Those bus drivers, complete strangers, often gave me more direct insights into life.
This was the only bus route passing by the university—Route 34. Since I was then a graduate student at the university's new campus, I frequently traveled between the old and new campuses, always taking this bus.
The buses were all uniformly somewhat dilapidated and lacked air conditioning. Therefore, the fare was relatively cheap, only one yuan. The reason I chose this bus as my subject wasn't to criticize its facilities or service, but simply because it was more relevant to our lives. We—this group of students enthusiastically marching along the avenue of youth—were like this tirelessly running bus; our destination seemed clear, but we often lingered too much along the way.
Students often referred to the journey from the old campus to the new campus as going to the countryside, and vice versa as going to the city. This assessment wasn't entirely without merit. The bus travels along Baishazhou Avenue. Once it passes Fenghuocun Station, the bustling city of Jiangcheng vanishes, replaced by the desolation of the suburbs or countryside. This bleak environment is clearly unappealing to these students, vibrant with youthful energy. What they crave is a backdrop of vibrancy.
Gradually, I became familiar with Bus Route 34. For example, I could roughly estimate the bus's travel time between the two locations; I also vaguely remembered the stops and their order. I could even make rough inferences about the passengers' social status based on their clothing and behavior: those dragging large bags and rushing about were undoubtedly passengers catching trains; those dressed fashionably, either pretending to read a book, engaging in lively conversation, or embracing affectionately with members of the opposite sex, were students from nearby universities, embodying the distinct marks of youth. Then there was a group of simply dressed people, their clothes still bearing traces of earth, perhaps just coming from a construction site—farmers from the surrounding area. If the journey was still long, they would take out a cigarette from their pocket, light it, and put it to their lips…
Unlike the passionate, indignant, and disdainful young students, I warmly welcomed their companions. Perhaps it was because we both came from the countryside, but I had a deep understanding of their lives and feelings. They all engaged in physically demanding work, and when they were exhausted, cigarettes and alcohol were essential for relaxation and relaxation. Of course, besides understanding, a major reason was that their presence inexplicably gave me a sense of groundedness behind the hustle and bustle. It made me feel that being in the bustling provincial capital did not mean I had strayed from the solid ground. And honestly: being poor yet composed, hardworking yet calm—this should be the attitude towards life we should have.
However, I still haven't figured out the starting and ending points of this bus trip, because that's not my concern. All I need is a journey within the city. Moreover, this journey bears a distinct mark of time. For me, it's three years; for those undergraduates, it's five, seven, or even a long eleven years. In other words, this journey often spans their entire university life. This will be their entire capital to fight their way into society. But no matter how long it takes, one obvious fact is that for this university, they are all just passersby. Once they graduate and leave, their studies will likely end there, and the university education can never be repeated.
Perhaps it's due to professional habits, or perhaps they're already tired of the simple repetition and monotony of daily life, but the drivers all exude a numb sentimentality. The ceaselessly spinning fans overhead don't seem to be enough to keep them awake. I noticed a dusty teacup on the dashboard, its material unrecognizable, even the liquid inside was murky black, swaying and tumbling with the bus's movement. Yet it was tethered by a rope, like a kite, struggling but unable to escape its predetermined fate.
Drivers are a truly peculiar group. They spend their entire lives on the road, constantly on the go, with a clear goal in mind. Their footprints cover many places, and one would expect them to be extremely familiar with those places they've been to, knowing every place name like the back of their hand. But quite the opposite is true; they are actually quite unfamiliar with the places they travel to every day: who lives there, what happens there… they know nothing. Because—they are merely passersby, simple passersby who have never truly delved into the lives of those places.
When I returned to school from the bus, it was already quite dark. The tree-lined paths of the campus were already dimly lit; dusk had fallen. But the campus, which should have been tranquil, did not cease its chaos and noise. Several weeks into the semester, this commotion had never stopped: first the student council and self-discipline committee recruited new members, then the campus radio station, and now various clubs. These young students, carrying dreams of knowledge, seem to have countless ideals, ambitions, and hobbies; the diversity of youth is vividly displayed by them. At recruitment fairs, they set up huge display boards and hung tall banners, each one dressed to impress… some even skipped classes, waiting for new students to enroll. This always made me wonder: what exactly did they develop, what did they showcase, or what qualities did they acquire?
A few years ago, I read an article titled "All the Glory is Just Background," which discussed the feeling of watching a play: the grandeur or simplicity of the stage is not important; what matters is the plot and the real life depicted within it. In this diverse society, competition is fierce to the point of being cruel. If they haven't truly delved into their studies, I wonder what these students, so generously squandering their youth, will have to face their future when their prime years pass.
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