In a depressed atmosphere, I fantasized that I was a little bird, chirping in the sky without restraint; Or a small fish, in the wide waters, free to play, and keep spitting blisters.
Youth Outpost
I've been whistling for a long time, starting to blow at a very young age, from home to school, and back home from school, day after day, year after year.
The elders forbade me to blow, and even my sister, who hurt me the most, was among them. She said it was not good to learn. Because I did not change my teaching, once my mother dragged me home and beat me up. I was so angry that I ran far away in tears and blew bitterly until the evening.
Despite the repeated orders of the elders, I still blow from childhood to adolescence, and from adolescence to the present.
I would blow on the street with my clothes open and shake my head to attract passers-by to see me; I would also blow in the dormitory, and my roommates would be fascinated by it and forget to sleep and eat. Accompanied by a whistle, I was a happy little bird, chirping all day, as if I didn't know what trouble and sorrow were.
Later, I went to high school. While completing heavy study tasks and coping with exams, I still don't forget to whistle.
Whenever the clear whistle sounded, my fatigue would dissipate and my spirit would be refreshed. But the teachers seemed particularly disgusted by my whistle.
Whether in the classroom or on the playground, when they heard it, they would frown and tell me to stop. At one point, my whistle disappeared on campus.
I am struggling in the sea of books and mountains, and I am about to become a stone! In a depressed atmosphere, I fantasized that I was a little bird, chirping in the sky without restraint; Or a small fish, playing freely in the wide waters, spitting out blisters.
One day, I was walking down the street with a few classmates. A classmate suddenly asked, "Why don't you play a song?" As soon as I froze, my heart quickly skimmed a pang of bitterness, and then I became excited again, and silently said in my heart: "Long time gone, my whistle!" As before, I opened my clothes, shook my head and blew up, as painfully as when I was beaten by my mother as a child, and a person ran far away with tears to whistle.
Once, I took a long train. The sound of the rumbling wheels and the noise in the carriage have made me restless, and the child in the arms of the woman opposite is crying again, endlessly, more and more uncomfortable, but how much room can this crowded carriage have?
I turned my head to the window. "Ah, so beautiful!" I couldn't help but shout.
The turquoise fields, the rows of red brick and green tile farmhouses, the sparkling water, swept before my eyes. My eyes fell on a duck, and before I could see the color of its feathers, a farmer farming in the field came into view... I couldn't help but blow again.
The clear whistle drifted through the fields, the woods and the villages, echoing between heaven and earth, and an inexplicable comfort came to my heart. The baby who had been crying earlier smiled at some point, and there were tears on his face.
"Your whistle is so good that my child stops crying when he hears it." The woman across from me said gratefully.
My whistle didn't fade with age. On the little street where my family is located, I have always been the child king. As soon as I left the house, a large group of children surrounded me, pulled on the corners of my clothes and trouser legs, and scrambled to beg: "Teach me to whistle!" Teach me to whistle! ”
I wish they could also spend their childhood in the cheerful and wonderful whistle, develop their own personalities, and not suppress them in the suffocating air like I did. Whenever they surrounded me, I always drove them to the river like ducks and taught them to blow and close their lips. After the college entrance examination, the whole class gathered together, and the students unanimously asked me to play a song. I got up and walked to the middle of the classroom, letting my whistle echo on campus without hesitation.
When I blew "Wait until next year's day", my eyes were moist, and a drop of tears flowed out of my seven-foot boy's eyes without a fight. Intermittent, weeping whistles float through the classroom.
When I got back to my seat, I was surprised to find several of the girls wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs. Whistling is a part of my life, whistling, being able to blow out my troubles, being happy myself: being able to blow happiness out and infecting those around me; Can blow out the truth and touch others. I'm such a whistle-blowing boy.
Don't care about other people's opinions, the whistle of youth can be blown whenever you want! As long as you don't harass others, why not whistle?