Memories of College Life: On Pain and Healing

Cleaning up my social media recently, I stumbled upon old scars from my college days. Those years remain a wound that never quite heals—each time I touch it, melancholy floods back. But I need to face this pain, dissect it with brutal honesty, and put it to rest once and for all. I can’t let it keep gnawing at me. It’s time to make peace with myself.

Part One: Memories

High school was grueling—5 AM to 9 PM, six days a week—but those hard days had a certain brilliance to them, the glow of youth. College was different. It was a black hole, completely devoid of light. Every time I try to untangle those memories, a thousand thoughts surge at once, driving me to cigarettes, not knowing where to even begin. So let’s divide and conquer.

1. Poverty and Helplessness

What hits me first about college: poverty. Crushing poverty. It was the first time I truly felt the wealth gap. I remember reading on Renren (China’s Facebook) about Zhao Fei’s family trip to Hong Kong—tens of thousands of yuan a day, casually spent. I was shocked. Then in calculus class, I overheard Zhao Fei and her friends mocking someone’s clothes. I’d never met people so casually cruel.

My first faith crisis hit me then. Surrounded by classmates who were smart, worldly, talented—and held values completely foreign to me. Before, when my beliefs clashed with others, I’d always assumed I was right. But at Tsinghua, for the first time, I felt backward. Their ideas seemed more sophisticated, closer to some truth I couldn’t grasp. I felt ashamed of how provincial I was, how little I knew. Deeply confused, with no one to guide me.

That first National Day break, I went home and tried talking to my parents about all this. They accused me of being corrupted by wealth and extravagance. I was so furious I couldn’t speak. From that day on, I never took another yuan from home.

I survived on 10,000 yuan annual scholarship plus a 6,000 yuan student loan. Minus 5,000 for tuition and 1,500 for housing, that left 9,500—about 800 per month for everything: food, clothes, phone, computer, books, everything. Sounds doable, right? Ten yuan a day for meals is 300, leaves 500. So why did it feel impossible?

Mark became class secretary and organized a trip to his home. Nothing fancy—just train tickets. But it broke me financially. I had to borrow from Mark just to make it to the next aid disbursement. He forgot about it for three days. I went hungry for three days.

Remembering this, I can’t stop crying. How I wish I’d been less proud, less stubborn. How I wish I’d had the shamelessness to ask for help from anyone who could give it. Two years ago, staying at an InterContinental at 2,000 yuan a night, all I could think was: Back then, I couldn’t even dream of the GRE because the 1,000 yuan registration fee was unthinkable.

First semester, I pursued Liu Han. She rejected me cleanly. I’m grateful for that now. But honestly, pursuing her wasn’t really about her. It was panic about college, about city life, grasping at anything. What I really needed was help. That rejection deepened my helplessness. I’d scored 95 on the calculus midterm. By finals, I failed outright.

Sophomore year was freefall. I failed everything: Ben Koo’s Data Structures, Zhou Jian’s Probability… just watched myself crash. Data Structures—I had weeks to salvage it. But I just lay there whimpering like a beaten dog, doing nothing, watching the deadline pass. When I retook Probability, Zhou Jian asked: “You clearly understand this—how did you fail?” I said nothing. Thought to myself: I didn’t fail because I couldn’t do it. I just didn’t show up for the exam.

I told Geng: “It’s like being trapped in a box. Every direction I push, I hit a wall.” Years later, I learned the term for it on Zhihu: learned helplessness.

There were kind classmates around. Counselors, advisors. But I was facing a complete worldview collapse. Where could I even begin to ask for help?

Spring at Tsinghua must be beautiful—lush trees, flowers, birdsong. I dreaded spring. All that brightness and glamour just made me feel more ashamed, more out of place. The spring sun was so bright I couldn’t look at it.

Gaming and the library were free. That’s what I remember: Zijing Apartments cutting internet at exactly 4:52 AM. Checking out 400 books over four years.

