I picked up my schoolbag again every day and headed west, enduring the loneliness and isolation. I opened my mouth wide every day, imitating Teacher Zhang, blowing with the air against the tail of the spit. In the first and half grades, I got used to the calmness of watching the mountains and seas in the distance, and saw the plainness where the flowers fell. Like a monk who had been ordained, I sat in a corner where the sun couldn't shine every day, listening to the chatter of different teachers. One year, two years... Suddenly one day... I also picked up the pointer and found that I had become Teacher Zhang. I couldn't tell the difference between curled and non-rolled tongues. I copied Mandarin with a chow mein sound and talked about topics that made me fall asleep. It was just the droplets from my lecture that made the students listening below more alert and afraid to sleep until dawn tomorrow. Only then did I realize that the piece of chalk drew a rainbow and shed tears. That podium lifted others and dedicated myself.
I would like to dedicate this to my teachers and their families who have devoted themselves silently.
Intention: It was them who gave you a bright spot in the chaos and made me embrace the light today.