Essay on Full Score in the 2009 College Entrance Examination
Friendship between Green Leaves and Roots (Zhejiang)
When grandpa began to taste the aged Longjing brewed four times, he came to pay his respects. The guests have gradually dispersed. My mother held my hand tightly and said goodbye to the land where I was born and raised. I smiled bitterly, it turns out there is no permanent hometown, we will always be passers-by.
After handling grandma’s funeral, grandpa no longer stuck to this land where countless memories were left, and followed us to the city obediently. However, walking on the cobblestone path, I saw my grandpa looking back countless times. The deep attachment and unspeakable helplessness eventually turned into a drop of turbid tears, slowly flowing back into my heart.
Farewell, I heard these two words.
Grandpa in the city still gets up early every day. This seems a bit unusual in a city that is accustomed to nightlife but disdains the morning sunshine. However, grandpa didn't care about those strange looks, and still wore his old blue work clothes that had been washed white and shuttled around every corner of the community every day. He cultivated a flower field on the abandoned land in front of the building, sown all kinds of strange seeds, and worked on it every day, with a serious look on his face as if he was completing a sacred mission.
Only I know my grandfather’s loneliness. Because I also have such loneliness. I miss the old house in my hometown. The melodious chirping of orioles every morning, the melancholy moaning of the wooden stairs, the tiny bits of sunlight that shine through the green bamboo forest, and the unforgettable earthy scent with a light fragrance.
In this piece of reinforced concrete, I can no longer find such a simple and pure smiling face. I see that every time my grandfather wants to wave his hand, he puts it down helplessly as he passes by indifferently. There is always an urge to cry.
Back then, my grandfather was a high-spirited green leaf. He could temporarily leave his roots and wander far away, looking for his own scenery. However, now, this green leaf has quietly withered, and he needs to go back and reunite with his hometown. Stay together forever.
It was my grandfather’s eightieth birthday, and relatives and friends gathered together on this occasion. I looked around, but I couldn’t find my grandfather. I quietly got up and left the banquet hall. I saw grandpa lingering in front of the window in the corner. I went over and held Grandpa's hand. Grandpa moved his lips and said, "I want to go home." He seemed like a sheltered child seeking home.
"Okay, let's go home together." I saw my own shadow in my grandfather. Everyone is a green leaf. No matter how far it floats, it has been deeply imprinted on that land. , yes, this is the helpless and sweet fate of every green leaf.
Then, let us work hard with our affection for our roots, and then hold hands and go home before sunset.
Nostalgia (Zhejiang)
The vast river carries the sailing boat on an expedition, but the boat understands that the direction of the lighthouse when it comes is the harbor that is most attached to the heart; the blue The sky carries the flying wings of doves, but the direction of home is so clear. Just like the attachment flowing in the river and the thoughts passing in the sky, when a familiar term appears in my mind, my heart always flutters.
I was once so amazed by the magnificence of fallen leaves and felt the ultimate beauty. The distance between the branches and the ground is only a few meters, but the leaves resolutely break free and let the wind fly and spin: let the car crush it to pieces, it still sings, spinning towards the roots with moving beauty. I asked Luo Ye, Luo Ye said nothing. It should be the emotion emanating from within, and I slowly realized it.
Until that year, the sunshine was warm, blowing through the little excitement in my heart, the spring breeze was warm, but it blew through the faint bitterness in my heart, and the cypress trees in front of the door rustled, swaying the reluctance in my heart. , that day our family moved to the city. Gone are the crystal dewdrops in the early morning, the elegance and elegance evaporating from the local flavor of smoked bean tea, and the comfort of strolling on the field ridges under the spring rain holding an umbrella. I got into the waiting car in front of the door and looked at the beautiful shadow of the ancient house reflected in the sun. My memory was sealed in this peaceful courtyard. In the direction that was gradually going away, I shed tears. I couldn't stop falling and flowed from the bottom of my heart. of.
