My Sophomore Year of College

Classes resumed a week ago, and I've now met just about all of this year's instructors.

Every evening, I take a post-dinner stroll around the sports field with my backpack on. The late-summer breeze feels wonderfully cool against my skin, and the field is very quiet. I just wander, letting my mind drift freely over all sorts of questions — no one disturbs me, and there's nothing to worry about. I love this kind of life.

The freshmen haven't arrived yet. Ours is a three-year medical vocational college, and most students are on the three-year track; the juniors have already gone off to hospital internships. So in this first week of the semester, we sophomores are the only grade left on campus. At night, about three-quarters of the dorm rooms are dark, and the cafeteria is no longer crowded.

After a long summer break, my young classmates seem to have grown up a bit. We'd spent a year together, then parted for nearly two months; now that we're reunited, everyone is warmly affectionate — especially toward me, their elder.
I can feel myself being taken care of in every way.

According to college tradition, sophomores must do a lot of preparation for the incoming freshmen — cleaning their dorms in advance, setting up the lockers and beds. The young men won't let me do any of the heavy work. In fact, two of them, taking advantage of the general bustle, carried a brand-new locker into my room. "Uncle," they said, "the locker you were assigned was too shabby. Let's swap it for a new one!"

I laughed and told them the freshmen would curse them behind their backs if they ever found out their new lockers had been switched out like this — all the while basking in the happiness of being looked after. These kids truly treat me as one of their own. Everyone greets me warmly, and even the quietest girl in the class calls out "Uncle!" cheerfully when she sees me.

There are more than a hundred people in my class, and quite a few I still can't put names to, but that doesn't dim the kids' warmth toward me. Whenever they greet me, I smile back politely. When I first arrived, some students, out of curiosity, would secretly film me and post the videos on their Moments or Douyin. Sometimes I'd tell them I didn't like being exposed, and they'd obligingly delete them. After a year of familiarity, no one does that anymore.

This semester, everyone's spirits seem much better than last year's. Perhaps because specialized courses now make up a larger share of the curriculum, and people actually want to attend them — very few skip class anymore, and few play with their phones during lectures. I've observed several times now: most students look up and listen attentively. That gives me great comfort.

I don't know what they think, but I cherish this year's learning opportunity more than last year's. Just thinking that in another year I'll leave school and start my Western-medicine internship in a hospital fills me with reluctance. Although our school is a junior college, the quality of my teachers' instruction is quite good. This year several courses are taught by young instructors, most of whom hold master's or doctoral degrees and lecture with excellent logic. I listen carefully in every class and take meticulous notes, feeling that I gain something every day.

Three years is simply too short. Last year, when I first arrived, I hadn't yet adapted to campus life and kept wishing the time away so I could return to Beijing. This year, the moment I set foot on campus, I fell in love with school life. Once you enter the school gate it's like plunging into the deep sea — all the outside chores come to an abrupt halt. My efficiency in studying and writing on campus is high; my daily gains and output are more than double what I manage at home.

After a year of college, my mindset has shifted. As I've grown accustomed to campus life, I've come to love being a student. I'm deeply attached to this time. Not only do people my age rarely get such an opportunity, but I myself won't have many more years of schooling ahead. When we're young, we always want to graduate as soon as possible; but past middle age, sitting in class and studying — you find yourself getting hooked on it.

If it were possible, I'd take the college entrance exam all over again and study acupuncture, moxibustion, and tuina for three or five years. That would depend on whether my father's health is good enough that I can leave home to study with an easy mind. And if I did go back for those subjects, I'd choose a school where I could return home every day — full-time study, but without being cut off from family life. That would be the ideal arrangement.

By the end of this semester, we'll have studied over forty courses in total, more than thirty of them specialized medical courses. With another semester or two, in these two years I'll have touched upon most of the curriculum in clinical medicine. Of course, to go deeper, I'd also need to listen online to national quality open courses or the excellent medical courses on Bilibili.

This semester we're studying Preventive Medicine, General Practice, Surgery, Infectious Diseases, Pharmacology, Diagnostics, Medical Imaging Diagnostics, Dermatology and Venereology — and even Fundamentals of Traditional Chinese Medicine and Appropriate Techniques.

The clinical medicine program has an enormous number of courses. The curriculum is designed on the principle of breadth and completeness — how deep you eventually go depends on your personal ambition and self-discipline.

After listening to the lectures, I've realized I don't need to rush to finish my book. I can take my time — study a few more years, gain a more comprehensive grasp of every field of medicine, and only then complete my writing. It won't be too late, and it will allow me to write a better book.

The teachers I've met this semester are also quite interesting — almost all of the specialized-course instructors were previously practicing clinicians. Our Diagnostics teacher used to work as an ICU doctor and lectures with a constant stream of witty remarks. She describes being a doctor as having one foot in the hospital and the other in the courtroom — clearly a teacher with stories to tell. The Surgery teacher was formerly a surgeon; surprisingly, she greatly admires traditional Chinese medicine and often introduces TCM treatment methods during class, speaking of them with high praise. The Infectious Diseases teacher used to be a pediatrician and frequently tells clinical anecdotes as well.

I gain a great deal from their lectures, because many of the topics resonate with me. I wonder what they'd think if they knew that the uncle-aged student in the front row, like them, also stepped back from clinical practice to study full-time on campus.

If I were ten years younger, I'd almost certainly spend five years studying Western medicine at a university, then another five years on acupuncture, moxibustion, and tuina. But I no longer have that much time to devote to such studies — I can only take the short, quick route of vocational education.

Comprehensive learning is my own requirement of myself. A narrow view breeds narrow-mindedness and prejudice, and it makes you inflexible in clinical work. My plan is to study broadly over these few years, and after graduation to pursue deep, specialized research in the field I excel at, breaking down the wall between Chinese and Western medicine.

Disease is by no means easy to treat, especially given my particular patient population — the vast majority are people for whom various treatments have repeatedly failed, and such cases are even harder. The more medical knowledge I acquire, the more tools I have at my disposal to treat patients — and only then can I help more people.

In sophomore year, there are essentially no more waves or surprises. Life has settled into new habits, and I simply move forward along them. I'm basically in a state of never leaving the campus gates. Small as the campus is, it has everything one needs — study, daily life, entertainment, exercise, and meals all within the walls. The world outside can be shut out by the school gate; inside the ivory tower, there isn't much noise.

I sleep early and rise early, and day after day I read, memorize vocabulary, attend classes, take notes, write articles, run, play ball, and answer in moderation the occasional consultation from old friends. That fills my schedule to the brim, leaving little leisure time.

Sometimes I think how wonderful it would be if the rest of my life could be like this — and ideally with the school not too far from home. But I know that's a pipe dream; no one can stay at school in the identity of a student forever. All I can do is cherish each present moment. Years after graduation, when I look back on all of today, I'll certainly miss it deeply — because all of it is beautiful enough.