Perhaps, not like, but simply is.
1. The clown put on his big nose and red hair, took his props and mounted the stage. Here, a magnificent show was about to unfold.
I put away the novels, put away the MP4, put away the heart that was once full of flamboyance and restlessness, hold a pen tight into the senior year.
Here, this is my stage.
Perhaps, compared to the life, with the stage to describe the senior more apt. Because, in the senior year, the rhythm of life has long been disrupted. Replaced by a well-rehearsed drama. Each student is an actor, but only an extra, appearing and exiting at predetermined times. Then comes the next batch of extras. On the stage, each person is the lead in his or her own right, while being a supporting actor for others.
And I, destined to be like a clown, on the empty stage, play a one-man show that belongs only to myself. Neither the main character of myself nor the supporting role of others. I've been trying to repeat everything awkwardly, just so that I can fight for my own smile once in a while.
2, the clown performed stepping on the ball, throwing apples and other acrobatics, and then played the circle, the pattern is endless. The time, without realizing it, has passed.
Standing on the stage of the senior year, I was silent for a while, and then will be down, answer the questionnaire.
This was my only performance.
Exams are a key word throughout senior year. Weekly exams, monthly exams, and joint exams come and go like a clown's circus. If the clown does not play tricks, it loses the significance of being a clown; if we do not take exams, we also lose the significance of being a senior student. Therefore, I can only silently pick up my pen on stage. This is my performance, boring but unique.
When clowns play tricks, time always passes briskly in a pleasant atmosphere. But on the stage of senior high school, in the boring and tedious exams, time slips so quickly too. Often still in the last round of monthly exams for the loss and sad, a new round of blows and drifted. A month, so short, as if in a flash.
3. The clown's brilliant performance won the audience's praise, and the whole audience hooted and hollered.
I unfolded the test paper, exposing the scores as if displaying a wound.
The stage was empty. I had no audience.
I had a whole bunch of classmates, but they weren't my audience. Most of them were like me, displaying wounds on their own stage.
The teacher wasn't my audience either. "Our goal is 'everyone can get an undergraduate degree, the key rating is first, the famous brand is not unique'" he said, full of the desire for high scores, a desire even stronger than ours.
Parents weren't my audience either. They would tap me on the shoulder, "Son, how come you only scored so much again this time. You really have to work hard, or you won't be able to get into a good college and find a job later." The anxiety in their eyes was even greater than mine.
I just mechanically lifted the pen and answered the paper on the stage.
I had no audience.
4. The show was nearing its end. The clown finally pulls out the stops and ignites the final passion.
The college entrance exam is the last show for senior students. But for most, it's not their best show.
It's not passion that the college entrance exam ignites.
Rather, it's fear.
The teachers' fear, the parents' fear, our fear.
The epilogue, I wonder what kind of tragedy it will be.
5. The show is over, and the clown walks off the stage, brewing up another performance.
Senior year is a real documentary, just this one. When it's over, it will never be repeated.
I was a clown, alone on the stage, showing myself, documenting myself, grieving myself.
Only waiting for June of next year, to perform my last show.
Then, curtain call forever.