When I was young, there were few books, and most of what I read were famous works by renowned authors, mostly ancient texts. I also read foreign classics, but the translated foreign books always had a certain translated tone, and I just skimmed through them without retaining much in my heart.
Reading ancient texts inevitably had an influence on me. I have no talent for writing articles, and my choice of words and sentence structures always unconsciously mimics others. The era-specific characteristics of ancient words are quite strong, such as "market" and "short rest." When I want to use them in my writing, I feel that modern people no longer use these words; they are not precise enough and not "down-to-earth" enough. On the other hand, I fear that people will think I am trying to be refined when I am clearly a common person, awkwardly trying to appear artistic while looking foolish in others' eyes.
I feel conflicted inside and dare not type on the keyboard. I think back and forth, deleting and re-deleting, forgetting what I originally wanted to write. I feel regretful and vow that next time I will type everything in one go and not waste my energy on such matters.
But the next time is the same cycle.
Besides famous works, I also read good articles written by classmates. This mostly happened in middle school. In elementary school, it was hard to discern levels of writing; at least I didn't encounter any geniuses. By middle school, others had developed their skills in word choice, sentence structure, and narrative style. The essays had beautiful small calligraphy, smooth and natural narratives, and precise and elegant word choices. The formal words used were appropriate and graceful; the internet slang was witty and interesting. No matter how I tried, I couldn't learn to write like that.
The trend in middle school essays quickly shifted from narrative writing to argumentative essays. I remember once my argumentative essay received a high score and was praised by the teacher, who read it to my classmates. So, I wrote argumentative essays every time, fearing that others would see through me and also afraid of not getting high scores.
I clearly had narrative essays selected by the teacher to be read as model essays. I only remember that I wrote it just to complete the weekly assignment, but I happened to have something I wanted to write about, so I wrote it straightforwardly and hastily. After finishing, I went off to play. Looking back later, the word choices were quite beautiful and natural. I should still be able to write narrative essays. But in the exam room, thinking about the scores and how others would view an unexpectedly low-scoring essay, I dared not be reckless.
By the time I graduated from middle school and picked up the pen to write about my own experiences, my mind went blank, not knowing where to start. I couldn't write without drafting or outlining anymore. So, I angrily cursed the exam-oriented education for ruining my life, but if we really assign blame, I can't escape it either.
Now that I have graduated from university, it has been a long time since I read good articles written by my classmates. Holding someone else's paper and appreciating it, reading someone else's sentences, feels as if I am writing such sentences myself. In my mind, I even imagine myself writing such an article in the exam room, how I burst with inspiration, how I considered my word choices, and how I thought about the flow of the writing. After reading it, I feel guilty; after all, this is not an article I wrote. I hope this imagined memory does not deceive my future self.
Blogs are not new to me; I have thought many times about writing something to post. But usually, what I feel compelled to write is too private, and I fear being laughed at by others. Writing these words is already late at night, and unable to sleep, I found this piece suitable, so I got up to log into a website I hadn't visited in a long time.
I hope friends who read this will be gentle with their words.