My Story of Joining the Party

Summer, with the cicadas chirping like waves, arrives unexpectedly, The sound of the cicada is like a slightly pointed needle, 56-year-old ripples on my forehead. Counting from the first submission of application for party membership, More than thirty years ago, But it has not left any achievements for the party and the people. The years pass quietly in the blink of an eye, The sound of cicadas wants to dilute the thoughts in my mind, But let my story of joining the party, Forever etched in my memory.