I, who advocate giving up, feel like a disqualified person

"Let's think about it tomorrow... After all, tomorrow is another new day..."

No, this is not hope.

And these words were not his own.

This sentence comes from Scarlett, the heroine in "Gone with the Wind". She said this after she had suffered the ravages of war and emotional trauma and was almost disappointed with life.

That sentence does not represent hope, but despair.

At least that's what I think.

As expected...he's still a long way off. I guess I still need to tell him in person.

. . . . . . . . .

“…Um…”

I thought I would speak in a tough tone as expected... But when I actually found him and greeted him, my tone unconsciously softened.

"...What...what happened?"

He also looked like he didn't expect me to talk to him.

"...Can you let me see that?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

From then on, he and I officially became friends...or so he thought.

But...I don't think of him as a friend or anything, I just feel like I have someone I can give a hard time to.

After all...he has absolutely no talent for writing.

I know that he only quotes out of context and uses famous quotes from famous books. He has no idea about the book, let alone how the quote came about.

This part-time job is a waste... That's right.

If we use the analogy of tasting delicious food, a good classic is a delicacy produced through careful cooking. If you want to taste it, you must have sufficient vision and taste, as well as the correct method and strict dining steps.

But his method is just a simple taste, not the kind of full-bodied taste from beginning to end. It only knows whether the temperature is "hot" or "cold", and whether the taste is "sweet" or "salty".

However, people do not know that famous works are often a mixture of their own emotions, just like a thick soup that contains not only the salty taste brought by salt, but also the mixed ingredients that make it more delicious and the taste indescribable.

So, he is still far away... and his feelings about many things are too shallow.

"You still have a lot to learn from me."

I said this to him.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

He seemed to be starting to take me seriously.

Because he started to greet me in front of others, sometimes calling me by my name, and then coming up to me looking happy.

He started to treat me as a friend.

During breaks, he would use his meager pocket money to buy me drinks or snacks, just to listen to me talk more about my understanding of a famous book after class.

He changed and became cheerful only to me.

For the first time, I didn’t know how to respond.

Because I never thought before that even though I always treated him with arrogance, he still hadn't developed any dislike for me.

What should I do? I never thought I could become friends with him.

But to others...it seems like that.

Never mind, let’s just leave it at that.

Of course, I will still criticize the shortcomings in his article.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

There is no logic to the matter.

I am definitely not a gifted person, I can be sure of that. The fact that I have read so many books but can still stand on equal footing with that guy who has no common sense can prove it.

He has a strong command of words.

What does a good article need?

In my opinion, it needs something that can reflect the author, perhaps a sense of heaviness, or perhaps a sense of rebellion, all of which depends on the author.

Putting that aside, words are more important than substance.

The writing style can largely make up for the shortcomings of the story subject matter, just like a good daily animation will not make people feel bored.

In this regard...he is really too strong.

I seem to have overlooked this point...I clearly just couldn't stand his lack of literary knowledge, and I approached him just to mock him to make myself happy.

But I was ruthlessly hit back by his talent...it was a fatal blow to me.

...................

That should be the career that every person who loves reading would want to be: a writer.

They make a living by writing stories in their minds, whether they are fantastic or profound, and by never giving up writing...a group of people worthy of respect.

I can feel it from their works.

It is a very happy thing to write words that you are satisfied with and gain readers who like your works. Even the readers' urging for more updates is a different kind of happiness.

I also want to be called a writer... because I have read so many famous books that I can't even remember them all, and I can express my feelings at any step... I can even describe them with the taste of food like a literary girl.

But...but...

People who are good at reading may not necessarily be able to write books.

Similarly, people who are not good at reading may be surprisingly good at writing.

"Um... can you help me take a look at this..."

As usual, he brought out the notebook that I had touched countless times.

Strangely, this time his expression seemed even more tense than before.

"What's this..."

I looked at him with some impatience... After all, this guy's writing skills have been getting better and better recently... Although I inadvertently reminded him "not to let other people's shadows appear in his writing", he is actually improving step by step. How can I bother you like this? You really don't understand me.

"You'll know when you see it."

He smiled and helped me open the book. What caught my eye was still the neat and beautiful words... This is also the font I like very much. Perhaps because of the font, I always feel a soft feeling lingering in my heart when reading his articles.

I still like this feeling.

"...So mysterious..."

I muttered something and started reading.

However, I gradually discovered that the soft feeling in my heart had disappeared, and was replaced by tension.

A feeling that has never appeared before.

"Why..."

I muttered to myself... and quickly flipped through the following content, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find it.

"Why can't I find it..."

"Hmm? What can't you find?"

He looked at me with some confusion.

But I couldn't tell him.

Something I used to be able to quickly point out time and again, to remind him, to joke with him, and to gently hit him with, the trace of "citing the work of others" was gone.

I can't find any trace of his reference.

希望

I don't have any ideals or dreams.

I know that the future is always unpredictable.

Therefore, even if you set a goal early on, it won’t be easy to achieve, or even impossible to achieve. It’s useless to set a goal that’s completely incompatible with who you are without understanding your true talents.

So...I have no dreams or ideals.

As long as you follow your parents' wishes and study hard, and don't think about useless things... you will definitely find a career that suits you in the future, and you will always do what is right for you.

...Is that what I really think...?

No...definitely not.

I have things I want to do and a career I want to have... but that's impossible.

Since you have been told that it is "impossible", don't think about those impossible things.

I used to own a lot of things.

When I read Fabre's "The Insect World", I developed a desire to study insects, and then I followed the methods in the book to catch insects and make specimens.

Every time I completed one, I felt like I was one step closer to becoming an entomologist...but things didn't go as I expected.

When my parents found out, they were furious with me because… “This kind of stuff won’t help you improve your grades, and it will only affect your studies.”

So, the specimens I spent a lot of effort and time to make were thrown into the trash can as worthless garbage and disappeared.

My dream of becoming an entomologist ended like this.

I also like comics.

Because those cartoonists can use the characters' voices, expressions and actions to show stories that are either passionate or touching...so I like comics more than reading those somewhat boring texts.

pity...

When I was immersed in the story, the hand of reality reached out and snatched the comic away from my hand.

"You spent all day in class watching this kind of stuff... now you can be proud of yourself for doing well in school?"

"........"

I can't refute it because it was indeed my fault.

"Don't let me see this kind of rubbish book again."

These words were accompanied by the sound of a book being torn.

The comics I loved disappeared.

"Can I keep it?"

The abandoned stray cat had snow-white fur without a single stray hair. It didn't look very big and was very cute. When I approached it, it didn't run away, but looked at me, as if wanting me to adopt it.

So I made this request to my mother.

"We don't have room for a cat in our house."

"Give it half of my room."

"Cats have lots of parasites...fleas and all that."

"I'll insist on giving it a bath."

"Urinating and defecating everywhere will stain the clothes and sofa at home..."

"I'll teach it to behave..."

"That's impossible. Don't say that. If I say I won't raise it, then I can't raise it."

"But..."

"No buts. Now put it back where it came from, or I'll throw it away myself."

Yeah, I should have known that.

The compassion of adults has long been worn away with age, and a helpless life is no match for the cleanliness of household items.