When I was in my third year of college, a good friend from high school, Mr. A, came to visit me. While we were chatting together, Mr. A suddenly asked: "Do you still remember that handsome guy from high school?"
"Handsome guy? Who?"
"Have you forgotten? He's the one from Class 20. He transferred here when he was in high school. Female students often go to the corridor to see him. As soon as get out of class is over, the corridor is crowded with people."
"Is he really this handsome?"
"Yeah, I remember riding a bicycle to school with him once. The aunts buying groceries, the women holding their children, and the girls selling things on the street all looked at him without blinking. There was a girl riding a bicycle who kept looking at him, and she kept turning back to look at him long after she passed by. And I just kept looking at that girl. It's really a shock to think about it now! How come I haven't had such good luck in my life!"
"I forgot, I have no memory at all. What's wrong?"
"His girlfriend at the time lived across from me, but the girl's mother objected to their dating. So every time the guy went downstairs to her house, the girl would call me, and I would go down to chat with him. When it was time for class, we would come down and go to class together."
"What? Not willing to give in?"
"Of course, that woman and I are childhood sweethearts."
I laughed loudly, "Forget it, it's been such a long time."
Mr. A is a slightly exaggerated person. He dances and dances when he speaks, and he then talks about how he once aroused the envy of his classmates because he and the school beauty were at the same table. Suddenly I remembered a lot of things from high school.
So I wrote this novel with a feeling of nostalgia for my lost time.
There is no gripping plot, nor beautiful and moving words, but only the constant doubts, determination, hesitation, reluctance, constant disappointment and constant hope of youth.
There are many things that are obviously impossible to do.
I still remember that sentence: A 20-year-old can only do things that a 20-year-old can do. You cannot ask me to use the wisdom of an 80-year-old to guide my 20-year-old life.
Some things have been experienced, and then missed each other, and then naturally gave up.
Time is the best spokesperson.