离题集 2026 Oracle Digressions 2026 第 09 篇 Section 09
六月 毕业感想两篇 June: Two Graduation Reflections
返回 离题集 2026 Back to Oracle Digressions 2026本文目录 Contents
上篇 毕业的时候，海风还在 Part One: When I Graduated, the Sea Breeze Was Still Blowing
毕业这件事，真正落到我身上时，反而没有想象中那么轰轰烈烈。没有电影里那种长镜头，也没有宿舍楼下忽然响起的背景音乐。它只是某个寻常下午，我在校园里走着，忽然意识到文心路和五四广场以后大概不会再以“顺便”的方式经过。楼下的行李箱，食堂门口的队伍，操场边逐渐暗下去的天色——原来一段人生的结束，并不总是以惊雷的方式降临，它也可能只是轻轻把门带上。
When the reality of graduation finally descended upon me, it was nowhere near as grand or sensational as I had envisioned. There were no cinematic tracking shots, no soundtrack abruptly swelling beneath the dormitory balconies. It was simply an ordinary afternoon: walking through the campus, I suddenly realized that I would likely never pass Wenxin Road or May Fourth Square “in passing” ever again. The suitcases stacked downstairs, the lines outside the canteen, the sky gradually dimming beside the athletic fields—it turns out that the end of a chapter in life does not always arrive with a thunderclap; sometimes, it merely pulls the door shut with a gentle click.
本科四年，对我而言，大概是一场漫长的“个人生活实验”。从苏州的温润到威海的清冽，从纸质日记到 Markdown，从课堂、宿舍、图书馆到金沙滩、小石岛、闻外楼，许多东西被我一件件记录、归档、命名。可记录得越多，我越发现，生活并不会因为被写下来就自动变得完整。很多时候，我只是把混乱装订成册，把遗憾改名为阶段，把尚未解决的问题放进一个更体面的文件夹里。
For me, these four undergraduate years were perhaps an extended “experiment in personal living.” From the gentle warmth of Suzhou to the crisp clarity of Weihai; from paper journals to Markdown; from lecture halls, dorms, and libraries to Golden Beach, Xiaoshidao, and Wenwai Building, I recorded, archived, and named countless moments one by one. Yet the more I documented, the more I discovered that life does not automatically become whole simply because it has been set down in writing. Often, I was merely binding chaos into volumes, rechristening regrets as “phases,” and shelving unresolved crises into more presentable folders.
这当然不是什么大错。人总要靠一点叙事把自己从巨流中打捞出来。只是毕业前夕，我开始更清楚地意识到：体验不是成长，复盘不是完成。真正改变一个人的，仍然是那些落实在现实里的东西：一个完成的项目，一段没有逃避的关系，一次真正用力的告别，以及在焦虑袭来时仍然能够把今天过完的能力。
This, of course, is no grave sin. One must always rely on a touch of narrative to dredge oneself out of the rushing torrent. Yet on the eve of graduation, I began to realize more clearly: experiencing is not growing, and post-mortems are not completions. What truly transforms a person remains the tangible weight grounded in reality: a completed project, a relationship faced without evasion, a farewell undertaken with all one’s might, and the capacity to live out today even as waves of anxiety surge.
大学最残忍的地方，不是它会结束，而是它在结束之前，已经悄悄把人送到了另一个门口。刚入学时，我总以为人生会自然展开。上课、考试、认识朋友、参加活动、恋爱、写作，似乎只要把这些格子一一填满，未来就会顺理成章地长出形状。后来才知道，人生并不是一张会自动补全的表格。许多事情如果不主动经营，最后只会变成简历上的空白；许多关系如果不认真回应，最后只会沦为再不会打开的聊天框；许多梦想如果不拆成现实动作，最后只会变成夜深人静时用来自我感动的材料。
The cruelest aspect of university is not that it must end, but that long before it ends, it has already quietly escorted you to the threshold of another door. When I first matriculated, I assumed that life would unfold naturally. Classes, examinations, making friends, attending activities, dating, writing—it seemed that as long as I checked each box, the future would naturally take shape. Only later did I learn that life is not a form that auto-completes itself. Many endeavors, if not proactively cultivated, end up as mere blanks on a resume; many connections, if not earnestly tended, dwindle into chat windows that will never be opened again; and many dreams, if not dismantled into pragmatic actions, become nothing more than fodder for late-night self-indulgence.