Far away from my hometown, everything is so novel in a strange city, but I seem to feel more and more homesick. At this time, I seemed to be able to truly appreciate the determination of the fallen leaves to break free from the branches. This is the strength of family and the strength of roots. An essay by Lin Yutang once gave me deep comfort. When he was a child, he lived on Gulangyu Island, very close to the sea. He often listened to the sea with his father at the beach. He often asked his father about the picture on the other side of the sea. He longed for it. Finally, he flew over the sea, but the sea was beautiful. It still lingered deeply in his heart. He said: "When I crossed the sea by plane, I felt that it was actually very small, and when I looked at my hometown from the other side of the sea, it was so remote." This short sentence is so meaningful, because homesickness It is the most beautiful language in the world.
Every living thing has its roots and a thread that pulls it, flowing with the most beautiful emotions in the world. There is Lake Titicaca at the junction of Peru and Bolivia, and there is a group of Uru people living on it. How many springs and autumns have passed by, they are still living on the floating islands. When the Inca civilization gradually faded away, when the greenhouse effect hit Come, he still insists on sticking to it. They said: "That is the water where the roots grow. The roots cannot be uprooted or moved."
Those are such simple but so moving words, with The desire to search like that, with the irrepressible attachment, to return to that familiar land, holding a cup of green smoked bean tea in hand, walking on the country road, feeling the earth filled with moisture. The fragrance is as ecstatic as Taiy's mass. At that moment, I felt like I was melting. I casually pulled up the wild flowers on the roadside, and I was amazed by the lushness of the roots, which produced the brilliant colors. At that time, I found the answer I had been tracking.
When I was young, I was about to set sail, with a book and a cup of tea, filled with nostalgia. There was always a lighthouse in my heart, shining in the direction I came from.
Standing on tiptoes (Hunan)
I stood on tiptoes and leaned forward to look anxiously at the turning point of the road. Why hasn’t the minibus arrived yet? I’ve been waiting for more than ten minutes. Minutes...
Today is the Dragon Boat Festival, the school has a day off, and the college entrance examination will be in a month. I am very tired, but I feel at ease. It has become like this. I can't go to Tsinghua and Peking University. I should be fine with an undergraduate degree. Well, the anxious mood gradually calmed down, and the results of each monthly exam flashed like a movie.
"Didi", the car finally arrived. There were not many people, maybe because it was noon. I sat by the window. The minibus shuttled between the mountains and plains. The mountains were green and green. trees, green rice fields on the roadside, and occasionally you can see people carrying medicine cartridges to spray medicine. When passing some people's houses, I saw peach trees hanging with peaches and plums, and boiling water hung on bamboo poles in the yard. Blanched rice dumpling leaves.
After passing through the orange grove in the back hill, I reached my yard. I shouted, "Mom, I'm back." My mother walked out of the house, wiped her hands on her apron twice, and smiled. He took the school bag.
"Why did you come back so late?"
"There were a lot of people on the bus in the morning, so I read a book for a while!"
"Are you sure?"
p>"Yes!"
"You are just overconfident!"
Mom just laughed, her face was full of wrinkles, and then a peeled rice dumpling arrived. I had it on hand. When I was a kid, I would wait until midnight to eat a freshly cooked rice dumpling. Now I feel that the taste of the rice dumplings is not good, so my mother brought out the peach and peeled it for me.
Lunch included fish, meat, eggs, and wild mushrooms picked by my mother. My mother kept asking me to eat more, but I was rude. Before I could swallow the meat, the fish was stuffed in. In my mouth, I even soaked the broth in the rice and ate it, which made me feel better.
At around three o'clock in the afternoon, I had to go to school again. This time I had to wait until the college entrance examination was over before I could come back.
My mother gave me 400 yuan.
"It's only the last month, eat well!"
"I know..." I drawled.
"Don't worry, I will definitely give you a bachelor's degree!"
I was carrying a bag, and my mother was carrying two prepared meat dishes and a bag of peaches. and plums.
"Mom, I don't want it anymore, it's so heavy!"
"Put it in the car, I don't want you to carry it. When you get to Taoyuan, I'll send you there for four yuan a taxi." It's school."
I walked in front of me on the small road, and my mother walked behind me. I walked side by side with my mother on the road.
"Mom, when I am admitted to Hunan Normal University, we will have fun in Changsha."
"I haven't even passed the exam yet!"
"Mom, when I find a tutor, I will take you to live in Changsha."
