Defected adolescence

  On my 20th birthday, only me can remember. That day, I got out of bed early in the morning to pack myself, sat in front of the computer, and pretended to be busy and reserved. In fact, I am vigilant that every hair is on standby, ready to accept birthday surprises from all sides. As a result, no matter whether it is a gift, a blessing, or a satire about old age, there is nothing but me alone in the empty room, pretending to write nonstop.
  At night, when the dormitory was powered off and turned off, I was not mentally prepared, and the room suddenly became dark. The dignified, reserved posture that I maintained from morning to night collapsed instantly, and my heart screamed
  sullenly, “This is the end? My youth!” That’s it? I have been brewing for a whole day, intending to make a grand appearance. As a result, I have been pushed into the adult world of weak meat and strong food, and no one has told me what life proverbs and “ten commandments.” What’s more sad is that no one summed up with me and said goodbye to my adolescence.
  I like my puberty. It’s better than anyone else. It’s weird and stranger than anyone else. It’s longer than anyone else. I was said to be “precocious” 10 years ago. At that time, I showed no signs of being different. I wore a black and gray men ’s jacket over the winter, wearing a thick sweater knitted by relatives-the sleeves were too short, and after a while, I would stretch my hand into the cuff of the jacket and pull the sweater sleeve out.
  For a while, my hormones awakened and learned to dance to the DVD of Britney’s concert. When I felt like I was dancing decently, just after a class, I said to my good friend: “I’ll give you a hip.” Then, I shyly and tried to dance her for 30 seconds, watching She was so embarrassed that her face was redder than mine. At that time, I was very sad. I felt that the shadows and loneliness of puberty would be overwhelming and lonely.
  In adolescence, I have two backers, one is Zhang Ailing and the other is Holden in “The Catcher in the Wheat Field”. Zhang Ailing is solo and solitary, this is my code of conduct; Holden hates everything, such as hating parents, hating all disciplines, hating everyone who says “I am happy to meet you”, he is my spiritual partner .
  My most powerful support is actually my rogue hiding under the cover of youth. Life is a tens of thousands of marathons you push me, I have not yet reached the age of being compulsory, I have sat in the high stands, condescending, I feel the stupidity of seeing the nature of the competition, mediocrity of the contestants.
  This kind of feeling is a bit like I am in bed now in winter. Every morning, I just poked my head to prepare for a full and full day, and the cold air rushed forward in one step. I quickly retracted the bed, put my head on the edge of the bed, and watched my roommate picking myself up to meet life. I continued to lie on my back, because I had to struggle hard against the cold when I got out of bed.
  Still on my 20th birthday. Late that night, I went to write in the tattered cafe outside the school overnight. A middle-aged 40-year-old man next to him complained angrily, saying that he wrote a 900,000-word soul book but no one wanted to publish it. When I was young, decadence was very sexy, and laziness was courage. The longer the refuge in adolescence, the longer it is possible to delay the determination to flee, and I would like to lie in it all my life and complain, and finally I am left to listen to myself. Eavesdropping on the chatter of that middle-aged man made me quickly end my nostalgia and love for adolescence. I stunned, turned around and ran away, fled adolescence.
  After being pushed through the door of life, it was found that all the holes were blank. Nothing was attached to the label to show that it was mine. Those who gave me false information also escaped early. No matter panic or humiliation of being cheated, you can only carry it yourself. Leaving the “big bed” of puberty, we must fight with the cold air coming from the face.