"Doesn't anyone celebrate your birthday?" a friend asked me during a casual chat. I felt a jolt in my heart and realized that I was already 19 years old, wondering how long it had been since I had a proper birthday celebration. "Everyone around me doesn't really celebrate each other's birthdays, so it's not that important," I replied dismissively. I remember when I was in elementary school, I had a rare birthday celebration; my grandmother and uncle actually came to my house and brought a cake. At that time, I never thought I wouldn't have such a birthday in the future; I was just happy. The joy of childhood was simple—perhaps it was a 50-cent spicy snack, laughing out loud when happy, showing sadness on my face, and crying when I was sad, never fearing to express myself. Maybe it was the support of my parents or the innocence of childhood; my parents and older brother seemed very strong in my eyes, strong enough to fulfill any wish I could think of. I don't know when it started, but I slowly began to understand "reality." It told me that everything in this world has a price, and without sufficient finances, I couldn't do certain things. At first, I didn't believe it. I took my beloved toy car to school to race with my classmates, and watching it run a distance that seemed to be my limit made me realize, "This was bought by my dad from another place." Gradually, I realized that childhood also had its price. Most of my classmates chose to remain silent, and I was one of them. Over time, the seed of inferiority was planted in my heart. When chatting with others and expressing my opinions, I felt very uncomfortable. "I think the chestnuts from Li Shang Huang are tastier, what do you think?" "They're okay, I guess," I didn't dare to say I hadn't tried them, fearing that would make me feel inferior to others. I was always like this, recognizing reality but not daring to accept it, closing myself off and waiting for the day I could try chestnuts from various shops before sharing my opinions.
Thus, I grew up as a child in the village, attending elementary and middle school in the countryside. The conditions weren't great, but I was determined to prove myself and managed to get into a small class at a regular high school in town. I was very happy at that time, thinking I finally had the chance to change my fate. My family placed great importance on my studies; during my three years of high school, I could say whatever I wanted, and my mom would wake up early to buy breakfast for me. Most of my high school classmates came from well-off families, all considered middle class (because small classes could be entered through connections). As I interacted with them, I slowly forgot that I came from the countryside. During this time, I gained a sense of illusory confidence when talking to my middle school classmates. Three years passed quickly, and due to the pandemic, I spent only about two years in school. Looking back, those were truly good times; my family was by my side, and I didn't have to worry about the various issues I face now, only needing to focus on doing well in every exam. In middle school, I became the class clown, and unexpectedly, I was the same in high school. They gave me the title of "Class 6 Popular King." I felt it was meaningful to bring joy to others, so I could accept all kinds of limitless jokes. After the college entrance examination, I thought I could finally see the world in other places, so I filled my application for the bustling Shanghai, thinking that now I would be "knowledgeable." As I stepped through the university gates, my brother watched me from outside, and I turned back to look at him, as if to say, "I can do it!"
Looking back, I am already in my third year of college. So what has growth brought me? I feel like I am still that same child. I like to close myself off, feeling weak and not daring to communicate, centering my world around others. After entering university, I often feel emo late at night, probably because reality doesn't match my ideals. After such a long time, I still haven't learned to study well, nor have I experienced a passionate romance; I just often find myself daydreaming and thinking about things aimlessly. I might get tangled up at night thinking about a moment, a place, or a person from my past, or feel deeply sad during the day because of something someone said. But these seem to have become a part of my life, and I greedily let it all happen like I’m on a drug. I think I can only live in the memories that come to me by chance. As a child, I wanted to see big cities, and when I grew up and arrived in Shanghai, standing by the railing at the Bund, I looked up at the CBD across the river, but my heart felt no waves. They seemed like old friends, often appearing in my fantasies. Is growing up just about living in a big city?
Until one day during the New Year, when visiting relatives, I no longer went with my dad but with my brother. That day, my brother, cousin, and I got completely drunk together. My brother kept reminding me not to drink so much while we were drinking. We drank for a long time, long enough to lose track of time, only realizing it was getting dark when we needed to leave. I still couldn't express the thoughts I had been immersed in for so long; perhaps I just hadn't drunk enough. On the way back, sitting in my brother's car, I insisted that I hadn't drunk much and was fine, looking out the window at the flowing traffic, knowing I could never return to that innocent child.
I often joke with my friends, saying, "This is too ridiculous," "It's all abstract, kid"....... but I only dare to share my true feelings and experiences with friends after drinking, still hesitating for a long time before saying "Keep it up." I don't know when it started, but I began to crave getting drunk, as if only then was I truly myself, yet there was still an invisible hand restraining me from expressing myself. Others often say I am emotionally stable, but in life, I am always unpredictable; lacking expression makes everything feel bland. When friends ask me, "What do you want to do?" I always reply, "I don't know," but what I really want to say is just to be with me; I’m fine with anything as long as I'm with you.
I also have my own ideals and unrealistic expectations, wanting to go to farther places, while also having my own rhythm of life. After dinner at night, I occasionally go for a walk in the park, wearing headphones, listening to music, and daydreaming, or just running. I like peace and planning, but I also do some not-so-normal things on a whim. I know I am not a talented person, nor am I very hardworking; I always fear speaking when it's my turn in class, afraid of talking in front of many people. I envy those who can speak confidently in crowds, but I find it hard to become one of them. I am wary of all the things I am infatuated with, to prevent the pain of losing them. Depression feels like playing a game for too long and getting tired of it, then quitting, but in the game of life, you can't quit; you can only be depressed. I think: as long as I play the next part of my life with the most sincere feelings, that should be enough.
"There are too many people walking aimlessly, listening to music, missing someone, and feeling heartache without saying a word..."