Hello everyone, I am your Xiaoju. Long time no see, I miss you very much. Time flies so fast that the second semester of my first year of graduate school has already ended, and my thesis is surrounding me. To be honest, I am increasingly aware of my own limitations. Compared with

Hello everyone, I am your Xiaoju. Long time no see, I miss you very much. Time flies so fast that the second semester of my first year of graduate school has already ended, and my thesis is surrounding me. To be honest, I am increasingly aware of my own limitations. Compared with the glamorous classmates around me, I feel very weak. Every time I look at the bright sunshine passing through the neat cedar leaves in the southern forest, I feel like I am back in school—after all, there have been no full-scale offline classes for almost two years. At that time, I probably didn’t have too many memories and just thought about what I wanted to do at the moment, even if it was just a superficial mechanical repetition.

Just tonight I seem to have gotten a relief from double threading slowly turning into academic research over a period of time. In fact, I didn't dare to think too much, I just felt that I really didn't work hard enough, and I was using words that might just be used to pile up, to face the barriers of requirements. Time is like a withered flower, just like at this moment I don’t know why I thought of such a metaphor, I just want to preserve this state. So I fabricated the current space into an uninhabited island, and followed Peter Pan to travel to the uninhabited island.

How to preserve the good times? With a camera? With words? Or do you keep wandering in your mind? At this time, everyone will think of Camus: As long as a person learns to remember, he will never be lonely again. Even if you only live in the world for one day, you can live alone in a prison for a hundred years with your memories without any difficulty. I think that if the clouds are a letter from the sky, we can weave many touching stories every time. Even until late at night, even if the cold wave comes. At this moment, all the carnival is closed in the single bed, lingering in the quilt about the past that has been dropped.

What is lost will never be the same again, even just like the album itself. Maybe memories are just a matter of one person. The sky is endless, but I have already lost some courage. I feel like I have experienced something, and I feel like I have been left alone, leaving only the emotion that floats on the surface. Not to mention the two-dimensional world that once accompanied me. If this paragraph had a subtitle, it would be particularly suitable for the "hybrid theory" of Lincoln Park , because it is not until youth is wasted to a certain extent that you will realize how valuable the uninhabited island is. Despite this, the second dimension also brings me wonderful memories. Not just a fake face like Lei Huang, but the beautiful love in "Hyogo", that's enough.

In fact, looking back at the past, the high intention is just like Su Shi 's "Old Man Talking about Teenage Madness", while the low intention is a person indulging in Bakhtin's carnival. In another parallel universe, would I be someone others can look up to? Will I be able to insist on doing something, even if a spear is inserted into my chest and my skull is cracked (sorry, I think of the symbol of Dylan Thomas), I will crawl forward and refuse to bow my head? If you are lost, put your thoughts in the drift bottle .

I hope I still have the chance to show off my writing so freely, even if it is clumsy. In the middle of the night, my thoughts fight against sleepiness to touch the vague and boundless future. I just want to find someone who understands me, but hypocritical emotions will always force me to make up more adjectives to describe the full picture. Nowadays, time is gradually mottled. If there is still a chance, can we escape from the illusory uninhabited island? No one can give me the answer. In addition to perseverance, it actually requires a kind of bravery.