Post my memories essay 800 words. Hope begins with a path home.

At this moment, I looked back and saw myself, and along the way, I had mixed feelings. ”

In the good life of junior high school, I was always happy because I was with my friends. One of them bribed me with a lollipop for not handing in my physics homework; After class, he used a sprinkler as a microphone to roar all over the classroom; There is Bin, who has so superb pen turning skills that I have to worship him as a teacher; There are also great ...... who are rigid on the inside and soft on the outside, and have excellent gradesThey injected a watery softness into my restless life. When we are happy, we will share this happiness together; When we are sad, we also send some comfort to each other.

They have become unforgettable people in my campus life.

Because of you, I am full of confidence in the future. "At the age of 15, I was proud of my small achievements in my studies, and I didn't want to make progress. It was my junior high school teacher who changed me.

She is rigorous in her studies and strict with her students, from how to behave and how to write well. Whenever she has spare time, she will select some articles containing life philosophy and read them to us. Although she is not a Chinese teacher, she is not a class teacher.

From these articles, I gradually put away my proud heart and understood the teacher's intentions, and it was she who made me see myself clearly. In the third year of junior high school, functions became my biggest headache, and in the face of several failed exams, I lost confidence and was full of fear for the high school entrance examination. It was she who sacrificed her day off to make up for my lessons, but she didn't want any pay.

She was the one who gave me confidence in the future.

The next moment, it will fly to ** again. "Walking on the edge of being 15, I stepped through the gates of high school. I was overwhelmed by the unfamiliar environment.

Suddenly there were no them around, so lonely. I was tired from studying too hard in high school, but I couldn't give up because the beautiful dreams that were still flying gave me the courage to keep going.

I love the rain. I am not a literary and artistic youth written in **, I am glaring at the flowers all day long, and I lament and am sad in the light rain and snow. What I like is not to enjoy the rain, but to walk quietly on the way home with an umbrella.

At this time, sometimes I just walked like this, thinking about nothing. Listen to the "click" sound of raindrops falling on the umbrella, slightly lift the umbrella that obscures your vision, and look at the city blurred by the rain curtain. A shimmering neon night scene, passing cars stir up water on the road, and tri-colored traffic lights change in turn.

At the steamed bun shop around the corner, as usual, a large amount of steam diffuses in the rain, and as you pass by, you can feel the damp mist mixed with the aroma of various steamed buns. My stomach that has been empty for most of the day is a little "grunting" - I'm a little hungry, so let's buy one and try it.

Leaving the steamed bun shop, I continued on the road with an umbrella. As I passed by the bus stop, a bus happened to stop. Its headlights flashed and flashed, illuminating a small rain curtain in front of it, thin, densely, it turned out that it was not raining lightly today.

Glancing at the constantly working wipers, but not planning to get into the car. The doors of the bus closed gently after the last passenger got on the bus, and the reminder "Please pay attention to safety" was faintly heard, and then gradually drove away from the station.

The rain is still falling.

There aren't many people walking now, at least in my perception area, there are only pedestrians around. It is at such times that there is a peculiar feeling. You can interpret it as a sense of loneliness brought to me by the rain.

On a sunny day, even if you walk alone on the path, you won't feel anything special. Just like feeling a little lazy and tired in the warm afternoon, walking in the rainy night with an umbrella, with a ticking background**, I feel the tranquility of the night. It is like the "sound against quiet" in the textbook, the more ethereal the music, the more clear the sense of quiet.

The loneliness of the rain dissolves in the raindrops.

It's not as complicated as the definition in a chemistry book, and the clouds in the sky resemble Mary's sad face. Mary mourned for the crucified Jesus, and the tears that flowed down her cheeks were filled with sorrow. Tears dripped from the chin of the Virgin Mary and turned into earthly rain, lamenting the injustice of fate.

They leaned together intimately in the high clouds, but they were thrown from the sky, cruelly separated, and fell helplessly, and landed on the gray earth, waiting for the rainy night to pass and the sun to rise in the east, and they could meet again.

This is the way of reincarnation in nature.

After the rain, the sky is clear, and the life is over.

But the rain hasn't stopped.

I still walked quietly on the road, passing through the small shops on the side of the road, waiting for two red lights that were not very long, and then walking a short distance to get home. I was accompanied by some cold rain.

I wonder if it's going to rain tomorrow.

There is no money....Go home for the New Year.