If someone asks me what is the most satisfactory article I have written in my life, I usually say: next. But it's not. My most satisfactory article has already been completed. It is a composition in the third grade of primary school. Funny to say, because I can't even remember the title of this most satisfactory article. It was the first class in my head teacher's class on a sleepy summer afternoon. She is my first Chinese teacher, surnamed Xu. One of the things I can do in my life is to please all Chinese teachers. Although I got a bad eye in other subjects, especially science teachers, it was the Chinese teacher who saved me every time. "I saw his article in the evening paper yesterday. It's really good." "In fact, they are gifted, just lazy." "A child who writes well will not be bad." It was these tearful comments that made my father not completely strangle me after every parent meeting. When I was most energetic, I was naturally in teacher Xu's composition evaluation class. Because every composition I write will be used as a model. Every word read out made me immersed in the daydream of the female students around me for a long time. It was the proudest class of the week and my most proud moment. And the composition class that day was an accident. The assigned composition book should be completed at noon. At noon, I took pictures with my deskmate, and I was going to finish my composition in the first math class in the afternoon. Suddenly learned that the first section was temporarily changed to composition class, and then I was stupid. When I heard Mr. Xu call my name to recite the composition, the whole person exploded. People's memory is to store scenes. There are only a few scenes that I have an impression of primary school life, but that moment is very clear. Everything has become a upgraded lens: the sympathetic eyes of my deskmate, the blazing summer sunshine outside the window, Mr. Xu's expectant smile, me who was so nervous that I felt sick, and the dazzling white composition book that didn't write a word. So many years later, when I encounter a sudden stimulus, that picture will emerge. No advice! That was the only thought that flashed through my mind. I can give advice when I get the math paper, when I do a natural experiment, or even when I pass a small note to the class flower. Only now, can't be counselled. Then I read it. Looking at me like watching aliens at the same table, I began to read a composition that didn't exist on the blank paper. Starting from the title, and then the first paragraph, it was still a little astringent at the beginning, and then the sentences in my mind jumped out one by one, like the awakened soldiers in line, so smooth that I was surprised until I finished the composition of 800 words in the last sentence. When I sat down, I realized that Miss Xu was praising me as usual, but I didn't pay attention to what she was saying. My hands were sweating and shaking slightly. The only deskmate who knew the secret didn't close his mouth for a long time. For the first time, he watched me in silence for a whole class. For the vast majority of my primary school students, that class has long been forgotten as one of countless boring classes. Not to regard it as right. Not to regard it as right class queen, but to make complaints about the composition of a non existence, the people who are in love are listening to it. The disapproving people still disagree. The class flower may have stolen a glance at me. The math teacher may be in the Office tucking me. The school worker may have passed by the door. All in all, it was a meaningless afternoon for the world. For me, this lesson taught me one thing: don't let the people who love you down. This is important. During the Qingming Festival, I accompanied my mother to visit grandma's grave as usual. We went up the mountain in the bustling crowd who didn't know whether to mourn or play, put out sacrifices as usual, burn paper money, sweep the dust off the tombstone, kowtow, and then left. When I went down the mountain, while listening to my mother's gossip, I suddenly realized that it would take a long time to remember grandma. And she's only been away for a few years. I was basically brought up by her. When my father chased me all over the yard, she protected me; When I went to school to buy small things, she slipped me pocket money; I've been writing for so long because she only shows me one comic book in her cabinet every day. It was she who told me the truth of cooking. She said that the ingredients are like people living and they have no confidence in their future, but they should be comfortable with the situation. For example, tomatoes, eggs and cucumbers are hot dishes without effort. When they meet cucumbers, they try their best, that is, cold dishes. That dumped all the soul chicken soup I've heard since I grew up. She loves me. However, I can't remember that her appearance didn't make me too sad. Because the only advantage of her leaving early is that she doesn't have to face all the things that may not make her proud in my later life. I can be dissatisfied with myself, but I don't want her who loves me to be disappointed. The older people are, the more they understand the truth that is difficult to say. For example, most people care about you only because it concerns themselves, and there are few people who really love you unconditionally except close relatives. So over the years, I often do bastard things, but I didn't forget to try not to disappoint the people who really love me. Because only if you don't let them down can you have hope. You can't say it. What you say will be insincere. We make up a different past for ourselves when we are young and for others when we are old. The real part, maybe only now. And living in the present is not only for yourself, but also for not letting the people who love you down.