"Why hasn't the car come yet today?" I stood on tiptoes and leaned forward, and my mother patted me. dust, tidying up my collar, and started nagging again...
"Didi", finally, the car came, I squeezed in, my mother handed me the things, and then stood there, the car door It was turned off, the wind blew my mother's hair, and my trouser legs were empty. I waved, and my mother waved too...
It was very far away, and we were about to turn. I stood on tiptoes, lying on the window, watching Even my mother stood on tiptoes and leaned out to wave to me...
I said the post-90s generation (Tianjin)
The "post-90s generation" still wears green and blue clothes with patches, Carrying a "military shoulder bag", singing "Sailing the sea depends on the helmsman", reciting the "three old chapters" of revolution, opening his mouth for revolution and keeping his mouth closed for communism, always ready to liberate all mankind, and walking with high spirits in the world. As the so-called "post-50s" and "post-60s" on the streets of China's modern cities in the so-called first century, what do you think? Is it pride, pride, and the mixed feelings that inspire you to have beautiful memories of the passionate years of the revolutionary era, or is it self-blame and sigh: 60 years later, our descendants have not changed our poor and backward appearance and simple direction. What about your thinking?
I think when we are no longer like the "post-70s" and "post-80s" who shyly say "I am a little bird, I want to fly but I can't fly high. When we are helpless and confused, looking for a warm embrace, is such a request too high?, we "post-90s" are more willing to confidently sing "I want to fly higher, fly higher" "High, dancing like the strong wind, breaking free from the embrace, I want to fly higher, fly higher, the wings are rolling up the storm, and the heart is roaring", what we show is an optimistic attitude, confident character, personality and self Exploration of value, openness and tolerance of the world.
Of course, we also have many shortcomings and shortcomings: we pursue glamor, pay attention to fashion, love to play with individuality and fresh vocabulary, like the "cool" and "pull" idol temperament, lack the simplicity, hard work and down-to-earth, Tough, even a little selfish, fragile, undisciplined, rebellious, lacking collective consciousness and belief, it has modern and gorgeous leaves, but lacks the roots of national tradition. However, how many of the ills that society attributes to the "post-90s generation" are our appearances, such as the clothes we wear, which are just different colors, and how many of them are just extremely individual "points" rather than "faces". Or how much of it is a problem of the overall mechanisms and systems that produce our "assembly line" - family, society, education, examinations, talent evaluation, employment security, democracy and legal system, and people's beliefs and values? This is indeed a question that we "post-90s" and society need to think deeply about.
But just as every era has its own spiritual color and pursuit, our ancestors advocated "communism", although they lacked concrete knowledge and independent understanding of such ideals. Thinking, but with such an ideal as support, they were united and unswerving, and created one miracle after another under the difficult conditions of poverty and poverty. But our national ideals and spirit still continue to this day. Have we "post-90s" forgotten? No. That kind of spirit and state, such kind of tenacity and fearlessness, such kind of courage and mind, are actually inherited and flowing in our bodies like blood.
But as the "post-90s generation", we also shoulder the mission of reform and innovation, advancing with the times and scientific development, and making our country and homeland more prosperous and stronger. If we still think in the same direction as our fathers did, and still follow the old ways like them, and still use abacus to develop and calculate the ballistic trajectories of new missiles, I think even if we continue to eat chaffy vegetables, our ragged simplicity will not help in the end.
I still like Chairman Mao’s poem: “If you count the famous people, you still need to look at the present day.” As the "post-90s generation", we have no reason to feel inferior, let alone not be confident. The motherland must be strong and the nation must be prosperous. Here we come! The youthful style with your head held high and your chest high is here!
This is also a kind of power (Fujian)
A smile is just like a flowing stream, soft and tranquil; a smile is just like the hanging crescent moon, bright and bright; a smile is just like The tall and tall pine trees accumulate all kinds of strength...
If there is a kind of power that can make people persevere, it is the power of smile; if there is a kind of power that can make people confident Full, that is the power of smile; if there is a power that can make people feel warm, it is the power of smile!
