my notebook that the homeroom teacher gave me. Sometimes I would agonize over whether I destroyed the beautiful note that my handsome junior gave me, or if it was tucked away in one of my books. Of course, sometimes I would try to remember the words on that note, but I could never recall them. I would also think back to how many times the pretty girl next to me covered for me in math class, how many times she called my name before the teacher did. Sometimes I would miss chatting with the good student in front of me during class, talking until it was pitch dark outside. And of course, I would never forget that because I chatted too much with the good student in front of me, my friends almost beat me up. Sometimes, I would reminisce about the words in the classmates’ album and try to remember what they looked like, but in the end, I forgot all of them. Sometimes I would regret not leaving a piece of writing for them after remembering what they looked like, but then I gave up on it all. I would also secretly try to remember when the girl who liked me finally gave up on me, or which day my crush didn’t comb her hair. I would recall the half of all the secrets you revealed to me after graduation, still curious about them. But I couldn’t remember if we graduated in the spring or the summer of that year… I always reminisce like this, one memory at a time, then laugh foolishly and get lost in a daze. Sometimes I get so drunk that I don’t eat for several meals, laughing until my belly hurts and lying under the table until my roommate drags me back up. In the end, I dare not drink this glass of light wine anymore, I can only smell its aroma from a distance.
Therefore, I once thought that I would never reminisce about my high school days like I did about middle school. I always thought that the impressions high school left me were mostly unworthy of looking back on. But then I realized how wrong I was, and how far off the mark I was. Every memory could become a milestone in your life’s memories, you just need a reason to delve into it.
I arrived at this realization after getting on the wrong bus, getting off at the wrong stop, and walking into the wrong classroom. I was going to visit my younger brother and decided to visit some high school classmates from the universities along the way. We had a meal together and they told me all about their past, and I was amazed to find out so many things I didn’t know about back then. I listened to them talk about their present, and I was amazed to find out how much had changed since we were last together. We constantly shared stories about our past and present, and then worried about the unknown future for a moment before saying goodbye and cherishing our memories.
The days after returning to campus were spent in a daze, everything became unreal and surreal. It was as if the reunion that day was just an unreal dream, and a very distant dream at that. When I finally woke up, I was filled with indescribable pain in my heart. I knew it was because I saw what they are like now, I knew how they were doing, and I couldn’t fantasize about them having a good life anymore. And then, I started to feel sorry for my friends scattered all over the world, tears ready to fall from my eyes.
Unconsciously, I would start to reminisce about our high school memories when I thought about how they are now. It felt just like reminiscing about middle school, with a mixture of contentment and slight bitterness, getting drunk before even drinking. I would remember the joke of that girl who stepped on my shoes, the playful moments in the classroom with a group of naive students, and the “chalk throwing as a joke” during study hall… Then, I would compare it to their current lives, and then swallow all the tears, as if nothing had happened. However, the memories of high school would still remain vividly there, waiting for me to visit often and leave behind