They Graduated, Too他们也毕业了
It is June 11, the second day after the college entrance exams ended. After my military theory exam this evening, I opened WeChat Moments. My old classmates were sharing their graduation posts. I found myself asking:
Do I regret never having a final year of high school?
To many people, skipping that year must seem like an escape from exams, an early arrival at the freedom of university.
Still, there are things I miss.
Whenever I went back during the holidays, I would slip up to my old classmates. “You’re back! How long are you staying?” They would pull me along to the dining hall. My clothes no longer matched theirs. My hair no longer met the school rules. I had different things on my mind. When they sat down and began arguing excitedly over the answer to the last physics problem from the afternoon before, all I could manage was a small smile. “Was it hard?”
Once, I found them bent over their work during a study period. I did not want to interrupt. I took a photograph instead: a glimpse of their final year. I kept the dim corridor, too, and the wall covered in handwritten wishes. It looked just as that last year looks in novels. This was a part of growing up I would never have.
After my exam, I scrolled through other people’s graduation diaries, imagined their ceremonies, peered into their lives. Teachers who had always seemed so serious formed a band and took the stage. A campus that banned electronic devices lit up with phone flashlights. Even the clouds found their way into my feed: “The last sunset of high school.” Everything was as lovely as I had imagined it. For a moment I forgot where I stood in all this. Somehow, their graduation made me sad.
I kept reading.
“Time passes. The memories stay.”
“The film has its happy ending.”
“I’ve walked this road countless times. Today was the last.”
You graduated too, I told myself.
Until yesterday, perhaps you could still call yourself a child. Now everyone your age has graduated too.
There is no one left to make your childishness seem natural.
At last, I had graduated.
今天是6月11日，高考结束的第二天。晚上军理考试后，我打开 puq，看到了在转发高三毕业的同学们…… 不禁问自己了一句：
没有体验过高三，你会有遗憾吗？
也许在很多人眼里，没有高三是逃离应试教育的苦海，是提前拥抱大学的自由。
但是，也会有遗憾……
每次放假回到学校，偷偷走到昔日同学的面前，他们会很开心地招呼我：“哇，你怎么回来了！放假多久啊？”说罢还拉着我到食堂一起吃饭。我穿着不合群的衣服，留着不合规的发型，脑海中装着不同的心事。当他们坐下来激动地争论昨天下午考的物理最后一个大题的得数，我只能苦笑着问：“卷子难吗？”
看到昔日的同学在自习课奋笔疾书，不忍心打扰，便偷偷留下了他们高三的一张影子（p5），留下的还有昏暗的走廊、粘满便签的心愿墙。这一切的样子像极了小说里高三的样子，而我，不会再拥有这段青春。
军理期末考试结束了，我打开 puq，翻看着一张张别人的毕业日记，想象着别人的毕业典礼，偷窥着别人的人生。昔日严肃的老师组成乐队走上舞台，禁电子产品的校园亮起了手机的闪光灯，就连天边的云彩也窜到了我的 puq 里，被人配文“高中最后的一抹晚霞”。一切都如我理想中的那般美好，让我似乎忘记了自己的身份，竟然莫名因为他们的毕业而伤心。
我继续翻看着他们的文案……
“过去的是时光，留下的是回忆”
“电影圆满的结局”
“这条路，走了无数遍，今天走最后一次”
你也毕业了，我说。
你也许可以在昨天前称呼自己是小孩，现在，你的同龄人也毕业了，我说。
没有人再帮你掩饰幼稚了，我说。
我最终还是毕业了。