Lately in the school library, I stumbled upon Lung Ying-tai’s Wildfire. Since then, I’ve been tracing life’s breadcrumb-like trivialities with newfound vigilance.
Beijing, this capital of ancient courtesy where I study, once conjured childhood fantasies of spotless skylines and grandmothers escorted across streets by strangers. I imagined orderly queues stretching beyond sightlines – nothing but orderly back-of-head vistas.
Yesterday’s incident struck deep: Ninth-graders shackled by triple-night-study sessions and entrance exams now sleep an hour later than eighth-graders. Our merciful grade director bestows midnight snacks upon these martyrs – exclusive privileges through scarcity economics.
Early dismissal brought chaos. Rounding the cafeteria’s side entrance, I nearly collided with a student. The eighth-grade emblem on her uniform ignited me – memories of denied snacks flashed like emergency flares. Striding into the cafeteria’s eighth-grade swarm, I hurled my challenge: “Aren’t these for ninth-graders?”
Silence swallowed the room. I tasted their mental curses, decoded their ocular daggers. “Rules are dead here!” screamed my mental echo chamber. My gaze locked with a defiant eighth-grade girl – invisible blades crossed in midair. Swallowing profanities, I retreated.
“Nosy much?” mocked my usually amiable classmate during bath preparations. “Remember when they stole your snack chance?” I countered. His silence fled faster than his footsteps.
Second-floor dorm corridors displayed milk carton casualties. On pristine walls, “Green Campus” declarations hung like brazen graffiti.
The shower queue stagnated for ten eternal minutes. Cutters marched past with righteous faces, while silent rage pooled behind pressed lips.
Outside, campus lawns shrink daily. Tender willows collapse onto garbage mountains. Once-organic trees stand regimented as fence posts, colonizing flowerbeds with bureaucratic brutality. Virgin green mutates into fertilizer-stench green – nature’s perfume suffocated beneath progress’ halitosis.
We, the people of socialism, have seen our shared lawns unjustly seized by private vegetable plots.
Chinese people, why do you remain silent?
近日到访学校图书馆，读到龙应台的野火集，便开始留意起生活中如面包屑般琐碎小事
我在礼仪之邦的帝都上学。小时候对北京的憧憬往往是摩天大厦和一尘不染的环境，街上的人们看到老奶奶会主动搀扶过马路，各个窗口前应该是线性的队列，后面的人只能看到前面的人后脑勺
昨日的一件事，让我深受触动：初三的同学因为要上三节晚自习，加上中考带来的沉重枷锁，睡觉时间要比初二晚一个小时之多。大发慈悲的年级主任决定给我们提供夜宵，因为限量原因，只有初三学生有此特权。
因为考试缘故，这次初三下晚自习的时间提前。我从食堂的外门转入，险些与一个同学撞个满怀。我瞟了一眼她校服的标志，又想到往日因夜宵买完而无奈离开的场景，顿时感到火烧眉宇，于是我大踏步走进食堂，对着成群结队初二学生大声发问：“夜宵不是卖给初三学生的吗？”。这声质疑划破了食堂的上空，让原有的躁动变为死寂，我能感到初二同学此时心中的咒骂，并尝试从他们的眼神中揣测。“重点是没人管啊！”，一声强有力的回击在我的脑海中嗡嗡作响，我把头转向那个高傲又不屑的初二女孩，两个敌对的目光似乎在空气中展开一场你死我活的斗争。我很想用一句脏活予以回击，但只是摇了摇头，走开了。
我带着对初二小孩耿耿于怀准备去洗澡，平日一向要好的同学以嘲讽的口气和我说：“你刚才闲的吧。”我用最直接的例子予以反驳：“上次你没买到夜宵就是因为他们”他只好一声不吭地走了
走到宿舍二层，我看到牛奶盒散落在地上，垂直于地面的墙上则“厚颜无耻”地写着“绿色校园”
排了十分钟的队伍在原地等候，来往插队的人群面不改色，丑陋的脸上写满义正言辞，身后的人群心里焦急难耐，但是缄口不语
小区的草坪日渐缩小，刚发芽的柳树倒在成山的垃圾堆里，浑圆的树木削成了方方的栅栏，在原属于花草的土地上宣示主权。草绿色变成才绿色，肥料的恶臭盖过了芳草的清香，社会主义的我们，共有的草地却被私有的菜地无理占据
中国人，你为什么沉默