One way: listen to me telling the story of the third year

One way: listen to me telling the story of the third year

——About the third year, the first letter to the students

What you see now is a letter I wrote to you and also wrote to myself.

Yes, on the long road to the ideal, we are about to usher in a new milestone. This road is called the third year.

I know that you have seen your third year in countless times, and countless times have talked about your life in this section. We can hear our future tension from the whistle of the early and middle of the third-grade dormitory. We can see our future busy in the faster and faster pace of the third-year students. They are foreseeing with happy or worried expressions. Our future mood. Of course, there will be endless exams, endless scores, endless reflection analysis, and endless difficulties and challenges that we have not experienced before. On that road, you can lose to face with a smile, you can get tired of habits and even fall in love. Yes, it is really a high school look, it is not a day that can be easily described in black.

For you, the third year is the tomorrow you are about to start;

For me, the third year is yesterday when I tried my best and couldn't go back. Please listen to the high school story in my heart.

I have experienced four high school years in my life. The first two times are the life of the students as you are going through. Yes, two high school. If you look at the results alone, the first time is a painful failure, and the second time is not enough to show off success. But do you know, maybe you will only know when you pass the third year of high school, the result of life can't be judged simply by success and failure, because how can simple success or failure be able to make clear my youth that I never return?

It is often recalled that I had been away for two years in the first place. Is it because the love sinus first opened, secretly confusing love from the heart? Is it because of the indulging in billiards, and has been fighting for countless weekends? Is it because of the petty bourgeoisie, it is always not too slow, is it good to swim? Is it because it is only painful and painless to act again and again? Is it because I think I am self-righteous, and I feel that the teacher is easy to deceive, but is it just that?

In this way, I asked myself again and again, and recreated the days and times in my mind like a movie. In the end, I understood that no matter how much nostalgia I miss now, the once chic and rebellious with my 18 years old. Concentration has become an unforgettable word - the lesson. How frustrating is the self-destruction of a farmer's child who carries the expectations of his parents. How disgusting is a guy who is eager to change the family but can't bear to hone himself, yeah! But this is my own, this is the high three road that I have passed that can no longer be changed.

On the day of the first joint exam to fill in the volunteers, I finally left the school, holding a blank volunteer card, riding a dilapidated bicycle back to home more than 30 miles away. It was already dark, and there was heavy rain on the way. I went home madly. When I saw the village, the car was pressed against the big stones of the children on the dirt road. People and the car flew together. When I got up, I found out that the front wheel of the bicycle had fallen, so I dragged the car home. I saw under the electric light at home that my already wet clothes had been soaked red, and the chest, arms and legs were all blood. I remember that I didn't cry, but my mother was crying.

At that time, the year that was behind, how far has it been enlarged? Who can make it clear?

When I came back again, the days were so monotonous that there were almost no memories unrelated to learning.

The ballet wrote "Goodbye, Brother" and then locked in the bottom of the cabinet. Refused all the novels, the pillow pressed down a copy of Liu Wei's "Beyond Self" and a diary of his own, one for his own strength, one to keep himself strong.

In the summer night, he endorsed the dormitory while playing with textbooks and mosquitoes. When the book was finished, he did not know how many mosquitoes were killed. He only remembered the blood on the textbooks. In the winter, several buddies surrounded the small coal stoves in the classroom. While roasting the cracked hand, I ate the purchased fast food with English words.

I clearly remember the National Day of 1999. Everyone went home on holiday. I turned on the TV in the empty classroom to watch the National Day military parade. The neat and tidy list made me shock, let me think that I could Passionate youth has made such a riddled hole so that it is a sin to trap yourself in such a day. Thinking about it, I actually burst into tears with the music of the parade. (Inspirational story) However, after crying, what should I do? There is no comfort, no need for comfort, and you have to face the path of your choice.

In the days of the fourth year, the time was surprisingly fast, and it was so fast that the memory was blurred. Volunteer to fill in the report, get the admission notice, there is nothing to say, but an experience but let yourself remember for a lifetime:

One year can ruin a person, one year can also achieve one person, ruin and achievement, all in their own choice!

Later, when I experienced two high school, I was already a teacher. Every time I look back now becomes what I expect from you now. I can look at the high three people around me from the perspective of the promoters. In the two high school years, I have witnessed the miracle of falling to the bottom and falling to the peak like Gao Ce. I also witnessed the regret that I have been struggling but failed to do so. I witnessed the hunters who were desperate and witnessed the empty time. A sad ending that has the ability but has never tried. Please believe that I remember each of them, just as I will remember each of you.

Every high school will witness dozens of students walking towards different life fronts. Do you know that the entrance exam may have a simple joy of success for students, or a sentimental failure. But for the teacher, I have always regretted the extra joy, and it has always been sentimental for a longer time. Because the teacher's goal is not one of you, but each of you.

Every time, I will talk about my own story. I hope that you will be able to grasp yourself more seriously, grasp the opportunities in your hands, and grasp your own destiny.