于是我越来越觉得，毕业真正带走的并不是校园，而是一种被允许悬置的时间。从此以后，不会再有学期替我划分阶段，不会再有课程表替我安排秩序，不会再有“还没毕业”替我解释犹豫。人必须开始自己承担时间、金钱、健康、关系和选择。自由第一次变得具体，也第一次显得有些冰冷。
And so I feel increasingly that what graduation truly takes away is not the physical campus, but a period of time that was permitted to remain suspended. From now on, no semester will demarcate my stages, no class timetable will arrange my routine, and no excuse of “not having graduated yet” will rationalize my hesitation. One must begin to personally shoulder time, money, health, relationships, and choices. Freedom becomes concrete for the first time, and for the first time, it feels a little cold.
但我仍然感激这几年——感激每一次崩溃之后，还算体面地爬起来。人并不是在最正确的时候长大的。许多时候，恰恰是在狼狈、迟疑、错过、误判和不甘里，才慢慢知道自己到底是什么样的人。而人不能永远活在“准备成为某种人”的状态里。我也不能。
Yet I remain grateful for these past years—grateful that after every breakdown, I managed to scramble back to my feet with relative dignity. People do not grow up at the neatest, most opportune moments. More often than not, it is amid clumsiness, hesitation, missed opportunities, misjudgments, and quiet unfulfillment that one gradually learns what kind of person one truly is. And one cannot live forever in a state of “preparing to become someone.” Neither can I.
风会继续吹，旧人会散进各自的生活，相册会被新的照片覆盖，但有些东西不会消失。它们会变成我说话的语气，变成选择里的迟疑和坚定，变成某天路过海边时忽然袭来的沉默。
The wind will keep blowing; figures from the past will disperse into their own separate lives; photo albums will be overwritten with new snapshots; yet certain things will never vanish. They will seep into the cadence of my speech, into the hesitations and determinations behind my choices, and into the sudden silence that overtakes me whenever I pass by the sea.
毕业的时候，海风还在。只是这一次，没人再替我命名下一章。
When I graduated, the sea breeze was still blowing. Only this time, no one was left to title the next chapter for me.
下篇 虚假的共同体 残酷的K型曲线 Part Two: The False Community and the Cruel K-Shaped Curve
回归寂静。
Return to silence.
说来讽刺，学校四年前因疫情被迫取消了开学典礼，22级因此成为了新世纪以来迄今唯一一届静默入学的山大本科生；而四年后的今天，我将自己放逐在麦克小熊KTV的回音室内，主动放弃了虚假共同体的繁荣昌盛。
It is ironic to reflect upon: four years ago, the university was forced by the pandemic to cancel our matriculation ceremony, making the Class of 2022 the only cohort of SDU undergraduates this century to enter campus in utter silence. And today, four years later, I have exiled myself into the echo chamber of Mike Bear KTV, having voluntarily abdicated from the triumphant prosperity of the false community.
人总是要给自己找一个典礼的吧。别人穿着学士服在图书馆前的烈日下合影，九宫格里塞进几十张同学、老师、恋人、花束和笑脸；我则把两小时的包厢当作自己的毕业礼，在廉价音响和昏暗灯光里，把那些没有说出口的话一首一首唱完。某种意义上，这比坐在图书馆前听一段并不属于我的训词更加诚实。至少在那个房间里，没有人要求我高兴，没有人要求我怀念，没有人要求我把本科四年装进一张体面的单人照里。
A person always needs to find some kind of ceremony for themselves, doesn’t he? Others pose for photos under the blazing sun before the library in their caps and gowns, cramming dozens of classmates, teachers, lovers, bouquets, and radiant smiles into their social media grids; I, on the other hand, treated two hours in a karaoke booth as my personal commencement rite, singing through every unspoken thought song by song amid cheap acoustics and dim neon lighting. In a way, this was vastly more honest than sitting before the library listening to admonitions that had nothing to do with me. At least in that room, no one demanded that I be cheerful, no one asked me to feel nostalgic, and no one insisted that I condense four undergraduate years into one polished portrait.