None of those books were for my major. When the Industrial Engineering orientation explained that our field only cuts costs, never generates value, I lost interest immediately. Don’t ask why I didn’t research before choosing. I just picked based on the name—and it was my first choice. Single-handedly raised Henan’s admission cutoff for that major by ten points.

In the library, I devoured social science. Crashed lectures and seminars. Just the other day, a friend I met in Germany mentioned taking Professor Lin Yanzhi’s class. I was stunned—I took that class twelve years ago and it changed my thinking. I’d raved about it to Tang, who sat through one session and shrugged.

Compared to those mind-numbing, incomprehensible engineering courses, I had a whole world of questions that needed answering. I remember telling my roommate once, staring at a screen showing both games and porn: “I’m contemplating life’s path.”

2. Recognition and Belonging

Boys’ Day, first semester. I believed the warm words at our class gathering. Moved, I rode home and fell off my bike. Broke a tooth. I know it wasn’t all bullshit—they were decent people. The rich father in Parasite wasn’t evil, was he? We were just separated by misunderstanding and prejudice.

And I made it worse—the ugly duckling acting out. When my dark mood descended, I could make a whole room want to die of awkwardness. But that wasn’t my real self. My natural state is energetic, exuberant, intense. The gloom came from frustration, from desires unfulfilled.

All I wanted was recognition of my abilities. Never got it from my classmates. Even close friends like Xu Xu or Dage Cheng—they’d call me loyal. But that’s not who I am at my core. First and foremost, I’m a genius—imaginative, romantic, visionary.

3. Desire and Love

Can’t remember when I fell for Ajiao. Probably from that flirtatious “Ah Fei” she called me second semester—pierced right through me. Lasted until junior year. I pursued her relentlessly, shamelessly: Brought her breakfast. Saw her sniffling, bought medicine and delivered it. Stuffed melons in her tiny bike basket. “Manufactured chance encounters” at predictable times and places (Wang San’s phrase). Watched her dance rehearsals at Mengminwei Building. Once even blocked her bike—total hooligan move.

Started smoking over this failed romance. Burns on my palm and wrist, permanent reminders: July 25, 2008. Twelve years ago. Went drinking with Mark after she broke my heart. He pounded Tsingtao, I pounded baijiu. Didn’t talk, just drank. Our intensity attracted some business school jocks at the next table—they joined us. Ended up at a KTV outside the east gate. First time I learned “princess” was an actual job.

Can’t say I truly loved Ajiao. At first, I just thought she was the only girl who wasn’t completely ignorant. Later, it was pure stubbornness—refusing to lose.

I’ve tried finding something meaningful in that relationship. There’s nothing. Doesn’t make her a bad person—whether she’s Falun Gong or whatever those “passionate photos” in the email leak were about. Things that scandalized us then seem trivial now. It just means we were nothing to each other. Two strangers who happened to cross paths.

Repeated romantic failures deepened the darkness of those years. Suppressed hormones eventually rebound with a vengeance. My views on love got warped around then. I told Li Xiaowen I wanted to be a veteran of the bedroom wars. Are you satisfied now? I’m no moral saint, clearly. I can even sense a certain inevitability to it all. Things that fascinate me—I always find a way to study them thoroughly.

4. Ugliness and Cowardice

These days, poverty doesn’t weigh on my mind. Nothing to repent about poverty itself. But courage and conscience—those judges I can’t escape. I’m deeply ashamed of the ugly things I did—out of poverty, lust, vanity, whatever the excuse.

I’m ashamed for being a pussy. Ashamed for being intimidated by flashy posers like Q. Ashamed for being paralyzed by imaginary obstacles. Ashamed for whimpering instead of fighting back. Ashamed for hurting people who liked me—like KYMM—because of my own insecurity.

“Big Pussy Fei.” The nickname was accurate.

I’m ashamed for being a jerk. Ashamed for the chaos I caused, swinging between crushing insecurity and arrogant rage. Ashamed for how I treated some women—contemptuous, offensive. Ashamed for stealing someone’s tennis ball.

