When was the last time I read a book? It must have been a long, long time ago—I’d say about seven or eight years ago, back when I was still in middle school.
Junior high school was probably the time in my life when my mind was the purest; back then, my life wasn’t yet filled with so much hypocrisy and overthinking.
Back then, our teacher had us all order a set of classic novels that every middle school student should read. The content of those books has stayed with me to this day—and perhaps for the rest of my life.
Bing Xin’s *The Stars and Spring Water* gave me my first taste of the true beauty of poetry. *Gulliver’s Travels* introduced me to the charm of science fiction for the first time. *Jane Eyre* made me appreciate, for the first time, the resistance of ordinary people in the face of social prejudice.
As a child, I felt sorry for the three rises and falls in *Camel Xiangzi*, but now, so many years after graduation, when I found myself unemployed, I looked back on the story and gained a new perspective. I could feel the futility of my journey under the city’s neon lights at night—after being laid off, I was truly wiped out. Just like Xiangzi, I found myself wondering if I, too, would experience three rises and three falls.
It feels like the moments of clarity in my life were either during middle school or before that. Back then, I was quiet and introverted in class—I had no friends and stuttered when I spoke. I didn’t have a cell phone, so I didn’t have to endure the daily torment of information overload. Maybe I seemed like an outsider to others, but I was truly happy.
Back then, I actually had absolutely no intention of going to high school—or even college later on. I was just following my father’s advice to play it safe and attend a vocational school to learn a trade. So, even though I was accepted into high school, I still ended up going to vocational school.
Later, when I got a cell phone, I began to realize that the world wasn’t as big as my hometown, and I also understood why my parents argued constantly every day. I understood why my mom moved out and separated from my dad, and I came to understand the pain of growing up in a troubled family. I knew that I needed to study—I had to study hard and go to college—in order to escape that environment.
That’s why all those things happened later—like transferring from a junior college to a four-year university. A desire to rebel took root within me, so I never touched those books again.
I graduated two years ago, and since then, I’ve been through a lot—my parents’ divorce, my aunt’s passing, and the dread of working late into the night. Later, I found my current stable job, thinking it would finally give me some stability in this city, but in the end, I was laid off anyway.
Back then, as I watched people online talk about their struggles finding jobs and read news reports about tens of millions of college graduates flooding into the job market, I had never felt as clear-headed and terrified as I do now. For several nights, I lay awake, filled with restlessness and a sense of reluctance—until now, when I’ve learned to let go and face the illusions within myself. Was that version of me, standing beneath the neon lights of Xiamen at night, truly the person I wanted to be?
Why do I still feel happier than I did back in middle school, when I was so pure and clear-headed? Even though there were clearly many problems back then, I had no illusions in my heart—I never did—and I could find joy in just a few books.
So now I’ve picked up a book again, and I’m so happy that I finally have some time to sit quietly and search for answers. It’s as if I’ve become that teenager again, enjoying the moments of natural tranquility that *Walden* brings me. I plan to spend this time reading in peace and quiet, and start looking for a job next month.