That time the sky collapsed and the earth shook, and the high-rise buildings instantly turned into rubble. How many lives were calling for help under the rubble. When a PLA soldier successfully lifted a little boy and put him into the stand, he smiled softly and saluted the soldiers with his dusty right hand! This is the smile of a child and the smile of people in the disaster area who are full of hope for the future. It conveys so much: live optimistically and strongly, thank all the friends who care about the disaster area, I am fine.
Maybe the little boy never thought much. He only knew that every day was sunny, and smiling was the best reward for himself.
We like smiles, the curling of the corners of the mouth, the curvature, and even more, the power it conveys.
Olympic Games volunteers, no matter what the occasion, face people of any color or nationality, they always smile. This not only shows the grace of a big country, but also shows the inclusive attitude of the Chinese nation. It is conveying a kind of power to the whole world, a kind of power that embraces all rivers and embraces the world!
And those 2008 smiling faces from all over the world also convey the irresistible power of smile.
There is no need for Li Bai's laughter of "I smile up to the sky and go out, how can I be a Penghao people"; I don't need the bloody laughter of "I am smiling to the sky with my sword across my sword, leaving my liver and gallbladder intact" ; There is no need for the beautiful smile of "when a concubine rides on the earth and smiles, no one knows it is a lychee"... These smiles may be too wild and uninhibited, or too strong and tenacious, or they may be full of charm. And what we need is just a shallow knowing smile.
People can easily remember Premier Wen’s kind smile, which was a smile from the bottom of his heart that was full of confidence. In the face of the financial crisis, he remained calm and calm, and he still smiled when faced with tough questions from foreign reporters. He is like a generation of Confucian scholars, treating others in a gentle and courteous manner. Isn't his smile also a kind of power? This is the power of laughter in life!
Smile, like a high-held torch, has been passed on all over the world, under the blue sky...
When people help you in trouble, you A smile is gratitude and the power of affection; when others step on you accidentally, your smile is the power of tolerance and generosity; when misfortune attacks you and you smile in return, your smile becomes strong and brave The power!
If the whole world was full of love and smiles, there would be no more Iraq war, Palestinian-Israeli conflict and North Korean nuclear issue. We, as the masters of the new century, will shoulder the responsibility given to us by history, which is to spread smiles as a force to every corner of the world...
Standing at the door of the old house (Hubei)
A low wooden house with only a layer of gray tiles on the roof. Time has eroded the door of the old house. And I lingered at the door, thinking about ordinary little things.
My grandfather used to guard the old house. He likes to sit at the door, smoking leisurely puff after puff of self-rolled dry cigarettes. And every time he choked and his face turned red, he would hurriedly ask me to slap his back. That scene repeated itself for several years. And in my impression, the setting sun that dyed the door of the old house red, fell and rose again, rose and fell again. Inadvertently, grandpa disappeared. The door of the old house creaked and swayed in the wind, and what it swayed was just waves of desolate heartache. After all, there was no one sitting at the door of the old house.
Later, she moved to a new house, but grandma insisted on staying in that old house. She didn't explain, she just sat silently like grandpa, and no one could disobey her. But being a little sensible, I think that the door of this old house carries too much. When I get home from school, I like to lie down on the small bench at the door of my old house and do my homework. It’s quiet there and I can keep my grandma company. Grandma likes to chatter about past events that I am curious about. Occasionally, old ladies in twos and threes would gather at the door of the old house, talking about who would be buried first, just like a normal family affair. But I occasionally hear my grandma complaining alone, complaining that the bad old man left too early. At that time, I didn’t know whether grandma was leaning on the door or whether the door was leaning on grandma. Alone, with tears in my eyes, I listened to her whimpering, but couldn't cry out.
As time passed, the old house became a crumbling and dilapidated building. The people in the village persuaded Dad to demolish the house, but I refused. Of course, Dad also refused to agree. I remember that he walked with me to the padlocked door of the old house and heard him murmur: "When I am old, I will still live in this house." I think I understand: my grandparents have all gone here. Dad expected to see their figures at the door; as he was approaching middle age, he also thought about his own destination. At that time, I responded innocently: "Dad, when I grow old, I will live in this house too." Dad said nothing, touched the small wooden door, turned around and left. I think he didn't want to cry at the door of the old house, fearing that his grandparents would be sad to see him.
