I’ve always been the kind of person who likes to "save up" old things.

I still remember how, back when vacations started, the first thing everyone did was throw away all their books, test papers, and everything else. At that time, exam papers from the whole grade would fly all over between the school buildings, like a heavy snowfall. The scene was spectacular. But I never joined in. I always felt that if I kept these things, what if they might come in handy someday?

As a result, those textbooks and test papers that didn’t fly away with everyone else stayed in my home for more than a decade, filling every corner. With some unexpected free time on my hands, I finally decided to do a thorough clean-out.

While sorting, I pulled out a bright red piece of clothing. It used to be one of my favorites to wear, and because it had been washed so many times, the collar had long since become faded and whitish. Holding it up, I rambled to my mom:

Mom, do you still remember this one? I loved wearing it back then.

My mom didn’t rush off to do anything; she just stood by and smiled at me. She listened the whole time as I talked about where each piece of clothing came from and why I liked it back then. Looking back, a lot of my old tastes really were pretty childish, but the feeling of me tidying up while my mom listened to me chatter made me realize that I was personally saying goodbye to the boyhood I had once carefully treasured.

What I found hardest to part with were those old school uniforms. They recorded the path I’ve taken over the years:

• the signature blue-and-white style from when I studied in Shenzhen, recognizable at a glance out on the street;
• the style I changed into after transferring back to my hometown school in my third year of middle school;
• and then the high school uniforms that came later.

On the backs and cuffs of the uniforms, there were still sentences I had written by hand back then, along with a signature I had practiced for a long time. Because so much time had passed, the black handwriting had already become very, very faint, and I had to lean in close to make out the sentence:

Keep going. Success lies on the very next step of your road.

I saw that line in 2015 when I was climbing Huangshan and spotted a sign halfway up the mountain. I was exhausted at the time, and when I looked up and saw it, I thought it was especially meaningful and deeply encouraging. When I got home, I wrote it on my school uniform. Now, looking at that faded handwriting, it feels like seeing the clumsy yet earnest version of myself from back then.

I gritted my teeth, stuffed all those old clothes into one huge bag, and carried it downstairs first.

When I tightened the bag and lifted it, it was astonishingly heavy, and the plastic handles dug painfully into my hand. In that moment, I truly felt that all this time, I had been dragging such a heavy pile of memories forward with me. After I threw the clothes away, a spot opened up in the corner that had been crammed full before.

Now, in front of me, there are still stacks and stacks of old books I’ve kept from elementary school until now. Looking at them, I always think of the version of myself who didn’t join everyone else in "throwing paper around."

To be honest, that feeling of "not wanting to let go" hasn’t diminished at all. It’s just that now, I’m finally able to steel myself and say goodbye to them.

Handwriting fades, and old clothes get washed until they lose their color, but the words written on those clothes had already grown into my bones long ago.

Maybe what I threw away were old belongings, but what I carried forward was that former self who once charged ahead without hesitation.

It just so happens to be the New Year, so I guess this counts as my own way of "out with the old and in with the new."

And a happy New Year to all of you who made it this far. I hope everyone can travel light and set out on that more spirited "next step of the road."