Part Two: Pain and Healing

What exactly am I in pain about?

The regret of wasted years. The damage to my confidence. The regret of never competing at full strength with the nation’s best minds. Ten years of wanting to make up for it. Seeking recognition and respect that never came. Friendships that should have formed but didn’t. Shame over my ugly behavior. The judgment of courage and conscience.

These pains haunted me for a decade. Midnight awakenings. Nights of weeping. Only recently have they begun to heal.

1. Rebuilding Confidence

Like I said: all I wanted was recognition. Never got it in college.

My classmates were confident people who didn’t hand out praise easily. Too damn smart. When I showed off desperately, begging for validation, they saw right through me. Denied it, and I swear I could see them mentally noting another point against me.

Popular wisdom back then: mentally strong people don’t need external validation. But even now, strong as I am, I remember desperately craving just one word of recognition.

First job, state-owned enterprise. Everyone knew I was smart. But they’d always add “high IQ, low EQ” with a knowing smile. People always expect you to be someone you’re not.

Then came short-lived jobs. Brief acquaintances, forgettable. Some truly despicable bosses—a Peking U PhD, this guy Quan Er.

Until Boss Du. He said: “We’re not trying to please 99% of people. We’re here for the 1% who appreciate us.” Such simple words—Little S thought nothing of them. But for me, a decade-old knot untangled. I was comforted.

2. Letting Go

This happened recently: arguing with Wang San during the Hong Kong protests. He’s representative, you know—outstanding graduate, success story. We reached no consensus, no resolution. No right or wrong—just that he was born on third base.

That conversation released something in me. I’ve seen plenty of classmates since. Many haven’t grown mentally much in a decade after graduation.

From my Weibo back then:

I was terrible in college not because I’m inferior to them. My talent exceeds most of theirs. I came from herding sheep—spent enormous energy in college rebuilding my entire worldview. We weren’t even on the same starting line.

Looking at those successful classmates now—sure, many are still excellent. But some success doesn’t inspire admiration, just bitterness about unfairness. Strip away status, wealth, connections, income—all the things heavily correlated with birth. What’s left in pure intellectual capacity? Many of them—I don’t even want to talk to anymore. So now I think: being slow isn’t so bad.

That conversation killed my desire to catch up, to make up for lost time. Why bother competing with people I no longer respect?

3. True Standing

Saw a post on SMTH asking: “When did you feel intellectually crushed?” Couldn’t think of anything. Posted it in the class chat. They started blowing smoke.

But genuinely—I couldn’t think of anything. My grades were shit but I respected no one. Ego? Sure. But more than that: I knew they only beat me in accumulated knowledge. CPU speed clearly higher than mine? Can’t think of one. Significantly slower? I can count them. Night before last, went through names one by one. My real ability was massively underestimated. By my count, my natural talent exceeds two-thirds of them. True capability easily top ten, no clear hierarchy within that. But this can never be proven now. Unverifiable.

I respect Mark because Mark is good people. Wang San said I don’t respect him. He’s right—never have. From that dinner freshman year when he said he wanted to be “more approachable,” I couldn’t take him seriously. Don’t respect him more because of his ignorance. Xiao Shan, top of our department—clearly brilliant. But limited interaction with women means we’d have to test each other directly, and our only real interaction was one lab where I dominated until missing a formula from not reading ahead. Among close friends, highest IQ has to be Xiao Liao—Tang and I agreed recently. I know Tang meant math ability. But I’ve noticed many math whizzes are surprisingly weak in social sciences. Terrible resistance to propaganda and conspiracy theories. So now I’m skeptical—leaning toward specialization instead. Question is: is mathematical ability the only marker of intelligence? Doubtful. Professor Yuan Juzheng at Taiwan University, lecturing on Rousseau, said: humanity produces one mathematical genius every 50 years, one literary genius every 500 years. Seems to confirm my suspicion.

