近期，包校高中部英语组发起的“百字微自传”英文写作比赛圆满落幕。赛事以“在百字内讲述一个真实而有力量的人生片段”为目标，借鉴海外报刊专栏的微型故事形式，邀请师生以百字英文捕捉生命中有意义的瞬间。本次活动不仅是英语教学成果的集中展示，更是一次深具意义的育人实践——引导学生在写作中认识自我、在阅读时理解、共情他人，于极简中探索表达的无限可能。
据组织老师熊梅青介绍，本届比赛在参与度与赛制上均有创新。在创作层面，作品不设主题、不定体裁，但需在方寸之间清晰呈现矛盾的起落，并以生动的细节和独特的视角，讲述真实动人的故事。参与层面，师生共执笔，校领导团队和英语教师参与评审。赛事机制上，首次采用学院为单位组织竞逐，不仅融入了校内已有的多元赛事体系；更通过规则升级，比如在不同阶段提供匿名选项，鼓励创作者的自由表达。学子们不仅为展现个人才华而书写，也为集体荣誉而倾注心力。
评审团依据故事性、语言表现、个人风格、叙事结构与格式规范五大标准，进行多轮评选。经过初选与校级终审的激烈角逐，一批优秀作品脱颖而出。这些“微自传“，如同一扇扇明亮的窗，既展现了学子们出色的英语叙事能力与文字功底，也映照出他们细腻丰盈的内心世界、无界的思考与真挚的情感。最终，秋学院凭借其出色表现获得冠军，荣登学院总评分榜首。这份共同的荣誉，进一步激发了秋学院在后续人文知识竞赛、女子足球赛等活动中的士气，可谓秋意盎然。
学生作品展示
向下滑动查看
Between Breaths
by Tony Gong
"Breathing's simple," my coach said. "In and out."
But underwater, the words twisted. My chest tightened, my throat locked. I tried to breathe out, but it was all too late. Water rushed in, sharp and cold. The pool turned into noise and blur, arms thrashing, bubbles exploding around me. Someone shouted, "In and out." I thrust myself upward, reaching the surface. Air crashed back to my lungs, like fire. I gasped and coughed, trembling on the edge of the pool.
My coach knelt beside me, still calm. "In and out", he said again, as if it had always been easy.
教师点评
文中“吸气，呼气”一句重复三次，从最初显得空洞的教练口头禅，到主人公溺水时的场外呼喊，再到事后教练镇定的重复，同一句话随情境演变而承载截然不同的情感与意义，形成富有张力的对比，深刻揭示出“亲身经历方知不易”的体悟。在描写上，作者融合声音、视觉与动态，用简洁的句式呈现呛水时的混乱与窒息感。其中“猛推”一词生动体现了求生时的爆发力，但若从溺水者体力与控制力的真实状态考虑，或可尝试调整力度，以软绵挣扎的姿态传递更精准的生理真实，这是值得在修改中斟酌的细节。
向下滑动查看
"When the Past is Left Behind"
by Agnes Liu Y10
From the hotel's 16th floor, Macau burst into a theatre of magic and fireworks. A searing gold thread blazed then unfurled, blossoming into glimmers of ethereal sand; celestial blue stars shimmered then relinquished, showering down from heaven like an angel's effervescent tears.
And I understood. Our most transformative moments demand too this terrifying yet sublime release: to shatter our past selves, trusting the resulting bloom would be far more magnificent than the shell we leave behind.
Behind me, past shackles shriveled into the night; before me, endless new possibilities swirled into existence, in perfect symphony with the dancing light.
教师点评
此篇末尾的“shell”的双关语用的极妙，或者说三重可能的字义解读都有可能性：1）有冲击力的爆炸物本身的整体形象 2）曾经装着烟花燃料的金属小容器，爆炸后自然变成残骸了 3）人或其他生命体的躯体、外壳。既然此文在第二段，由窗外盛放的烟火转到富有蜕变意义的人生时刻，那么这三重意思都起到了丝滑助推和融合的作用。我眼前和我身后的两个空间、眼前的明暗光影对比、已成辉煌碎片的过去的我与未来潜力无限的自己......这些对比，跃然纸上，让主题再进一步升华。
向下滑动查看
"Hiraizumi's Everlasting Wail"
by Henry Liu
78 moons ago, Alex and I— at tournament, friendship started. I've feared our randori since… would rip our shared bond.
78 suns ago, he wore white; I wore blue.
My coach pulled me aside: "Friendship," he recited, eyeing him, "comes after winning. Seize osaekomi—don't let it slip."
The line echoed: whispers, in corners, sick legacy passing. Cheers blared, like I knew what to do. I didn't.
I stumbled. And edged ahead.
Contorted ambition shoved my Ritsurei.
"Kaishin."
Alex and I both looked away—he'd heard the same.
When did we forget: "Friendship first, competition second?" Or the other way around?
教师点评
究竟是友谊第一、比赛第二，还是倒转过来呢？此处十分巧妙地设置了一个开放式的结尾，并不向读者揭秘究竟两位男生孰胜孰负，因为他们可以自行想象。又或许，结果并不重要，而是这个双方都在纠结而又不得不为了个人和团队荣誉拼尽全力的心理变化过程。用月亮和太阳来作为单位来表达几个月和几天之前，富有创意，也颇有时间流逝之画面感。
"Softly"
by Momo Xu Y11
I walk under streetlight where rain is temporarily visible, almost fluorescent. It's the last night of two weeks of summer school. Something in the lawn flickers both sides to me, like signal lights on wings of ocean-crossing planes. I realize they are something I have never seen in the entirety of my almost-sixteen years of existence; they are fireflies. Rain falls onto tips of grass, and droplets glimmer as if they might be fireflies as well. It feels like a revelation, an omen. A farewell. So I stand there long, and let the wind carry away, softly, my own goodbye.
“A Tiny Fraction ”
There's me, sitting on the cold stone stair ways in the shades, daydreaming, the aromatic and thick smell of the old yogurt drifting towards me through the alley in Tengchong.
Then, there are friends, hands to hands, back to the wet grasslands, small raindrops filling the air. All framed in the one single moment, deposited in a piece of photograph.
Then, when I take it out again, that was all I could recall, a tiny fraction of a second, a tiny fraction of our trip, a tiny fraction of the youth.
"Of Roads and Reticence"
2021: Grandmother, returning from chemo, kneeling in front where my grandfather once slept. "Cancer, too."
2024: Summer, wanting to write to him, realizing I didn't remember his name. I wept, apologized, wept.
2024: Fall,cancer-free grandmother in Shanghai. Rain teetered. Old couple passed, oneumbrella. I diverted my gazetowards streetlamps, strewn boba bottles, windows oozing belonging. I didn’tdare look at the survivor beside me, having as much grit as painful memories. Istared down at my crease-less hands instead.
2025: He visited in my dreams. First in four years. We were racing through green stalks. He seemed happy.
员工作品展示
