I'm just a joke essay.

I am not an author, because I can't write a little life; I am not a painter, because I can't paint natural colors; I am not a soldier, because I can't keep my original intention.

No matter how I believe, no matter how I fantasize, I will always be just an ant struggling on the ground, never fighting for the light ahead.

No matter how beautiful the heart is, it can't be destroyed by darkness. No matter how high your IQ is, you can only regret it. How can a person compete with the world, and how can a cowardly person protect that beauty?

Perhaps I have blurred my strong intention and forgotten my brave comments. I began to doubt all my beliefs. What am I looking for? Tear the heart full of scars over and over again, but never find the original source. Is it because my' personal experience' gives the world a wrong definition, or is it just my wishful thinking to integrate into the world?

I don't deserve to be a scholar, because I don't have the pride of a scholar, I don't deserve to be an artist, because I can never bear loneliness, I don't deserve to be a soldier, because I always hide behind others ... maybe I just don't deserve to be a man, because I misunderstood the essence of being a man.

I always write a little mood casually, always draw fallen leaves casually, and always play with the taste of soldiers greedily. I'm just a blind imitator.

The accumulation of words and the imitation of sentence patterns leave only the distortion of the mind. Sadness is beautiful because it is true, and beauty is only true.

Maybe I'm starting to become something I hate. Whether it is affectation or compulsion, my injury is only to numb myself. I give up easily and don't try to prove it. Is this loss still a scar?

I confide myself in a narrow space and give all my time to hypocrisy. Me, what's left is naked reality? Do you still want to infer the world from that short experience? You are not learned at all.

A settled heart will never be like this. I'm just lazy and unwilling to do it, so give myself an excuse not to care, and I can't say that I can't do anything. Who is qualified to laugh at other people's choices?

I always thought it was funny that Xu Zhimo divorced Lin so quickly. I always thought Mo Yan was lucky to win the Nobel Prize. I always feel that Jing M. Guo is still squeezing toothpaste. It was always me, not me.