I am an ordinary woman who can no longer be ordinary. Now it is an ordinary life to just visit and recall the past days. But no matter how ordinary the past is, there will be shining and wonderful times. That once dribs and drabs, like rainbows after rain, will always float in the sky of memory, which will be unforgettable for a long time. ...
I believe that people my age, people who like writing, and people who have reported literary letters and telegrams are all familiar with the word literary friends, right?
I was nineteen years old and liked reading. Occasionally see a magazine's enrollment brochure. It is a literary correspondence course in Changchun City, Jilin Province. At that time, when I was dreaming of literature, I knew nothing about writing Like a long drought, I rushed to the county seat and mailed the registration fee. In fact, many things are easier said than done. When the first textbook arrived in the mail, I couldn't stand it. Because the textbook is difficult to understand, I can only teach myself. Because mother and brother are both teachers, brother is in high school, and all three live on campus. The carpenter's father also went from village to village to earn money as a carpenter. I spend most of my time at home alone. There are dozens of acres of land at home, as well as sheep, horses, chickens and pigs. Heavy work makes me very tired, so I can fall asleep when I fall down on the kang. In the evening, I was scared alone, so I found my best village girl to accompany me. At that time, I often complained to my mother who came home on Sunday. Sometimes I cried when I said it, and I felt particularly wronged. That correspondence class stipulates homework once a month, and I signed up for the novel major. But I gave up after three homework assignments, because it was the busiest time of the year, the autumn harvest. Our family has more than 40 acres of land and 40 acres of grassland. We should not only harvest the crops, but also beat all the grass home. We really have no energy to write.
I remember that at that time, a tutor helped me write. I still clearly remember my teacher's name is Tang Junshan.
This teacher is a very responsible person, and has carefully revised all three of my novels. In my spare time, I carefully copied it down with manuscript paper and kept it.
Although I never handed in my homework again, all the textbooks for one year arrived as scheduled. Winter is coming, and I feel puzzled when I receive several letters from afar. Later, I learned that there is a friend-making activity in the correspondence class, which is to write the address and name of each classmate in a textbook. I hope everyone can make friends freely, discuss literature and exchange writing experience. I don't know, because I haven't read the textbook for a long time. It turns out that these letters were written by literary friends. I remember a dozen letters. I chose five letters and began to reply. Although more than twenty years have passed, today I still clearly remember their names and where they came from. They are Song Longrong and Zheng from Chifeng, Lai Meng from Maoming, Guangdong, Ou Shaoqiang from Guangxi and Anhui. There is only one female literary friend here. From then on, I had five like-minded literary friends and began to write letters and books to convey friendship. My life has become full and meaningful ...
It can be said that literary friends have good writing style and beautiful fonts. Especially Song Longrong, who worked as an auto soldier in hulun buir grassland, wrote letters with a small brush. Because he loves to write poems, there are always poems in his letters. In the spring of the second year of our correspondence, I took a letter from a literary friend and ran to Yang Shulin outside the village. After reading the enthusiastic letters from my literary friends, I stood silently on the tree-lined path. At this time, the sun is setting, and the pink sunset glow is scattered in the Woods through the treetops, and every leaf turns pink. I suddenly had a dream. There is an irresistible feeling that fills my chest. I picked a lot of leaves. When I got home, I put them in a book. When they were completely flattened, I wrapped them in pink glossy paper and put them in my reply. At first, all five literary friends had it. Later, they all took them out and mailed the leaves to Cheng Long. It's ridiculous to think about it now, but at that time, I was stupid. He is very happy. When he wrote back, a page of stationery was talking about the happiness that leaves brought him. He said that he put the leaves in his pocket and would shine them with a flashlight in the middle of the night. ...
Zhou Zhihong is the most bookish and handsome of the four friends. His letters are rich in language and picturesque in artistic conception. He once wrote: At night, I fall asleep with my thoughts. In my dream, a beautiful girl from Inner Mongolia is playing in the beautiful prairie and the flowing river. Cheerful streams flow through her smooth feet ... birds are singing and wild flowers are dancing ... at that time, I was conservative and had nothing but faith. He just wrote this passage by imagination. But he sent me a photo. At that time, we were all eighteen or nineteen years old, which was the age of ignorance. * * * The same hobbies make us get along very well. Later, he made a special envelope and mailed me a big dragonfly. I have never seen such a big dragonfly. It's as big as a small bowl. I kept it for a long time until it became like a specimen, and I didn't want to throw it away. ...
Lai Meng from Guangdong is one of the most fashionable literary friends, probably because he was born in the south. His photos: explosive head, bell bottoms, T-shirt, sunshine fashion. The letter is the longest, the most romantic and the boldest: at night, a crescent moon sailed to my window like a boat, and the grassland girl in my dream came with the boat ... He said that he had checked the map, and Inner Mongolia was thousands of miles away from Guangdong, and he knew that maybe one day, he would suddenly appear in front of me. I was really a girl in the mountains, so I was too real to believe and never dared to reply to him again. Sometimes, a stranger comes to the village, and I am afraid it is him. I always lock the door and hide, and I dare not go home until that man leaves. A month later, he sent a letter with only one sentence: Is 77 equal to 14? He misunderstood me, got angry and then disappeared from there. I lost a close friend. ...
But just because some people don't contact doesn't mean forgetting. I often stare at the meniscus in the sky and think of what he said. There is a golden house in the book, and there is Yan Ruyu in the book.
That night, when I think of my friends far away, I feel a little bitter and worried. Some people will stay in my heart forever even if they are far away. ...
