I am writing this small piece partly to remember youth, and partly to leave a mark for the version of myself who lived through that time. Maybe one day, when I look back and find these words again, they will help me recover a few scattered details—the weather, the feelings, and the people we used to be.
Not long ago, I felt a small regret. I could no longer get into my old Sina blog. I had forgotten both the account and the password, and all the posts I had written there since opening it in 2008 were effectively gone. What I wanted back was not really the blog itself, but the self I had been then. Those entries held a truthful record of that period of my life. If they cannot be recovered, then so be it. Regret is also part of life. Maybe without that regret, I would not be writing this now.
What I most wanted to find was one particular post, titled “Step Back.” I remember it so clearly because when I wrote it, the feelings were completely real. It was also meant to carve a small mark into a piece of youthful memory. I no longer remember the exact words, but I was lucky in one way: that article, which belonged only to her and me, was seen by her. In that sense, it gave that stretch of youth a gentle and beautiful ending.
The reason I thought of all this again recently was accidental. On a quiet night, while chatting casually with Ms. Zhang, the conversation drifted back to that youthful memory. And then it seemed as if the wind had stopped in that summer.
That was the year talent shows were everywhere, and Li Yuchun became famous in a way I could not understand then—and still do not fully understand now.
That was the year the actress boys liked most was Liu Yifei, because she was the “fairy sister” in our hearts.
That was the year Jet Li said Fearless would be his last martial arts film. Looking back now, that does not seem to have been quite true, but almost all of us could sing at least a line or two from the theme song.
That was the year Chen Kaige’s big-budget film The Promise came out and met with a cold response, while a short parody called A Murder Caused by a Steamed Bun unexpectedly became popular. Thinking about it now, internet users back then still seemed rather innocent.
That was the year our cassette players were supposed to be playing English listening exercises, while what many of us secretly kept inside were songs like “Invisible Wings,” “Cao Cao,” “Praying to Buddha,” and “Dancing Diva.”
The tiny beauties of that year were hidden in moments no one thought to preserve.
That year, we graduated from high school. It was 2006. Only now do I realize that all of it happened nearly twenty years ago.
My story with her was actually very simple. It was the kind of mutual attraction and liking that grew quietly between two people. I still do not know whether it counts as first love. Perhaps it was one step short. If there had been enough freedom and enough time, maybe it really could have become a proper relationship. But high school did not provide that kind of soil. Besides, we were not as emotionally precocious as high school students seem to be now.
Even so, the affection and fluttering in my heart at the time were absolutely real. Because the attraction went both ways, we were willing to listen to each other’s most private thoughts. We tried to understand each other’s happiness, anger, sadness, and small troubles. That may have been the first time I felt the joy of finding someone who truly understood me. Perhaps that is the most beautiful form of a heart just beginning to awaken.
We were very innocent then. The things we did were nothing dramatic: whispering quietly during self-study, keeping each other company during outdoor morning reading, walking around the sports field after class, occasionally meeting for a brief moment and holding hands on the way back to school. Many things were happening for the first time, just a little beyond ordinary classmates, so everything felt clumsy and pure. Maybe that is why I have always remembered it.
We also exchanged gifts. I still remember that you knew I loved listening to Jay Chou, so you bought me November’s Chopin—although I had already bought it as soon as it came out. Still, it was the first time I felt what it was like to be remembered by someone of the opposite sex, and I was genuinely moved.
I would write letters to you too. Even though our seats were close, I still used that method to express myself. I have completely forgotten what I wrote back then, but the memory of writing is real. If there really were a time machine, I would want to go back and see those words again.
I also remember that your health was not good at the time. By chance, I once ran into you in a hospital corridor. I did not ask too many questions. Perhaps not asking, not disturbing, was also a way of respecting each other’s inner world.
Then graduation season arrived after all. When the final bell of the college entrance exam rang, our high school years came to an end.
Confusion about the future, together with the circumstances of our families, sent us down very different paths. For me, much of those three years of high school was lived in a state of inferiority. Because my father had passed away early, I carried a heavy burden in my heart. Many things were not mine to choose.
In the end, I took the road my family had chosen for me. The small green shoot that had just begun to sprout in my heart could only be watched as it slowly withered, until it became a dry specimen pressed between the pages of time.
Maybe someday, when I gently open the notebook of memory and see that dried specimen again, I will think of the fresh green of that summer, and a faint smile will appear on my face without my noticing.
On September 5, 2006, Jay Chou released Still Fantasy. I liked one song on the album especially: “Step Back.” For a period of time, I played it on repeat again and again. Perhaps its melody and lyrics fit my state of mind then.
Three years later, one day, we got back in touch. You had graduated from university. You were in love. I also spoke with the boyfriend you had at the time, listening to some of what your years had been like.
Knowing that you were doing well made me feel relieved.
I know that in the time when we had lost contact, there must have been sadness and pain on both sides. Even if we never said it, we understood.
The day after that conversation, I wrote the blog post called “Step Back.” It was my way of leaving a mark on that memory.
Fortunately, you saw it too, and you left a comment.
Maybe it really was like the lyric said:
I know neither of us was wrong; we only forgot how to step back. The most beautiful part... remains unfinished in memory.
After that, we became the most familiar ordinary friends in each other’s lives. That, too, gave the regret of youth a perfect full stop.
In the years that followed, not disturbing each other too much may have been the best way to protect that memory.
When I think back to that summer, I remember us lightly embracing as we said goodbye. Neither of us knew then that the gentle wind would remain forever in that moment.
To be continued, perhaps with a beam of light from 2010.