People change every year.

     So many years have passed, so many classmates have gone to the mortal world. Sometimes, what we've lost doesn't necessarily have to be retrieved from fragmented memories; perhaps a chance encounter, a chance meeting, is enough to allow us to see what we've long cherished in others. That long-awaited reunion, that unexpected warmth, is enough to leave us with endless memories…

    This afternoon, I passed by a junior high school campus; they seemed to be holding their opening ceremony for the new semester. The vast playground was set up as a meeting place. The school leaders' podium was placed high in the shade of the buildings. Thousands of students in uniform were exposed to the September sun. Meanwhile, teachers who were not considered "comrades" were either making or receiving phone calls on the ground in the last row of students, or a dozen or so teachers who were close friends were discussing something in a circle. Under the shade of the willow trees, almost all of the school's female teachers were gathered. The remaining dozens of female teachers were sandwiched in the middle of the students' formation. However, you could almost spot them at a glance, not because they were adults, but because the several different colored umbrellas held above their heads gave them away. They were easily spotted among the uniform school uniforms.

    At this point, a student representative went up to speak. His voice on the podium wasn't very loud, and the listless expressions of the thousands of students below revealed a sense of weariness and restlessness. The whispers among the throng sometimes drowned out the voice from the podium. Only a middle-aged male teacher stood in the front row of their class, occasionally reminding the students to be quiet, but this only brought brief silence before the whispering resumed. Finally, the student representative finished speaking; some applauded, some stared blankly, and some continued to whisper. If the principal had randomly selected a teacher or student from the audience at this point and asked them to briefly summarize the student representative's speech, it would have been an awkward situation, as most teachers and students hadn't listened at all.

    Later, a female teacher went up to speak, and frankly, I admired both her loud voice and the eloquence of her speech. The leaders on the podium, with their varied appearances and postures, waited at the appropriate time to give the speakers a final round of applause.

    Behind the student contingent, male and female students rushed to the restrooms in groups, like a bustling market. Perhaps they genuinely needed to use the facilities, or perhaps they were simply taking a break. Occasionally, a few teachers were also seen among the students, each going to the restroom in their own groups. The teacher's speech was excellent, and the students and teachers were as usual, yet I joined in the applause for her.

    Later, the principal spoke, his thick Shaanxi accent making me lose interest in listening. As I walked, I thought back to years ago when I also attended a similar opening ceremony. But back then, we didn't have microphones, cameras, or even uniform school uniforms and such superior learning environments. We, too, talked, daydreamed, and went to the restrooms just like them. Those days are gone forever. My former classmates have now entered society, playing their respective roles. We've already passed that stage. These innocent and mischievous figures are our past selves, but we can never return to that golden autumn of September.

    Then I recalled the poem, "Year after year the flowers are similar, but year after year the people are different." Perhaps what we've lost can never be retrieved, but the youthful spirit awakens long-forgotten memories, allowing us to reminisce about our youthful ignorance in a moment of tenderness! Most people will eventually leave school and enter society, becoming observers and outsiders. Even those who have become teachers, though part of it, are no longer the same as they were then, because our memories are from the same stage. It's just that those classmates, like me, drifting in various corners of society, are the most silent in this noisy world. It's still September, and I'm no longer a child; it's still September, and the flowers that bloomed back then are still so fragrant, but the people have changed with each passing year.