Our Youth Military School Life

In the early autumn of 1992, with a youthful attitude and a yearning for camouflage, I stepped into the gate of the Junior Military Academy, and started a period of sweat and growth. There is no laxity like an ordinary campus here. The whistle in the morning is the beginning of every day. The quilts folded into "tofu blocks" and the pace of orderly formation have become compulsory courses in the first lesson. The training ground is the place where I spend the most time. I practice standing in line under the scorching sun, but my arms are sore and I dare not put it down. I practice crawling in the rain, with the clothes wrapped in mud but no one calls to stop. The laughter and breathing of the teenagers are blended into the wind on the playground. There are also tender moments in our spare time: sitting on the playground with comrades in the evening to watch the sunset, sharing snacks sent from home; publishing blackboard newspapers together during festivals, not caring when chalk dust falls on our shoulders. Behind the sternness of the instructors there is concern. He would hand us ointment when we were injured during training, and would also gently tuck the quilt when we checked the bed at night. In the midsummer of 1995, when I pinned my graduation cap badge on my chest, I realized that three years had already sharpened the edges of the ignorant boy. During this period of military school life, there were no earth-shattering stories, but every persistence and every friendship carved the most precious memories of youth - the first glimpses of responsibility, courage and growth. When I think of it, it is still as clear as yesterday.