It was September 1st, 2020, the day when we finally resumed face-to-face teaching and also the day when I began my journey as a ninth grader. People say that dates like these remind people of a sense of urgency in knowing that a crossroad lies not far ahead in one’s path of life, yet that was not what I felt when I came back to school that day. After nine months of lockdowns and online studying, all I could feel when I saw my friends was joy and jubilance. While I was chatting, playing basketball, and joking about how our appearances had changed, little did I know how illusory these moments were: the upcoming September would change everything.  

Strange sensations, like the blurry mists in the foggy days of a typical Beijing autumn, found their way to me only after the first few days of school when we had our placement tests. Man, was the test exhausting. In fact, it was even more exhausting when the scores came out – I messed up, and I messed up hard. What’s more frustrating was that I knew exactly why I failed: although I did realize that I should study hard by the beginning of my eighth grade – and I did, during the first semester of my eighth grade – but I failed to concentrate on studying again during the online studies, which gradually leads to this messed up exam, just like the numerous exams I took during my sixth and seventh grades. Half a year of hard work, and all for nothing. The prodigal son did not return; instead, he was lured by a tempting force of desire, and he wandered away.

I tried to tell myself that the pandemic was to blame, that I had good grades during the autumn of 2019 and all of my reappearing failures were results of the painful pandemic, and yet I couldn’t. Because, deep down somewhere in my heart, I knew it wasn’t true. The pandemic had nothing to do with my failure; I am the cause of all my pains. It was my idleness, my indiscipline, and my indulgence that were responsible for my status quo – a desperate student, though well aware of the long-term consequences, chose to be consumed by instant gratifications. And that’s the worst part of it: I knew I’m walking the wrong path, but I just couldn’t control my urge to keep strolling on it. I recognized that my joy on the first day of school was a result of my intended ignoring of my true fallen self.

Yet, what could I do? On the one hand, I could give up all the enticing video games and TV shows; on the other hand, I could keep on ignoring my own calls searching for a way out and thus giving up my own future. This was a choice too difficult to make, so I let it go and moved on. However, I didn’t know, by then, that not choosing is also choosing: I chose to maintain my status quo; I chose the latter.

During the rest of September, I could always smell the bland bitterness of a mixture of feelings floating around me, constantly reminding me of their presence. When I was picking albums from a vinyl shop on Sept. 6th, I felt guilty, knowing that I was wasting time that could otherwise be spent on studying for better grades. When I was watching eSports games late at night on Sept. 19th, I was in anxiety, as I knew I was supposed to prepare for tomorrow’s classes with a good night’s sleep. When I attended my school’s Mid-Autumn Festival Gala on Sept. 31st, I envisioned future nostalgia, because I anticipated that this could be my last Mid-Autumn spent with my junior high classmates.

However, none of these events above truly marked the importance of this September; rather, it was two specific, consecutive days that engraved this September forever in my memory.

On Sept. 23rd, I took the biology and geography tests for Zhongkao, the ultimate graduation exam in Chinese middle school. As soon as the bell ringed and the invigilator came over to collect my answer sheets, I knew I screwed up the test, as it indeed turned out to be half a month later. This day marked my initial collapse facing the most important exam, the one that will determine the next three years of my life, but I had no time to mourn. Attempting to avoid thinking about this failed exam, I lied to my parents by telling them I felt confident about the exam results for the purpose that they won’t bother me and destroy my faked happy mood. The next day, Sept. 24th, I went on a school trip to the remnants of the Great Wall. The sky that day was sapphire-blue, with marshmallow-like clouds dotting within. I could feel the soothing breeze carrying the coolness of autumn, easing my body and mind from the external exam and my internal conflict. Then, I felt only happiness, as I conversed freely with my best friends and enjoyed an incomparable view. We talked about our friendship, our life during the pandemic, and much more. Under that circumstance, even talking about the future wouldn’t drag me into a depressed state of mind. It was the happiest day of my entire ninth grade, and I already had that feeling by the end of the trip. It was also the last day of the entire school year that I found my inner peace. These two days marked the monumental climax of that September. On the former day, I was an unprepared soldier facing an expected grand battle; on the latter day, I enjoyed my last supper before going back to the misty battlefield. During the rest of the school year, I was busy getting hit by bombs entitled “START BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN FUTURE!!!”, leaving holes on my body in the form of tests that I messed up.

Now, as I recall these dates three years later, I discovered that I gave them symbolic meanings of all the complex emotions I felt during my ninth grade. These were representations of my false hope, my lost cause, and my own inadequacies. I once thought that the mist of fate blurred my future during that September, but that wasn’t true. Looking back at those events, I definitely knew very well the two ends of my junior high life. It was simple: if I get good grades, I would earn my right to continue studying with my classmates in senior high; if I didn’t, I would leave the school and diverge paths from my friends.

However, looking through the mist didn’t save me. In fact, I only looked through one of the mists, as in the form of the intimidating demand of studying for my own future versus the endless desire that leads me to self-destruction. But it was not the mist of the future that I lost myself in; it was the unavoidable mist of growing up.