More importantly: intelligence matters, but it’s not everything. We’re all judged ultimately by our courage. For those of us with sufficient talent, achievement comes down to will, not intelligence. In Harry Potter, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff represent intelligence and diligence. But the real story is always Gryffindor versus Slytherin—courage versus ambition.

Let this end here. I know this is your deep desire—to prove your worth. But give up. It can never be verified. And overturning established hierarchies and prejudices—that never comes easy. Let this restless heart be still.

Bottom line: whether you’re an idiot or a genius, if you don’t admit defeat, nobody’s better than you. Take back all sovereignty. Reclaim every knee you ever bent. Anyone who tries framing me with old prejudices—I’ll spit in their face.

4. Recognition and Friendship

Cleaning up social media, I realized: many people and I share various connections, various roles—but we were never friends.

I never forget. Even when others have forgotten, I remember every trace of kindness shown to me. Lezhen, Acen, Yanmei, Chen’er—their Boys’ Day gifts. Li Zilong’s text after I broke my tooth. Wang San’er helping when I couldn’t find an internship team. Acen, Shitou, Zhang Xiaoshan—casual words of encouragement.

Sadly, most of these people aren’t friends. Just classmates. The recognition never obtained. The friendships that should have been but weren’t. These are permanent now. Irretrievable.

The truth stings, but there’s no point dwelling. People come and go. It’s normal.

5. Shame Over Ugly Acts

People like me—independent, refusing blind obedience, needing to test everything personally—you can’t just tell us what’s good, evil, beautiful, ugly. Doesn’t work that way.

Under given conditions, I do everything, try every means, observe results, watch reactions, understand my own inner experience. That’s always been part of how I live.

The beauty and ugliness, good and evil displayed along the way—do individual data points matter? No. Only our final choices matter. Our deepest identity. Our repeated patterns of behavior. That’s what defines us.

Part Three: Who to Blame

Who caused this pain? Who should I blame?

Should I blame myself forever? Heap reproach on myself endlessly? No. I won’t blame myself anymore because I performed well enough.

Many of you now bend over backward teaching kids to read. I just think: middle school, I wanted to buy a pirated copy of The Ordinary World for 9 yuan. My father hemmed and hawed forever about it. With zero investment, from a village where 63% of kids never made it to high school, I got into Nanyang’s best high school. Then ranked 40th among Henan’s 780,000 test-takers and entered Tsinghua. Was I really so inadequate?

My classmates: put yourselves in my shoes. Not one of you could have done what I did. If you think you could, you’re counting all the education and information that came with your birth. That’s cheating. I’m the one with the strongest life force among all of you.

On Personality’s Influence

Tried using MBTI to explain my college behavior recently. Compared myself to Qiang—others too different for comparison. I’m INTJ, he’s INTP. One line nailed it: INTJs tend to structure their understanding of the world first. I spent huge amounts of energy in college structuring my worldview. Still doing it. Will keep doing it.

My cognitive level then, my personality, my interests—they determined my actions. So even if I could do it over, starting college fresh: I’d still spend time familiarizing myself with terrain others already knew. Figure out why I’m competing. Study the rules. Only then decide on strategy and action.

If I shouldn’t blame myself excessively, who should I blame?

Mentioned poverty in a job interview once—female interviewer rolled her eyes. Sounds like whining. Unprofessional. But I’ve never been purely professional. I’m also a sociologist.

Many people think their education and information are naturally part of their own abilities. They’re not.

Whenever you feel like criticizing any one, just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.

The Great Gatsby

About what happened to me personally—I have no complaints. I was given intelligence at the one-in-ten-thousand level. Talent most people never possess. I’m already among the favored.

Let me revise that statement: The root cause of my painful memories wasn’t poverty itself. It was inequality.

See the difference? “Don’t resent scarcity—resent inequality.” And this: If the problem were simply poverty, lifting myself out would suffice. But if the real problem is inequality—then saving myself alone is meaningless.

If possible, I want to dedicate myself to changing this unjust world. However much I can. As Martin Luther King said in his famous speech:

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

“I Have a Dream” — Martin Luther King Jr.