When I was young, there were few books, and most of the reading was of 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 don't have a talent for writing articles, and I always subconsciously mimic others' wording and sentence structures. 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, overly pretentious and self-consciously artistic, appearing foolish in others' eyes.
I feel conflicted and dare not type on the keyboard. I think back and forth, deleting and rewriting, and forget what I 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 a cycle again.
Besides famous works, I also read good articles written by classmates. This mostly happened in middle school. In elementary school, I couldn't discern levels of writing; at least, I didn't encounter any geniuses. By middle school, others had developed their skills in wording, sentence structure, and narrative. The essays were beautifully written in small script, with smooth and natural narration, precise and elegant word choices. The formal words used were appropriate and graceful; the internet slang was witty and interesting. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't replicate it.
The trend in middle school essays quickly shifted from narrative to argumentative writing. I remember once receiving a high score on an argumentative essay and being 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 fulfill a weekly journal 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 wording was also 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 a suddenly 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 matters again, my mind was 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 responsibility, I can't escape either.
Now that I've graduated from university, it's been a long time since I've read good articles written by 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 consider word choices, how I think about the flow of writing. After reading, I feel guilty; after all, this is not an article I wrote. This imagined memory in my mind must not deceive my future self.
Blogs are not new to me; I've thought many times about writing something to post. But usually, the sentiments I write down are too private, and I fear being ridiculed by others. Writing these words is late at night, unable to sleep, and this piece just fits, so I got up to log into a website I haven't visited in a long time.
I hope friends who read this will be gentle with their words.