We are all little turtles, moving forward slowly.

I wish I could pause this moment—switching on the CD player, letting Ruby Jane’s melodies flow; opening a document to write an interesting story, using essays one after another to tell my story to the world. No grades, no rejection letters, as if all application results remain forever in the state of "under consideration."  

But we all know this state will eventually break. Just like this album will end in an hour, the hot tea by my side will grow cold, and the video edited at 4 a.m. is one even I don’t want to watch again.  

This isn’t the floating generation—just a young person trying with all their might to escape reality, only to find themselves still in the same place. That summer night, I wrote in my diary: "I’m too restless." At seventeen, I did my best to make my mom prouder. 

But what have the books I’ve read, the movies I’ve watched, and the words I’ve written truly taught me? I was always wondering this, seems like I wanted to achieve everything in a hurry.

The other day, I shared a quote on my social media: "Some days you bloom, some days you grow roots. Both matter." An artist who once submitted work to our project commented: "Growing roots downward and blooming upward are two gestures of the same sacred ritual. In this restless age, telling people to stay relaxed is like empty talk. It’s better to stay true to yourself and let things take their course. Let others be strong; we’ll be like a gentle breeze over the hills. We are all little turtles, moving forward slowly."  

Over these three years of high school, I’ve learned to communicate more thoughtfully, to manage my time, and to reflect on myself. But the greatest irony is that I’ve learned how to carefully consider what makes me happy—only to set aside all the little daily joys that bring me happiness, leaving behind nothing but empty anxiety. It leaves me flustered and lost, and in the process of seeking happiness, I’ve lost the ability to feel it.  

My emotions are always swinging wildly. One moment, I’m shouting, "I’ve never loved the world so much; everything is within reach," and the next, I feel utterly worthless. The works I constructed in my mind become lifeless when they hit reality. I type and retype, only to find the final draft is no different from the first. My brain feels both hollow and painfully full. I’m always saying, "I’m dying," always stuck in the dilemma of knowing what to do but being unable to do it. Those moments in the dorm, laughing hysterically while reciting lines from The Sun Also Rises and then bursting into tears, have become routine.  

They said, "Your task is to flatten your land, not to worry about the time." So I’ve learned to comfort others with the same words like this: "Don’t worry; the IELTS is just a small part of life. You came into this world not just for a good university, a good job, a perfect partner, or a family, but to see how flowers bloom, how water flows, how the sun rises." I can recite these words fluently, but I’m not sure I truly understand them.  I hope one day I can be truly qualified to say these things. Fortunately, I am on the way.

When you feel good, people tend to forgive many things. When you find inner strength, you can’t be bothered to fight with the outside world. The biggest prison is your own mind; if you can’t break free from your obsessions, you’ll be a prisoner wherever you go. This world is just like that—you’ll encounter malice you can’t comprehend, but the meaning of these experiences is to guide you, not to define you. Remember: you can gaze into the abyss, but don’t linger there. The height of life isn’t about how much you see clearly, but how much you let go. The essence of suffering is losing control, and your greatest enemy will always be yourself.  

Everyone in the world has dreams, but dreams can’t put food on the table. They’re destined to be buried because life is cruel and doesn’t pity anyone. The only way is to stay passionate, work hard, persevere, and never forget your original intention.  

"My spear has been dulled by the rain, my warhorse has rusted, but my charge is a Quixotic one—against the windmill named life. I’ll fight you for three hundred rounds! Three hundred rounds!!"