我越来越怀疑，所谓共同体，很多时候只是因为我们被安排在了同一个空间里。班级、学院、专业、毕业典礼、合照、校友身份，这些词语听上去热烈而完整，仿佛每个人都曾经共同生活、共同成长、共同分享过某种黄金时代。可真正到了离场的时候，我才发现，许多关系不过是一张合照、一条转发、一次偶然经过快递站时的擦肩。等到几年之后，那些照片里的人或许连名字都叫不全，但它们仍然会在朋友圈里显得圆满，显得青春曾经似乎如此人声鼎沸。
I have grown increasingly skeptical: so much of what we call “community” exists merely because we were assigned to the same physical space. Classes, departments, majors, commencement ceremonies, group photos, alumni credentials—these words sound vibrant and cohesive, as if everyone had genuinely lived together, grown together, and shared in some golden era. Yet when the moment of departure truly arrives, I realize that countless connections amounted to nothing more than a shared picture, a reposted link, or a fleeting brush of shoulders at the campus package station. A few years down the road, one might not even remember the names of the people in those photographs, yet in WeChat Moments they will still appear so harmonious, as though youth had truly been bustling with voices.
但当声音止歇之时，贫瘠感便扑面而来：它会在毕业季集中爆发，像一场迟来的烟火，逼迫每一个沉默的人承认自己的缺憾。我安静地在朋友圈送上一个个或由衷或违心的赞：有人有会拍照的女朋友，有漂亮的构图，有草原和火山边，有成熟的穿搭，有刚刚好的风；有人有宽裕的家庭，可以在一个临时起意的下午换掉旧相机，把青春立刻升级成高清画质；还有人好像都不缺，绩点、颜值、家境、恋爱、社交、镜头感，仿佛一出生就站在顺风局的上半区。
Yet the moment the sound ceases, an overwhelming sense of barrenness surges forth: it detonates all at once during graduation season like a belated firework display, forcing every silent bystander to acknowledge their own deficiencies. Quietly, I leave likes—some heartfelt, some performative—on my feed: someone has a girlfriend with an exquisite eye for photography, with flattering compositions, grassy plains, volcanic rims, sophisticated outfits, and the wind catching them at just the right angle; someone comes from an affluent family capable of replacing an old camera on a whim on an idle afternoon, instantly upgrading their youth into high-definition resolution; and others seem to lack for nothing—GPA, appearance, family wealth, romance, social grace, stage presence—as though born into the upper half of a game played entirely with the wind at their back.
于是我又想到了那个词：K型曲线。
And so that phrase resurfaced in my mind: the K-shaped curve.
它原本该属于经济学，属于复苏，属于数据，属于那些冷冰冰的图表。但放到大学生活里，竟然也异常准确。有的人向上分叉，越走越光鲜；有的人向下沉没，越走越沉默。资源、审美、消费力、家庭氛围、专业环境、社交能力，所有东西叠在一起，最后变成一种近乎不可逆的分化。好像太阳系在外星人的望远镜里，永远只能看见太阳和几颗大行星；至于那些卫星、小行星、暗淡的尘埃，它们也在运行，也有自己的轨道，只是不发光，所以不被记录。
It originally belonged to economics, to post-crisis recovery, to statistics, and to cold, analytical charts. Yet transplanted into university life, it proves shockingly precise. Some branch upward, growing ever more glittering; others sink downward, sinking into deeper and deeper silence. Resources, taste, purchasing power, family background, academic discipline, interpersonal skills—stacked together, they crystallize into a nearly irreversible divergence. It is like the Solar System through an alien telescope: forever only able to discern the sun and a handful of giant planets; as for the moons, asteroids, and dim cosmic dust, they orbit too, following their own trajectories, but because they do not emit light, they are never recorded.
我曾经以为青春的价值在于精神同频。一起听歌，一起散步，一起分享那些贫穷而诚恳的快乐，仿佛只要有足够多的话可以说，生活就不会真的空掉。后来才发现，精神也需要载体。文艺需要时间，摄影需要设备，旅行需要预算，漂亮照片需要一个会拍的人，松弛感需要背后有人兜底。那些看似自然生长出来的生活质感，往往并不只是个人品味，而是许多资源共同浇灌的结果。人和人的差距不是在毕业那天才出现的，它只是在毕业那天终于被拍成了照片，被写成简历一同比较。
I once believed the value of youth resided in mental resonance. Listening to music together, strolling together, sharing those humble and sincere pleasures—as though as long as there were enough things to talk about, life could never truly be empty. Only later did I discover that the spirit also demands a physical vessel. Artistic pursuits require time, photography requires equipment, travel requires a budget, beautiful portraits require someone who knows how to shoot, and effortless relaxation requires a safety net behind you. The texture of a life that appears to blossom so naturally is rarely the product of personal taste alone; it is the cumulative harvest nurtured by multiple resources. The chasm between individuals did not suddenly materialize on graduation day; it was merely captured on camera and laid out side by side on resumes on that day.
