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感动

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发表时间:2020-10-16 21:21

窗外风儿清清,鸟儿啁啾。窗内阳光跳动,梦儿甜甜。时间之舟悄悄驶进梦境,拉开惺忪的眼帘。生活的风车每天都周而复始的转动,而我却不感觉到那是一座褪色的雕塑,因为感动每天与我同行。


生活中处处存在着感动,哪怕是一草一木,一花一石。带着感动出发,我发现生活之河中,每一种水滴碰撞声都是那样清脆悦耳。


清晨,当我睁开惺忪的睡眼走在通往教室的小径上时,那嵌满的花石让我感动,它们给我以抚摩,让我在惬意中送走梦之神。充满雾气的石亭会让我感动,仿佛置身于仙境,让我感觉自己已达到生命的最高境界。那冲破云层跳动的红日,像是亭顶上的一颗宝石,却又像我人生的明灯。我快步奔向教室,开始一天的学习。


课堂上突如其来的灵感会让我感动,它让我与知识并肩走入同一扇大门,开始我的行程;它让我与美同行,去欣赏行云流水的古今佳作,与跳动的音符共舞;它让我从迷雾中走出,不再犹豫,而让自己多一分自信。老师那广博的知识,会让我感动,那感动如催化剂,加速我向梦想进程的速度。总之,感动让我吮吸每一节课的精华,充实我的知识行囊。


放学路上的一见一闻会让我感动。当花季来临时,群芳争艳。繁忙的蜜蜂,煽动着水晶般的翅膀,穿梭在花蕊间,嗡嗡地叫着,吮吸着,似乎在相互庆祝这美好的时节。这情景让我感动,这些小生命在自己的灿烂时期竞相展现自己,并不为生命的短暂而悲伤。这又鼓足我奋斗的勇气,去采摘生活中的花朵。


带着感动出发,每一天都会将行囊充实,无论是喜还是忧。我都会觉得那是自己阅历上的一个个字码。


在城市的尽头,没有繁华的街市,闪亮的霓虹;在城市的尽头,只有破旧的棚户区,有饱经生活风霜的生命;在城市的尽头,有他们这样一群人。


让我怎样称呼他们?外来务工人员子女?农民子弟?亦或是农民工二代?不,我不想用这些冰冷的名字称呼他们,我多想叫着他们带着泥土气的乳名,拉着他们的小手,走近他们的生活……


他们从小生长在故乡的青山绿水中,纯洁的灵魂在田野里抽穗拔节。在山野的风中,他们奔跑着,憧憬着。风从田野中吹过,吹进了城市,为了生计,为了未来,他们跟从父母来到了城市,在城市的尽头扎下了根。于是习惯了青山绿水的双眸第一次触碰到了高楼大厦、车水马龙。他们不知道怎样穿过六车道的马路,小小的手指怎么也数不清写字楼的层数。繁华的现代文明不曾给他们带来任何快乐,这一次,却在心上烙下了深深的痕迹。


他们背起书包,小心翼翼地融入城市的生活。可是却在“城市人”异样的眼光中,第一次明白了户口与暂住证的区别。他们都是父母心头的宝啊!却过早地承担了不属于这个年龄的负担。


放学回家,他们做好简单的晚饭,父母还在工地或菜场上劳作;午夜醒来,泪眼中城里的星空没有家乡的明亮;悄悄许愿,希望明天他们的打工子弟小学不会因交不出电费而被查封……


然而,在他们日益长高的身体上,我看到了他们的成长。记得一位记者问一个打工子弟学校的孩子,学成后是否会回到家乡时,小姑娘毫不犹豫地说:当然,一定回去!那一刻,我差点落下泪来,为他们的成长。


记得那年春晚他们稚气的宣言:“我们的学校很小,但我们的成绩不差”“我们不和城里的孩子比爸爸”“北京的XX,也是我们的XX!”他们逐渐成熟,告别昨天的羞怯,开始迎接新的一天。


虽然,他们还在为不多的学费而苦恼;虽然,学校还是交不上水电费;虽然,还有好多体制还不够完善……虽然有好多个“虽然”,但是,只有一个“但是”就足够了,已经有好多视线转向他们,他们正在茁壮地成长。


太阳从地平线上升起,照亮了城市的尽头,照亮了他们的生活。


参考翻译:

The wind was clear outside the window, and the birds chirped. The sun beats in the window, and the dream is sweet. The boat of time quietly sailed into the dreamland, opening his dim eyes. The windmill of life turns round and round every day, but I don't feel that it is a faded sculpture, because I am moved to walk with me every day.


