他們在城市盡頭，沒有繁華的街市，閃亮的霓虹；在城市的盡頭，只有破舊的棚戶區，有飽經生活風霜的生命；在城市的盡頭，有他們這樣一群人。 讓我怎樣稱呼他們？外來務工人員子女？農民子弟？亦或是農民工二代？不，我不想用這些冰冷的名字稱呼他們，我多想叫着他們帶着泥土氣的乳名，拉着他們的小手，走近他們的生活…… 他們從小生長在故鄉的青山綠水中，純潔的靈魂在田野里抽穗拔節。在山野的風中，他們奔跑着，憧憬着。風從田野中吹過，吹進了城市，為了生計，為了未來，他們跟從父母來到了城市，在城市的盡頭紮下了根。於是習慣了青山綠水的雙眸第一次觸碰到了高樓大廈、車水馬龍。他們不知道怎樣穿過六車道的馬路，小小的手指怎麼也數不清寫字樓的層數。繁華的現代文明不曾給他們帶來任何快樂，這一次，卻在心上烙下了深深的痕跡。 他們背起書包，小心翼翼地融入城市的生活。可是卻在“城市人”異樣的眼光中，第一次明白了戶口與暫住證的區別。他們都是父母心頭的寶啊！卻過早地承擔了不屬於這個年齡的負擔。 放學回家，他們做好簡單的晚飯，父母還在工地或菜場上勞作；午夜醒來，淚眼中城裡的星空沒有家鄉的明亮；悄悄許願，希望明天他們的打工子弟小學不會因交不出電費而被查封…… 然而，在他們日益長高的身體上，我看到了他們的成長。記得一位記者問一個打工子弟學校的孩子，學成後是否會回到家鄉時，小姑娘毫不猶豫地說：當然，一定回去！那一刻，我差點落下淚來，為他們的成長。 記得那年春晚他們稚氣的宣言：“我們的學校很小，但我們的成績不差”“我們不和城裡的孩子比爸爸”“北京的2008，也是我們的2008！”他們逐漸成熟，告別昨天的羞怯，開始迎接新的一天。 雖然，他們還在為不多的學費而苦惱；雖然，學校還是交不上水電費；雖然，還有好多體制還不夠完善……雖然有好多個“雖然”，但是，只有一個“但是”就足夠了，已經有好多視線轉向他們，他們正在茁壯地成長。 太陽從地平線上升起，照亮了城市的盡頭，照亮了他們的生活。 他們，終將會成為我們。 -------------------- They At the outskirt of the city, there are no bustling markets, no flashing neon lights; at the outskirt of the city, there stand the dilapidated shanty neighbourhood and hardship in life; at the outskirt of the city, you will see such a group - them. How shall I call them? Kids of seasonal workers? Farmer boys? or the second-generation migration farmers? No,I can't use these terms, which sound a bit too cold. How much I wish I could call them by their humble nicknames, hold their little hands, and become part of their lives... In their native land surrounded by green hills and creeks, they used to run in the wild, and their young minds wonder as seasons rotate. However, the wind blown across the field blows them to the city. To make a living, for a better future, they follow their parents and settle down here. With a pair of eyes so familiar with nature, they see, for the first time, high-rise buildings and busy traffic. They wonder how to cross a six-lane street. They are lost when counting building floors with their small fingers. Before modern civilization could bring any happiness to them, it first left a scar deep in their heart. They go to school with a backpack, trying to behave like the rest. But in the scrutinous eyes of the "city boys and girls", for the first time in their life, they realize there is a difference between residents and migrants. Also jewels of their own parents, but they have to assume the burden of life that is beyond their age. After school, they return home to cook while their parents are still busy working somewhere. Woke up at midnight, through tears, they discover that the stars in the city sky are not as bright as those in their hometown. They make a wish though - wishing their local farmer kids' school will not shut down if it fails to pay utility bills... However, as they grow taller, they grow mature. I remember an instance when a reporter asked a farmer school girl if she would return to her hometown in the future, she replied without any hesitation, "Sure, I will." At that moment, I almost cried for their growth. I also remember the voice of the little ones heard on the Chinese New Year TV show: "My hometown school may be smaller, but I still did great," "I don't want to compare my dad with the city boys' dads," "The Beijing 2008 Olympics is also mine." Slowly but surely, they stepped out of their shyness; one step at a time. Every day is a new day. Although they may still worry over their school fees, nothing is "small" in their terms; although their school may still struggle with its utility bills; although there are a lot of rooms to be desired for a lot of things...although there are a lot of "althoughs", but, only one "but" is enough, they already began to receive a lot of attention. They are doing better and coping well. The sun rises above the horizon, lighting up every corner of the city. It also lights up their lives. They, will eventually become us. --------------------------------- An essay received full score in the 2008 national college and university entrance examine, Shanghai district, China. Translated by Kido.