更难堪的是，我并非完全没有见过另一种生活。也曾有人把我拍进她的镜头里，那时候我还不懂，后来再回头看，才发现我怀念的也许不是某个具体的人，而是那个曾经被审美化、被记录、被带入明亮生活里的自己。人最痛苦的不是从未拥有，而是曾经短暂靠近过，之后又重新退回到自己的低照度世界里。
What is more excruciating is that I am not entirely unacquainted with that other kind of life. There was a time when someone captured me through her lens; back then I did not understand, but looking back now, I realize that what I miss may not be any specific person, but rather that version of myself that was once aestheticized, archived, and ushered into a luminous life. The sharpest agony is not never having owned something, but having briefly stood adjacent to it, only to retreat once more into one’s own dim, low-exposure world.
所以我才会在毕业季变得格外敏感。一个同学的穿搭，一张情侣照，一组九宫格，一个学院的毕业合影，都能让我开始漫长的推导，推导到最后，箭头总会转回来指向我自己：我的大学是不是太空了？我的四年是不是没有光彩？我是不是只是把日子过成了宿舍、实验室、手机、歌单、长文和无数次自我分析？
That is why I become so intensely fragile during graduation season. A classmate’s outfit, a couple’s portrait, a nine-photo collage, a departmental group photo—any of these can trigger a long chain of deductive musings that invariably circles back to myself: Was my university life too hollow? Were my four years devoid of luster? Did I merely reduce my days to dorm rooms, laboratories, phone screens, playlists, lengthy essays, and countless instances of self-analysis?
可这些问题又没有真正的答案。
Yet there are no real answers to these questions.
我不想把一个并不圆满的阶段包装成“值得纪念”的样子，也不想在自己最没有归属感的时候，被迫摆出一个属于集体叙事的笑容。本科四年，大概就是这样一条缓慢下坠的曲线。并非每天都痛苦，也并非毫无收获，只是回头看时，总觉得许多该发生的东西没有发生，许多该热闹的地方没有热闹，许多该有人陪伴的时刻只剩自己。那些缺席的开学典礼、缺席的合照、缺席的恋人、缺席的朋友，最后共同组成了一种迟来的空洞。它不是突然出现的，而是四年来一点一点积攒，直到毕业这一天才集中显影。
I do not wish to package an unfulfilled chapter into something “worthy of celebration,” nor do I wish, at my moment of least belonging, to force a smile that belongs to a collective narrative. Four undergraduate years were essentially such a slowly descending curve. It was not painful every day, nor was it entirely devoid of harvest; it is just that looking back, it always feels that much of what should have happened never did, many moments meant for celebration stayed quiet, and many occasions where someone should have stood beside me left me standing entirely alone. The absent matriculation ceremony, the missing group photos, the absent lover, the missing friends—together, they coalesced into a belated void. It did not appear overnight; it accumulated drop by drop over four years, until graduation day finally developed the full negative.
麦克小熊的回音室里，我听见自己的声音被墙壁退回来。那一刻我忽然觉得，所谓毕业，也许不是终于被共同体承认，而是终于承认自己从未真正属于那个共同体。既然如此，一个人在包厢里唱完自己的毕业典礼，也不算太坏。至少这一次，我没有被迫沉默，也没有被迫合群。我只是用一种很笨、很孤单、但很诚实的方式，和那座海边的城市、那段不够光彩的青春、那个总是自惭形秽的自己，说了一声晚安。
In the echo chamber of Mike Bear, I listened to my own voice bounce back from the walls. At that moment, it suddenly dawned on me: perhaps graduating does not mean being validated by the collective after all, but finally admitting that one never truly belonged to that collective in the first place. That being the case, singing through one’s own commencement ceremony in an isolated booth is not so terrible. At least this time, I was neither coerced into silence nor forced into conformity. In a clumsy, lonely, yet thoroughly honest manner, I simply whispered good night to that coastal city, to that less-than-glamorous youth, and to that self who was forever burdened by a sense of inadequacy.