Defining Freedom
When I was a child, I loved visiting my uncle’s house in the countryside. He raised sheep, and I enjoyed watching them. They lived a simple, unassuming life, and even though I visited them every day, they were still afraid of me. I thought the surrounding fence looked pretty low, so I asked my family if the sheep wouldn’t run away. They calmly assured me they wouldn’t.
When I went up to the mountains with my uncle to tend the sheep, he sat leisurely in the shade of a tree, watching the sheep graze in the distance. I was worried they might run off and felt anxious, but he assured me they wouldn’t. I didn’t understand, so I picked some wildflowers and held them up, trying to keep the sheep within my sight.
I thought that if it were me, I would run away. I wouldn’t want to be trapped here for the rest of my life, living only for others’ benefits. I’ve long forgotten what the journey home was like that day, but I know that flock of sheep, time and again, even when out on the fields, never strayed on their own.
Ever since elementary school, my memories seem to consist of nothing but nightmares. I would get so terrified of going to school that I would retch, and I spent every day from morning till night in a state of anxiety, trapped within a strict set of rules. I feared the teachers’ verbal abuse and targeting, and the bullying from my classmates for no reason at all. I hated feeling starved yet having to eat food that smelled bad. I dreaded having to do over twenty assignments after just a three-day break. What I feared even more was failing to be a good student; it felt as though I’d become a worthless failure, given up on by both teachers and parents.
Starting in sixth grade, I became a model student, conforming to the school’s rules and the expectations of teachers and parents, until I entered middle school and faced even more twisted regulations. The school facilities were inversely proportional to the tuition paid. The food was like something from a trash can, and the dormitory conditions were no different from a prison. The cold, rigid rules seemed to run through my veins. If I broke them, it was a dead end. How to fold the blankets, when to close the door, what sleeping position to adopt, how to line up while walking; morning runs, evening study sessions, rankings, inspections, discipline, and criticism. Everything was arranged with airtight precision. Amidst this anxiety, I constantly scrutinized myself. Had I stood in the wrong spot? Said the wrong thing? Worn the wrong clothes? Forgotten something? Would I lose points? Would I be scolded? Especially my teacher at the time, she was notorious for her strictness and wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest mistake. I was once so terrified of making a mistake that I felt like I was about to break down, yet I couldn’t even cry. I could only wait in anxiety and fear for confirmation that I wouldn’t be punished. After I adapted for several months, my stress and fear drove me to improve, and my parents and teachers all praised me. Nevertheless, I know this isn’t something that’s good for me in the long run.
Gradually, I felt as though I had become a sheep in a pen.I have no power or autonomy to define freedom for myself. I am just like the sheep that wander around in the pen, never daring to
break the fence and jump out of it. I know that rules and pressure are inevitable parts of school life, but they shouldn’t be this distorted. The school sets all the unreasonable rules, all for letting us be submissive. They present militarized and hardship education as a way to improve students, but in reality, they profit immensely from it. Since parents love the idea they hold. What remains is a rigid set of so-called rules that pushes both teachers and students to their limits. What I remember most clearly is being made to stand in the burning sun for two hours at the opening ceremony, while the principal arrived afterward, settled into the shade with ease, and spoke for no more than five minutes. There were many times when I craved freedom. Back then, my resistance was actually quite naive and limited. It might have been nothing more than a desire to skip a ceremony or temporarily evade a particular rule. I didn’t truly realize that the problem lay with the system as a whole, nor did I have the capacity to understand how it shapes people. The only thing I knew was that I always felt I wasn’t doing well enough.I did become the disciplined, well-behaved student the system wanted, but only within its boundaries. Outside of it, I felt almost boneless, as though I no longer knew how to hold myself up.
Later, my parents helped me break free from that system, and I went to an international school. I believed I had broken away from the system and begun to observe freedom, only to realize that it was not truly freedom after all. Having been freed from that strict discipline, I didn’t know how to stay disciplined on my own, so I didn’t study as hard as I had in my previous environment. Whenever I hesitated between putting in the effort or not, or failed to achieve the grades I expected, I would blame myself. Then I became more anxious, more confused, and more fall behind. It was like a vicious cycle that kept repeating itself.