There is emotion everywhere in life, even one flower and one stone. Starting with emotion, I found that in the river of life, every kind of water drop collision sound is so clear and sweet.


In the morning, when I opened my sleepy eyes and walked on the path leading to the classroom, the inlaid flowers and stones moved me. They touched me and let me send away the god of dreams in comfort. The misty Shiting will move me, as if I am in a fairyland, making me feel that I have reached the highest level of life. The red sun pulsating through the clouds is like a gem on the top of a pavilion, but it is also like the light of my life. I rushed to the classroom and started a day of study.


The sudden inspiration in the classroom will move me. It allows me to walk side by side with knowledge into the same door and start my journey; it allows me to walk with the beautiful, to appreciate the ancient and modern masterpieces, and dance with the beating notes; it makes I walked out of the fog, no longer hesitating, and made myself more confident. The teacher's extensive knowledge will touch me, and that touch is like a catalyst, accelerating my progress towards my dream. In short, I was moved to suck the essence of every lesson and enrich my knowledge bag.


The first sight and hearing on the way from school will move me. When the blooming season comes, the crowds will contend for beauty. The busy bees, stirring their crystal wings, shuttled between the flower stamens, buzzing and sucking, as if they were celebrating this beautiful time with each other. This scene moved me. These little lives competed to show themselves in their glorious period, and they were not sad for the shortness of life. This has encouraged my courage to fight to pick the flowers in life.


Starting with emotion, I will enrich my luggage every day, whether it is joy or worry. I would feel that those are the codes in my own experience.


At the end of the city, there are no prosperous streets and shining neon; at the end of the city, there are only dilapidated shanty towns with life-beaten lives; at the end of the city, there are people like them.


How do I call them? Children of migrant workers? Children of peasants? Or the second generation of peasant workers? No, I don’t want to call them by these cold names. I want to call them with muddy names and pull them. Little hands, come closer to their lives...


They grew up in the green mountains and green waters of their hometown, and their pure souls were ear joints in the fields. In the wind in the mountains, they ran, looking forward to it. The wind blew through the fields and into the city. For their livelihood and for the future, they followed their parents to the city and took root at the end of the city. So the eyes, accustomed to the green mountains and green waters, touched the tall buildings and the busy traffic for the first time. They don't know how to cross a six-lane road, and their little fingers can't count the number of floors in an office building. The prosperous modern civilization has never brought them any happiness, but this time, it has left deep marks on their hearts.


They carried their school bags and carefully integrated into the life of the city. However, in the strange eyes of the "city people", for the first time, he understood the difference between a household registration and a temporary residence permit. They are the treasures of their parents! But they have prematurely assumed the burden of not belonging to this age.


When they come home from school, they make a simple dinner, and their parents are still working on the construction site or the vegetable market; they wake up at midnight, the starry sky in the city is not as bright as their hometown in their tears; they quietly make a wish, hoping that tomorrow their migrant children will not be unable to pay in the primary school Was seized for electricity bills...


However, in their growing taller bodies, I have seen their growth. I remember when a reporter asked a child from a school for migrant children whether they would return to their hometown after finishing school, the little girl said without hesitation: Of course, I must go back! At that moment, I almost shed tears for their growth.


I remember their childish declarations in the Spring Festival Gala that year: "Our school is very small, but our grades are not bad", "We don't compare to the children in the city than our father", "XX in Beijing is also our XX!" They gradually matured and said goodbye Yesterday’s shyness began to welcome a new day.


Although, they are still troubled by the small tuition; although, the school still cannot pay the utility bill; although, there are still many systems that are not perfect...Although there are many "thoughs", but only one "but" Enough, a lot of eyes have turned to them, and they are thriving.


The sun rises from the horizon, illuminates the end of the city and illuminates their lives.


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