Wind on Shoulders: A Tale of Passion and Pursuit
By [Author’s Name]
Zhang Junxia Captured in a Moment
As I embarked on my morning commute, a captivating encounter unfolded at a bustling crossroad. A vibrant young man, in his twenties, clad in sleek cycling attire, swiftly zoomed past me on his mountain bike.
“Whistling” seems the most fitting word to encapsulate the energy exuded by this remarkable individual. His apparel fluttered in the wind, concealing a youthful face adorned with a smile as radiant as the morning sun. Such is the essence of a true cycling enthusiast. In that instance, my mind involuntarily recited Bei Dao’s poignant verse: “The wind is on my shoulders, and the wind is the twinkling stars…”
Interpretations of poetry may differ, but I stubbornly believe that only when one pursues a true passion can they experience the sensation of “the wind on their shoulders.”
An Unlikely Friendship through Art
Weekends often find me seeking solace within the hallowed halls of the library, alternating between devouring literature and penning manuscripts. On one such occasion, I chanced upon a plump adolescent boy. Each visit to the library saw him gravitate towards the latest art magazines, meticulously copying, writing, and sketching with unwavering dedication. I vividly recall an incident when his trusty black pen ran dry, leaving him visibly exasperated. Offering him a replacement, I was rewarded with an exuberant smile and a pack of strawberry-flavored chewing gum produced from his trusty backpack. Thus marked the genesis of a profound bond forged through this act of goodwill.
As our friendship blossomed, I learned that this young lad, burdened with the prospect of a rigid academic life imposed by his resolute mother, dared to steal fleeting moments from his scarce free time. During clandestine half-days away from his rigorous schooling, he secretly made pilgrimages to the library to immerse himself in art materials and indulge his passion for sketching captivating comics. Despite his deep-rooted artistic inclination, his pleas to enroll in art classes had fallen on deaf ears, crushed beneath the weight of his maternal figure’s relentless pursuit of academic excellence.
“My mother’s disapproval forces me to tread this solitary path,” he lamented. The transformation in his countenance upon hearing my earnest desire to lay eyes upon his creations was nothing short of profound. With great enthusiasm, he unveiled a hefty collection of awe-inspiring sketches meticulously arranged within his backpack. Each stroke infused with utmost care and precision, some even infused with elements of science fiction. As I leafed through the pages, I couldn’t help but inquire, “Have you shared these masterpieces with your mother?” His head shook in melancholic denial. “She would tear them apart without a second thought. This backpack, brimming with artistic tools, must be concealed within my classmates’ homes. I dare not reclaim it…”
While the mention of his mother cast a gloom over his spirit, every reference to his artistic endeavors effortlessly rekindled his jubilant nature. On that fateful day, as he bid adieu to the library, he confided in me his elaborate plans of submitting several paintings to a renowned science fiction art competition. Intriguingly, I dared to pose the question, “If you clinch a victory, will you defy your mother and share your triumph?” With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he rode off into the distance, mirthfully proclaiming, “Why dilute the joy? Happiness pursued alone is equally rewarding. I simply revel in the act of painting…”
Basking in the sunlight, illuminating his backpack resplendent with artistic tools, I couldn’t help but wonder about the future this plucky young artist would carve. Uncertain as it may be, one thing remains abundantly clear – this boy, too, possesses “the wind on his shoulders.”
A Personal Reflection
Chance encounters have an uncanny way of prompting introspection. I couldn’t help but contemplate my own journey.
For years, I have harbored an unwavering affinity for writing. Each day, at the crack of dawn, I rise, armed with unrelenting determination to craft a thousand words and immerse myself in literary treasures. Curious souls have often questioned, “Oh, you must surely rake in substantial royalties?” Little do they know that the pursuit of writing, for me, is a reward in itself. Royalties, akin to sweet treats, serve as mere icing on life’s confectionary.
Instead of attempting to explain my ardent truth, a smile suffices as I labor away in the realm I hold dear.
A perpetual wanderer along the path of the pen, I cherish the freedom to follow my dreams, regardless of age. In the realm of middle age, the winds of passion continue to caress my shoulders.
Original title: Wind on shoulders
Zhang Junxia
I went to work in the morning and when I turned at the crossroads, I met a young man in his twenties. He was wearing light cycling clothing and whizzing past me on a mountain bike.
Yes, I can’t find a more suitable word than “whistling” to describe the state of the young man at that time. His clothes were blown high by the wind, and his face was hidden under the helmet so young, and a smile as bright as the morning sun. This is such a young man who loves riding. I suddenly remembered Bei Dao’s poem: “The wind is on my shoulders, and the wind is the twinkling stars…”
I don’t know how other people understand the meaning of this poem, and I stubbornly believe that only when someone does something he really likes can he have “the wind on his shoulders.”
I go to the library almost every weekend, sometimes reading books and sometimes writing manuscripts. Sometimes, I meet a fat boy. Every time he came to the library, he would always go to the magazine area to look for the latest art magazines, sit down and immerse himself in copying, writing and drawing. Once, the black pen he brought out ran out, but he hadn’t finished copying the materials, and he had a very angry look on his face. I handed over a pen, and he smiled happily, took out strawberry flavored chewing gum from his backpack and handed it over. We became close friends in this exchange.
Later, I learned that the boy attended a private middle school and had holidays every ten days or so. During the half day of free time that he tried so hard to get from his mother, he would secretly go to the library to read art materials, and he would also take the opportunity to draw his favorite comics . The reason why he is “secret” is because he has loved art since he was a child, but his mother has always been strong against him. She believes that the only way is to study hard. correct, and has had his request to register repeatedly refused. in art classes after school.
“My mother doesn’t support me, so I can only study on my own!” he said. As soon as he heard that I wanted to see his paintings, the little guy’s eyes immediately lit up. He pulled out a thick pile of sketches from his backpack. I looked at them one by one. There were landscapes and figures, although I don’t know much about art, but I can tell that every picture is drawn very carefully, and some even add science fiction elements. As I flipped through the pages, I said: “The paintings are so good, have you shown them to your mother?” He shook his head: “My mother will tear them up when she sees my paintings. This backpack with painting materials must be hidden in my classmates’ houses. , I dare not take it back at all …”
Although he looked sad when talking about his mother, when the subject turned to painting, he immediately became cheerful. When he left the library that day, he quietly told me that he had carefully prepared several paintings and planned to enter the science fiction painting competition in the magazine. We can’t help but ask: “If you really win the prize, will you tell your mother?” He rode his bike, turned around and laughed: “If you don’t say, it’s okay to be happy alone. I just like painting…”
At that time, the sun happened to fall on his backpack filled with painting materials. I don’t know how far this fat teenage boy can go on the road to paint, but I feel that he is also a child with “the wind on his shoulders”.
I thought about myself again.
I have loved writing for many years. Every morning I get up around five o’clock, write a thousand word essay, and read books. More than one person has curiously asked me: “You usually receive a lot of royalties, right?” I want to say that this is just my dream since I was a child. Writing is a kind of reward, and when I receive royalties, I treat them like candy as a reward in life. …
But in the end, I just smiled and didn’t want to explain, I was still working hard in the field I loved.
I like to be on the road all the time, and I like the feeling that I can follow my dreams no matter how old I am. As I reach middle age, I also have wind on my shoulders.
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