When I went to college in the United States, I felt like I was experiencing true freedom for the first time. I began my life as an adult and learned to take responsibility for myself. I studied more complex theories and tried to understand what true freedom really meant. I thought I was free, but I faced immense academic pressure and many challenges, and I had to work very hard to fit in. I still encountered many problems and felt even more lost about what to do, which left me extremely anxious and unable to resolve these issues. So I began to think about how to truly possess freedom. Then I seem to realize why the sheep would not leave even when they are in the fields. Since they get used to being disciplined, I am very much like them.
As a result, many of the problems inherent in the old system were never truly resolved.
My fear of failure, my reliance on external validation, and my tendency to distrust my own choices all remain. The only thing that has changed is the form of control. I am no longer bound by visible rules, but am instead shackled by invisible habits. This seemingly free state is, in many ways, nothing more than another form of imprisonment. It was then that I began to realize that freedom cannot simply be defined as the absence of rules. Perhaps freedom becomes real only when a person is empowered to direct the self. In one system, choice is constrained by visible discipline, authority, and obedience. In another, it is constrained by invisible pressures, uncertainty, and the burden of having to construct oneself alone. Though their forms differ, neither allows a person to fully possess themselves. In many cases, we can’t tell the difference between lies and the truth, and the more we venture out into the world, the clearer this becomes.
If I lack the ability to trust my own judgment, cannot shoulder responsibility without being crushed by fear, and cannot act based on an inner sense of agency, then freedom will always remain incomplete. Perhaps compared to a sheep, I know how to live my own life. I came to understand that freedom is not the removal of the fence, but the ability to choose the direction once the fence is gone. Even if the place ahead is not entirely free, I still need the strength to walk toward it, step by step.