Now, I stand at the door of the old house, unwilling to push it open, because I am afraid of touching those dusty past events. But some things, like the door of an old house, have gone through too much but remain silent. I dare not disturb the silence and vicissitudes of the years, but I think that there may be only one door between today and tomorrow. We are all standing at the door of the years, wandering, recalling the past things and the past people.
I stood at the door of the old house, thinking about those ordinary little things. The door of the old house is locked by time.
I stood at the door of the station
The station is a stage where farewells and reunions are constantly being staged. The protagonists of this scene of farewell and reunion are always changing, but what remains unchanged is that this is the same platform.
The protagonist of the drama is changing. One day, I became the protagonist in this drama. It’s a cold day in spring, a season full of joy and vitality. At the same time, in my eyes, it’s also a season of frustration. One day, my parents got up early in the morning and were busy packing things. Still in the transition zone between dreamland and reality, I suddenly heard a faint cry. I opened my hazy sleepy eyes and found my dear mother's face under the dim light, with some tears hanging on it, and a look of sadness written on her face. I crawled into my mother's arms and asked her what was wrong, but she didn't say anything. But my father, who had always been silent, spoke up: Today we are going to work in other provinces, and we may only come back once a year... I cried at that time, because I didn't want my parents to leave. But none of this helps. Grandma took me with my face full of tears and stood at the door of the station to say goodbye to my mother and father. Then he watched them get into the car. The car started slowly, gradually became a dot, and gradually disappeared in the foggy morning, leaving only my grandma and I standing at the door of the station, sobbing... From then on, the station stayed in my memory. From time to time, I would stand at the door of the station, hoping that the car going away would bring my blessings to my mother and father, and that the car coming back would bring me news about my father and mother. I will stand at the door of the station and continue my drama of farewell and anticipation of reunion at the station.
The leaves turn green and yellow, fall off when they turn yellow, and grow again after they fall off. The world has been changing, but the drama on the platform has not changed. It is still happening. What has changed is still just the protagonist.
I have become the person who said goodbye to me more than ten years ago, and my parents who have gone away more than ten years ago have become the person to say goodbye to now. Every morning when I return to school, my mother will always get up early as she did when she was far away, pack my luggage, prepare breakfast for me, and then send me to the station to continue this endless play. Thousands of warnings and instructions: study hard, pay attention to your health, eat more, drink less cold water... There is always endless "nagging", a kind of nagging that makes people feel warm in their hearts. The car drove away. Through the window, although the light outside was dark, I could clearly see the reluctance in my mother's eyes and the tears in her eyes. When I leave, I feel infinite reluctance and nostalgia; when I return, my eyes are full of ecstatic excitement. But my eyes are always wet no matter when I leave or when I come back.
Standing at the door of the station, wishing those who are far away a safe journey; standing at the door of the station, waiting for the safe return of those who miss you. There is a station in my heart, a station where farewells and reunions are constantly happening. I will always stand at the door of the station to say goodbye, to bless, to wait, and to gather.
I Have a Pair of Invisible Wings (Beijing)
I once heard the song "Invisible Wings", with its beautiful melody and beautiful lyrics. Yes, each of us has a pair of invisible wings. It is with them that we can be full of hope and fly far away. For me, those wings are those seemingly heavy books. It is with them that I can be full of dreams and fly far away.
The Qing Dynasty poet Zeng Chao once wrote in "You Meng Ying": "There are mountains and rivers in the scroll." Yes, the book has its own golden house, its own beauty is like jade, and the words of the predecessors are still in my ears. . Reading is a process of understanding. That book is like a pair of invisible wings, taking me across the long river of history, watching the clouds roll and relax, and the flowers bloom and fall. So I saw Su Dongpo dancing under the bright moon, singing "May I live a long life, thousands of miles away from the beauty of the moon"; I saw Thoreau sitting alone in Walden Pond fishing for a day in the stars, with endless leisure on his face; I saw thousands of years of emperors Generals and ministers have seen the rise and fall of thousands of years. Yes, books are like wings. They take my soul out of the narrow window, allowing me to appreciate the world without leaving home, broaden my horizons, and enrich my thoughts.
