He was happy all day, feeling as though even the sky was bluer.
He entered high school.
The workload grew heavier, and the pressure greater.
The college entrance exam loomed over him like a mountain, crushing the breath from his chest.
He got up at six every morning and did not sleep until midnight, doing problems, doing problems, nothing but doing problems.
When he could not solve math problems, he grew so anxious he wanted to cry.
He could not memorize English vocabulary. He memorized it, then forgot it; forgot it, then memorized it again. He felt like a donkey tied to a millstone, going round and round, never able to stop.
On the day the college entrance exam ended, he threw all his study materials away.
He tossed them from the fifth floor, and the sheets of paper drifted down like snow.
He stood by the window, watching those pages fall. His heart felt hollow. He was neither happy nor sad—it was an indescribable feeling, as though he had been emptied out.
He went to college.
For the first time, he left home; for the first time, he lived in a dormitory; for the first time, he did his own laundry.
He learned to play video games, pulling all-nighters until dawn. He learned to drink, getting so drunk he hugged the toilet and vomited.
He learned to skip class and lie in his dorm bed, sleeping the day away.
He made a few friends. They drank together, bragged together, cursed teachers together. On graduation day, they hugged and cried, promising to keep in touch, but they never contacted each other again.
He started working.
His first job was at a small company. The pay was low, but there was plenty of work.
He worked overtime until late every day,