More than 20 years ago, when I was applying for junior high through the primary school entrance exam, after the holiday I didn’t know where to go to school. My parents were illiterate, and they didn’t know how to find a school either.
Back then, you went to register on your own. If your grades were a little worse, you might have to bring a small gift, but basically you could still get in.
My partner and I, two kids, rode one bicycle together. In a day we covered 80 kilometers. At midnight we stood at the school gate, sneaking around. The old man who guarded the gate couldn’t stand it anymore and opened the door to ask what we were doing.
We said shamelessly, “We want to see the principal. We want to study here. First we’ll register, and then we’ll have our parents come to pay.” We chatted with the gatekeeper for a long time. He told us the registration time, and said we could just come directly—if we registered we could get in. For families with financial difficulties, tuition could be waived. He even let us stay in the gatehouse for the night.
Later we found out that this school was quite famous in the city, and it was hard to get admitted even if you paid. We studied there for three years and never paid tuition. Our grades were okay, but not outstanding. The school had only three spots each year for impoverished students. In one year, the two of us took up two of those spots.
By the time we got to high school, we still often wrote letters to the old gentleman. Although they were all childish nonsense, each time we would receive a reply—and in brush calligraphy.
During our fourth year’s internship, he passed away. The acting principal of the elementary school contacted us on his own and said we should go attend the funeral.
The biggest “bug” in this world is like a child just beginning to learn how to see the world. In an unfamiliar place, he meets a stranger. He’s willing to help a completely unknown you, and then disappears from your world.
It feels like his existence is simply to hold up a lamp for you on the darkest path, one full of thorns. When the lamp goes out, the缘 is over.
Back then, you went to register on your own. If your grades were a little worse, you might have to bring a small gift, but basically you could still get in.
My partner and I, two kids, rode one bicycle together. In a day we covered 80 kilometers. At midnight we stood at the school gate, sneaking around. The old man who guarded the gate couldn’t stand it anymore and opened the door to ask what we were doing.
We said shamelessly, “We want to see the principal. We want to study here. First we’ll register, and then we’ll have our parents come to pay.” We chatted with the gatekeeper for a long time. He told us the registration time, and said we could just come directly—if we registered we could get in. For families with financial difficulties, tuition could be waived. He even let us stay in the gatehouse for the night.
Later we found out that this school was quite famous in the city, and it was hard to get admitted even if you paid. We studied there for three years and never paid tuition. Our grades were okay, but not outstanding. The school had only three spots each year for impoverished students. In one year, the two of us took up two of those spots.
By the time we got to high school, we still often wrote letters to the old gentleman. Although they were all childish nonsense, each time we would receive a reply—and in brush calligraphy.
During our fourth year’s internship, he passed away. The acting principal of the elementary school contacted us on his own and said we should go attend the funeral.
The biggest “bug” in this world is like a child just beginning to learn how to see the world. In an unfamiliar place, he meets a stranger. He’s willing to help a completely unknown you, and then disappears from your world.
It feels like his existence is simply to hold up a lamp for you on the darkest path, one full of thorns. When the lamp goes out, the缘 is over.