If someone asks me what is the most satisfactory article I have written in my life, I usually say: next. But it's not. My most satisfactory article has already been completed. It is a composition in the third grade of primary school. Funny to say, because I can't even remember the title of this most satisfactory article. It was the first class in my head teacher's class on a sleepy summer afternoon. She is my first Chinese teacher, surnamed Xu. One of the things I can do in my life is to please all Chinese teachers. Although I got a bad eye in other subjects, especially science teachers, it was the Chinese teacher who saved me every time. "I saw his article in the evening paper yesterday. It's really good." "In fact, they are gifted, just lazy." "A child who writes well will not be bad." It was these tearful comments that made my father not completely strangle me after every parent meeting. When I was most energetic, I was naturally in teacher Xu's composition evaluation class. Because every composition I write will be used as a model. Every word read out made me immersed in the daydream of the female students around me for a long time. It was the proudest class of the week and my most proud moment. And the composition class that day was an accident. The assigned composition book should be completed at noon. At noon, I took pictures with my deskmate, and I was going to finish my composition in the first math class in the afternoon. Suddenly learned that the first section was temporarily changed to composition class, and then I was stupid. When I heard Mr. Xu call my name to recite the composition, the whole person exploded. People's memory is to store scenes. There are only a few scenes that I have an impression of primary school life, but that moment is very clear. Everything has become a upgraded lens: the sympathetic eyes of my deskmate, the blazing summer sunshine outside the window, Mr. Xu's expectant smile, me who was so nervous that I felt sick, and the dazzling white composition book that didn't write a word. So many years later, when I encounter a sudden stimulus, that picture will emerge. No advice! That was the only thought that flashed through my mind. I can give advice when I get the math paper, when I do a natural experiment, or even when I pass a small note to the class flower. Only now, can't be counselled. Then I read it. Looking at me like watching aliens at the same table, I began to read a composition that didn't exist on the blank paper. Starting from the title, and then the first paragraph, it was still a little astringent at the beginning, and then the sentences in my mind jumped out one by one, like the awakened soldiers in line, so smooth that I was surprised until I finished the composition of 800 words in the last sentence. When I sat down, I realized that Miss Xu was praising me as usual, but I didn't pay attention to what she was saying. My hands were sweating and shaking slightly. The only deskmate who knew the secret didn't close his mouth for a long time. For the first time, he watched me in silence for a whole class. For the vast majority of my primary school students, that class has long been forgotten as one of countless boring classes. Not to regard it as right. Not to regard it as right class queen, but to make complaints about the composition of a non existence, the people who are in love are listening to it. The disapproving people still disagree. The class flower may have stolen a glance at me. The math teacher may be in the Office tucking me. The school worker may have passed by the door. All in all, it was a meaningless afternoon for the world. For me, this lesson taught me one thing: don't let the people who love you down. This is important. During the Qingming Festival, I accompanied my mother to visit grandma's grave as usual. We went up the mountain in the bustling crowd who didn't know whether to mourn or play, put out sacrifices as usual, burn paper money, sweep the dust off the tombstone, kowtow, and then left. When I went down the mountain, while listening to my mother's gossip, I suddenly realized that it would take a long time to remember grandma. And she's only been away for a few years. I was basically brought up by her. When my father chased me all over the yard, she protected me; When I went to school to buy small things, she slipped me pocket money; I've been writing for so long because she only shows me one comic book in her cabinet every day. It was she who told me the truth of cooking. She said that the ingredients are like people living and they have no confidence in their future, but they should be comfortable with the situation. For example, tomatoes, eggs and cucumbers are hot dishes without effort. When they meet cucumbers, they try their best, that is, cold dishes. That dumped all the soul chicken soup I've heard since I grew up. She loves me. However, I can't remember that her appearance didn't make me too sad. Because the only advantage of her leaving early is that she doesn't have to face all the things that may not make her proud in my later life. I can be dissatisfied with myself, but I don't want her who loves me to be disappointed. The older people are, the more they understand the truth that is difficult to say. For example, most people care about you only because it concerns themselves, and there are few people who really love you unconditionally except close relatives. So over the years, I often do bastard things, but I didn't forget to try not to disappoint the people who really love me. Because only if you don't let them down can you have hope. You can't say it. What you say will be insincere. We make up a different past for ourselves when we are young and for others when we are old. The real part, maybe only now. And living in the present is not only for yourself, but also for not letting the people who love you down.