Collec consciousness,i like it.I agree with you，most short-video media are corrupting our minds to varying degrees. They make us increasingly unwilling to think, and people begin to blindly believe fragmented and disjointed information online. I dislike this approach, and even

Today I want to share someone from my life: my grandmother. She passed away two years ago. When I was a child, my cousin and I played in her yard. There was a tree, and every summer we picked fruit and played under it. My grandmother was tall and often angry. I don’t remember

Today, I want to remember my grandpa. In my memory, he was a very kind person. As a child, I remember him often taking me and my cousin out to play. He would buy us treats, and we felt very close to him—like friends. He was very thin and bald, but always looked gentle and kind.

The reason I want to reflect on the past is to truly understand myself; every person from my past has influenced me and shaped me into who I am today.

When I was in sixth grade, my maternal grandmother’s husband—my maternal grandfather—passed away. From that moment on, my grandmother lived alone. She and my grandfather had four children together. I have three uncles. I never saw my grandmother when she was young. The only

My grandfather’s name was Yongsheng. In our village, he was a respected man — someone people looked up to. I always thought he was very smart. He had small habits: he liked smoking, and sometimes he gambled a little. Not much — just enough to feel human. He was always kind to

My grandfather raised seven children. My father was the sixth. When my father was young, he joined the Chinese army. At that time, for many rural young men, the army was not a dream—it was one of the few available paths. If you couldn’t find a good job, joining the army was a

My father is the sixth child in his family. His older brother—the fifth—is his identical twin. Because of that, they’ve always been unusually close. Even now, when I see them from behind, I sometimes can’t tell who is who. Their voices sound the same too. In every family, there

An ancient Chinese poem A new song, a cup of wine. The same pavilion, the same weather as last year. But when will the setting sun ever return? Helpless, the flowers fall. Familiar, the swallows come back again. Along the scented garden path, I wander alone. — Yan Shu

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