Ou Shaoqiang from Guangxi is a special literary friend. He saw me in her sister's textbook because he was not a correspondence student. This is a sincere and kind big boy. And the only literary friend who sent books to me. I once told him that I was far from the county seat and it was inconvenient to check the zip code, so he bought a book summarizing the zip codes of all provinces and cities in China and sent it to me. He wrote at least a few letters and never wrote again. The encounter between people is a godsend fate. Fate is deep and shallow, and there are causes and consequences. Thank you for that encounter, that beautiful touch, which has always accompanied me through the fleeting time. ...
Zheng of Chifeng is a salesgirl in a department store, a girl who loves to write poems and dreams. One year older than me. * * * The same hobby makes us have endless words. Because we are close, she invited me to her house many times. In those days, she had the longest correspondence with Jackie Chan and Zhou Zhihong. I once mailed each of them a newspaper that published my novel, because my success was inseparable from their encouragement. In those lonely and helpless days, it was a letter from them that accompanied me and gave me the courage to continue writing. I like to share my happiness with such friends ...
It was the eighties, and people's thoughts were very feudal, and they didn't like what I wrote at all. Let alone correspond with strangers. Every half month, the postman will deliver letters to the village, and then my mother will bring them back to me. Sometimes there are letters from other literary friends, and at most there are more than 20 letters. The postman once joked with my mother: Miss Wang, it's all your daughter's letters. You should invite me and thank me. ...
Everyone in the village knows my correspondence with Wenyou. When my sisters play together, they always play friendly jokes on me. They will shout together: Look, Jackie Chan is coming, Zhihong is coming, and I will chase them with a shy smile ... but those uncles and aunts are not so simple. They came to my house many times to protect me. I was angry with them on purpose. I don't comb my hair or wash my face every time I look at them. And every time after such a boring thing, I will hide in a quiet corner and secretly cry. I don't fall in love with any literary friends as people guess. I'm a coward, ruthless and fearless. I'm just influenced by the image of the book and don't want to be a matchmaker. I hope I can meet a man I like and have a vigorous love. ...
Although Keshiketeng Newspaper is a county-level newspaper, its power is not small, because every unit and every village committee must subscribe. The novel I voted for won the prize. The editor wrote on the front page that an ordinary Shan Ye village girl and a junior high school student persisted in writing for several years, which is an example for our literature lovers to learn. ...
At that time, it was still popular to paste houses with newspapers, especially during the Spring Festival. Every household goes to the county to buy newspapers. My novel has entered thousands of households, and my middle school teachers and many classmates know it. Every time I meet them in the county, the first sentence is, I read your novel, and I'm still famous. ...
Everyone who loves literature loves romance, dreams and imagination. I'm only twenty years old, and I long for beautiful love. Maybe at that age, that kind of communication, there should be a story that can happen, but in the end there is nothing. Our letters are all longing for ideal love, encouraging each other, caring for each other and exchanging writing experience, that's all. I once made up the story of my literary friend into an essay "My First Love", which made many netizens cry. I remember I posted it to the February group forum, and several netizens read this short article and added it to me. A netizen named Xiaozi saw this essay in Lanting Group Forum, and he was sitting at the door of the unit to read it. A big man in his thirties, wiping his tears, was seen by people at work, and everyone thought he was lovelorn. This is what he said when chatting with me. When I said it was fiction, he just didn't believe me. Maybe it's because my true feelings are mixed in, and maybe unsuccessful love is the most touching reason. Many netizens like this composition. But in fact, people in those days were too conservative. Maybe we are not the right people, just passers-by, we are literary friends. I admit, I locked all my fantasies in my heart. How many worries turn into tears at the foot of the mountain and drift away with the wind. I am a rebellious and stubborn woman, but I have not escaped the fate of mortal fireworks. Finally, I bid farewell to all my literary friends. In the first few days of marriage, I packed all the letters in a small suitcase, including my ideals and love, and locked them together. ...
At that moment, I knew I would never correspond with my literary friends again, because I was going to be a wife and take on the responsibility of a family. What man in the world will allow his wife to correspond with other men, and he is a stranger who has never met before? ...
I fell on a box full of letters and cried like rain. I have a feeling that I can't give up my literary friends who have written for more than two years …
In all the years to come, whenever I hear words with the same name and place name from books and TV, I feel more cordial, the floodgate of memory will open and my thoughts will jump like water. ...
In the later days, I received a New Year card from them. Jackie Chan's card reads: Deep thoughts and deep blessings. Zhou Zhihong's greeting card is a tree trunk that suddenly glows, and there are two leaves left without writing a word. Lee woon-jae said in his letter that Jackie Chan mentioned me when he wrote to her, hoping that I would be happy ... only then did I know that they were family members and his family was in Chifeng. I didn't expect him to be so close to me, because the addresses of the troops were all in the correspondence. The letter also contains a photo of him in the conference room in yakeshi. I remember that he was applying for a military school. Maybe he has been admitted. ...
How time flies! That silly girl has turned into a lonely middle-aged woman. I can recall the time I spent with my literary friends. I still feel that I have returned to my girlhood, and my heart is full of happiness and sweetness. During this time, like wild flowers in the valley, it exudes a refreshing fragrance, more like bright fireworks in the sky. Although fleeting, it left a gorgeous color in my mind. A small encounter, once a little, was enough to light a thousand lights and warm the course of my life. ...
People will meet many times in their life, but some people pass by, some people accompany you to see a scenery, some people pass by like the wind, and some people take root in their hearts.
This essay is all real names, so I just write it like this, imagining that one day, one of you will walk into my space and see this log. Maybe you loved writing and dreamed of literature, maybe you liked surfing the Internet, maybe we will meet again in this life, maybe you have forgotten me, but as always, I am still waiting for you to appear and renew your friendship.
If you meet again, don't give up ...