[Chinese]小时候，我特别喜欢去乡下的叔叔家。他养了一群羊，我总爱蹲在那里看它们。那些羊活得简单又安静，虽然我几乎每天都去看，它们见到我时还是会有点害怕。我总盯着那圈围栏看，觉得它低得不可思议，就忍不住问家里人，羊真的不会跑吗。他们只是很平静地告诉我，不会。后来有一次，我跟着叔叔上山放羊。他坐在树荫下，看着远处的羊群慢慢吃草，整个人都很放松。我却生怕它们突然跑远了。叔叔还是那副一点都不担心的样子。我不明白，只能一边攥着刚摘的野花吸引它们来吃，好把它们留在我的视线内。
那时候我就在想，如果换成是我，我一定早就跑了。我不想一辈子被困在一个地方，活着只是为了给别人带来好处。那天回家的路我已经不记得了，但我一直记得那群羊。无论多少次，哪怕它们站在空旷的原野上，也从来没有自己走远过。
从小学开始，我对学校的很多记忆都像噩梦一样。那时候我会因为不想去上学而干呕。每天从早到晚，我都像被困在一套严苛的规则里，整个人一直悬着，没办法真正放松。我害怕老师的羞辱和针对，也害怕同学毫无缘由的霸凌。我讨厌明明饿得发慌，却还要逼自己吃下那些味道奇怪的食堂饭菜；我也讨厌只有短短三天假期，却还要面对二十多项作业的生活。可最让我害怕的，其实不是这些，而是我没办法成为一个好学生。对当时的我来说，这几乎等于我会变成一个一无是处的人，一个会被老师和父母同时放弃的人。
到了六年级，我慢慢活成了大家眼里懂事又优秀的样子。我学着顺从规则，满足老师和家长的期待。可等我上了初中，迎接我的却是更扭曲的一套管教方式。学校的设施简陋得和高昂的学费完全不相称，饭菜差得像垃圾桶里捞出来的，寝室环境也压抑得像监狱。那些冰冷又僵硬的规矩一点点渗进我的生活里，好像只要稍微越界一步，就会立刻出事。
被子要叠成什么样，门要在什么时候关，睡觉要保持什么姿势，走路时队伍要怎么站；晨 跑、晚自习、排名、检查、纪律、批评，所有事情都被安排得密不透风。在那种持续不断的焦虑里，我几乎每时每刻都在检查自己。我有没有站错位置，有没有说错话，有没有穿错衣服，有没有忘记什么，会不会被扣分，会不会被骂。当时的班主任以严厉出名，几乎容不得任何一点错误。有一次，我因为太害怕犯错，整个人都快撑不住了，可连哭都哭不出来。我只能一直等，等一句你不会被惩罚，才能勉强松一口气。
几个月之后，我居然适应了那一切。或者更准确地说，是恐惧和压力逼着我适应了。我的成绩真的开始变好，老师夸我，家长也夸我。表面上看，我像是被这种环境塑造得越来越优秀了。可我心里一直很清楚，这样的成长方式不是健康的，它只是提前透支了我未来面对生活的能力。
慢慢地，我觉得自己就像那圈里的羊一样。我没有真正定义自由的权力，也没有真正选择的能力。我只是待在围栏里来回走，却从来不敢真的跳出去。我知道规矩和压力本来就是学校生活的一部分，但它们不该被扭曲成这个样子。学校制定那么多不合理的规则，本质上是在训练我们的服从。他们把军事化管理和吃苦教育包装成对学生负责，实际上却从中赚得盆满钵满，因为很多家长偏偏相信这一套。最后留下来的，只是一整套被推到极致的规则，把老师和学生都压得喘不过气。
我记得最清楚的一幕，是开学典礼那天。我们在烈日下站了整整两个小时，校长却姗姗来迟，悠闲地坐在阴凉处，只讲了不到五分钟的话。那样的场景，我一直忘不掉。
在很多时刻，我都渴望自由。可那时候我的反抗其实很幼稚，也很有限，可能只是想逃掉一场典礼，或者短暂地躲开某一条规则而已。我并没有真正意识到问题出在整个体制上，更没有能力去理解它是怎么塑造人的。我唯一知道的，就是我总觉得自己做得还不够好。
我确实成了体制想要的那种自律、听话、乖巧的学生，但这种状态只在那个体制里面成立。一旦离开那个框架，我就像突然被抽掉了骨头，甚至不知道该怎么把自己撑起来。
后来，父母帮我离开了原来的学校，我转去了国际学校。我那时以为自己终于摆脱了束缚，以为自由已经在眼前了。可很快我就发现，那并不是真正的自由。没有了外在强制性的约束，我反而不知道该怎么要求自己，学习也没有以前那么拼命。我开始担心自己的未来，一旦在努力与否之间犹豫，或者没拿到预期中的成绩，无休止的自责就会立刻把我吞没。然后我变得更焦虑，更混乱，也更容易掉队。那像一个不断重复的恶性循环。
后来我来到美国上大学，第一次感觉自己好像真的进入了成年人的世界。我开始学习如何对自己负责，也开始接触更复杂的理论，试着去理解自由到底是什么。我原本以为，只要离开过去那种高压环境，自由就会自然出现。可事实并不是这样。新的环境里依然有巨大的学业压力，也有融入陌生文化和生活方式的困难。各种问题接连不断地冒出来，我常常感到迷茫、焦虑，不知道自己该怎么办。
也是在那个阶段，我才慢慢明白，为什么那些羊就算站在野外，也还是不愿意离开。因为它们早就习惯了被规约，习惯了顺着别人替它们安排好的方向活着。而我，其实也没有什么不同。
旧体制留在我身上的很多东西，从来没有真正消失。我依然害怕失败，依然很依赖外界的认可，也依然不太相信自己的选择。变化的只是控制的方式。我不再被那些看得见的规则束缚，却被看不见的习惯、自我怀疑和焦虑困住了。表面上看，我比从前自由了，可很多时候，那不过是另一种形式的囚禁。
我后来才慢慢意识到，自由根本不能只是规则消失了这么简单。只有当一个人真的有能力引导自己时，自由才会变得真实。在一种体制下，人的选择被纪律、权威和服从直接压缩；在另一种体制下，选择看起来变多了，可它又被隐形的压力、不确定感，以及独自塑造自我的重担限制着。形式虽然不一样，但两者都没有真正让人完整地拥有自己。很多情况下我们没办法分辨谎言和真相，走得越多，这一点就越清晰。
如果我没有信任自己判断的能力，没有办法在恐惧里承担责任，没有办法靠内在的力量去行动，那么所谓的自由就始终是不完整的。
我现在开始明白，自由不是把围栏拆掉就够了。真正的自由，是当围栏消失之后，仍然知道自己要往哪里走，即使那个地方可能并不完全自由，也有能力一步步走过去。