The Summer Before I Was Seventeen, I Left School

When I was sixteen years old, I had just finished my freshman year of high school and left campus on my own initiative. There were no family changes, no helplessness, I was just tired of the endless road to study, and decided to go out on my own to try my luck. With not much money in my pocket, I came to Shanghai alone. This bustling and noisy big city has no tenderness for me. With no education, no adulthood, and no skills, I could only do odd jobs in a small restaurant, washing vegetables and dishes, serving dishes and running errands, from early morning until late at night. I have tasted the most real hardships in life: hands peeled by cold water, throat choked by oil smoke, cold soaked through the whole body on rainy days, helplessness when no one cares for me when I am sick, and grievances that I can only swallow when guests make things difficult for me. Countless nights, I walked on unfamiliar streets, looking at the lights of thousands of houses, feeling homesick, regretful, and confused, but never dared to look back. From a boy who was cared for by his parents to a migrant worker who made a living on his own, I was forced to grow up quickly in the smoke and mirrors of Shanghai. I gradually understood that the time I once despised studying was the most stable retreat in life; and no matter how difficult it was, I had to grit my teeth and finish the road I chose. This is not a story of counterattack success, but a true autobiography of an ordinary teenager. I gave up the smooth road and walked into the mud. I learned to be strong through stumbling and stumbling, and slowly grew up in the temper of reality. I took responsibility for my own life little by little for my young choices.