Library

This is the first time I have restarted reading in the ten years since I graduated, but this time it seems that I am "for real". Ten years are almost the best ten years in life. I have dedicated myself to life, work, and family, and I have lost myself. In these ten years, both work and life have entered a dull period, or a bottleneck period that can more accurately express my inner helplessness and cowardice in actions, so I think I mean it this time. I have always had a literary dream, or a historical dream. I have experienced the whippings of the world in my tender years. I attribute these dreams to the common problems of most real liberal arts students, but I have never been able to quit. Perhaps it is the "persistence" and "anger" in my personality that make me always want to write and leave some words. And now it coincides with this special period. After experiencing the longest Spring Festival holiday in my life, I suddenly woke up: I was panicking at this point. I always felt that my inner cultivation and my small external achievements were not on the same level, and my inner existence was huge. I feel hollow and unconfident, so I return to my old business, read again, and draw nourishment from books, just like I boasted to my college classmates some time ago and then said a nonsense: The next three years will be the three years of my own accumulation, so I should use books as my main channel to accumulate myself.