Now I am far away from my hometown, my alma mater, and that kind and lovely teacher. The teacher's words became the rope for me to climb. The memories of the past have now become pieces of green leaves, undulating in the sea, constantly surging. So far, my memory is still fresh. The self-pity that Gu Ying had felt for so many years was finally thrown out of the window at that special moment. It's her, my Chinese teacher in junior high school. With her delicate words, she lit the oil lamp in my heart and started to shine for the first time. I silently counted the memories of the past bit by bit in my heart, thinking about that moment when the little match seller saw grandma, grandpa, and the Christmas tree. I also thought about my parents. The more I thought about them, the more I began to classify myself as a poor person. Close the book and think back to the scene just now. I would like to take my blessings to thank you, teacher, for your kindness.