God’s will is always difficult to determine, and life cannot always be smooth sailing. When I encounter setbacks and pain, it is books, those invisible wings, that take me through many obstacles and fly in the blue sky. For example, when I feel helpless because of my exam results, I will read "Dongpo Yuefu" and let the broad-minded optimism of "taking care of my life under the rain" wash away my depressed mood; another example is when I quarrel with my friends. , Bo Yaziqi's melody of mountains and flowing water will play in my heart, reminding me of the preciousness of friendship; and when I am confused and helpless and lose my goal, Hawking's firm figure who wrote "A Brief History of Time" will appear in my mind. In front of me, let me regain my goal. Yes, books are like wings. They help me get rid of the entanglement of the quagmire, find the goal of life, and fly straight to the beautiful sky.
Because I am obsessed with books, I am also obsessed with writing and doodling. So being a writer became a big dream for me. The ancients said: "If you read thousands of volumes, you will write like a god." Yes, if you don't have rich cultural accumulation, how can you write decent works? As a result, books have become a pair of indispensable invisible wings for me. They carry my dreams, pass through the blinding dark clouds, and take me to the other side of my dreams.
The familiar melody seemed to come to my ears again: I have a pair of invisible wings that take me to fly and give me hope. I have a pair of invisible wings that take me to fly far away. Yes, books are my invisible wings. They enrich my vision, guide my direction in life, and take me to the other side of success.
Books, my invisible wings!
Taste of Fashion (Jiangsu)
"I will send you away, thousands of miles away, you are silent and black and white..." A song "Thousands of Miles Away" was sung all over the country, bringing Jay Chou to the stage. The popular darling of the world has once again pushed the fashion climax. When this familiar melody rings in my ears, a young and energetic face always flashes before my eyes.
But you know what? There is another figure who is very different from this image but is a household name, who also performed this popular music - the famous CCTV announcer: Luo Jing.
"Hello, viewers, this is CCTV..." Every night at seven o'clock sharp, that kind face always appears on the screen on time, and that familiar voice always echoes among hundreds of millions of viewers. 's ear. His solemn, generous and unsmiling broadcasting style has firmly captured the hearts of countless people.
This widely loved announcer actually has another side that no one knows. On January 20, 2008, in the variety show "Happy China Tour", Luo Jing, who has always been rigorous, showed off his singing voice and sang "Thousands of Miles Away". Give this stylish song a hearty performance. Looking at his engaged expression and intoxicating smile, he seems to be a "fashionista" who is following the fashion trend. I couldn't believe my eyes! Is this still the serious announcer? When I was surprised, I thought: It turns out that he, like us, has a passion for perceiving and pursuing fashion.
We saw a brand new Luo Jing, a completely different Luo Jing from the previous ones on the screen, and a Luo Jing who is equally energetic and fashionable.
However, his work does not allow him to appear in front of us in such an image. All of a sudden, all kinds of criticism came flooding in. Yes, he is the representative of the country’s image and the communicator of the Voice of China. This heavy responsibility does not allow him to make even a slight change. So, day after day, year after year, he became the solemn and serious Luo Jing he was before. Until August 31, 2008, from that day on, he completely disappeared from TV. A piece of unfortunate news came: Luo Jing had to leave the "News Network" studio and be hospitalized for treatment because of lymphoma.
Ten months later, Luo Jing, an outstanding broadcaster who devoted his whole life to the broadcasting industry, passed away. He left his beloved broadcasting career forever and left hundreds of millions of viewers who loved him.
Luo Jing is like Bach's "Twelve Equal Temperaments", so rigorous that it is almost rigid. Is it really lacking the wildness of Beethoven, the freehand brushwork of Chopin, the freedom of jazz, and the unrestrainedness of Latin music? A song "Thousands of Miles Away" gave us the best answer.
He made huge sacrifices because of his work and public image. Today, he left us forever. Looking at the vast sea of ??condolences and blessings, I suddenly realized: Luo Jing's composure, rigor, courage to sacrifice and forbearance are actually not inferior to Jay Chou and others at all. I hope this spirit can always become a new fashion that inspires us to be positive.