On the bench outside the examination room, I stopped and gasped for a short time. The classmates around them had different expressions: some lowered their heads and memorized words silently, and their lips were silently squirming, as if they were racing against time; some were staring at the screen of their phones, writing questions quickly, and their eyes were filled with the stubbornness of the last moment; some people were chatting about last night's variety show in groups, and the nervous tremolo could not be concealed in their laughter. I took out my admission ticket and stared at the photo above. It was taken when I entered the freshman year. I had a green smile and full of longing for the future. At that time, with infinite expectations for university life, I imagined that I would travel freely in the ocean of knowledge, but I never expected that CET-6 would become a lingering psychological symbol for me in four years. It is not only a pass to a certificate, but also a metaphor, carrying my doubts about my self-capacity, anxiety about the future, and the slight collision of my "trapped self".

When I walked into the examination room, the atmosphere was like a solidified jelly, dull and sticky. The rustling sound of the invigilator distributing the test papers, mixed with the tiny sound of the candidates flipping the admission ticket, constitutes a strange tranquility. I looked down at the test paper, and the familiar reading comprehension, listening dialogue and composition topics came into my eyes. I have practiced these questions countless times, forgetting the words, forgetting again and again, and the grammatical rules are tossing and turning in my mind like chewing gum, which has long lost its taste. But every time I open the test paper, I still feel a slight dizziness - not because the question is too difficult, but because this exam has long exceeded the scope of language ability. It looks like a mirror, reflecting my uncertainty about myself, and reflecting the moments in college life when I was overwhelmed by my studies, socialization and future planning. Every question on the test paper seemed to be asking me silently: Are you ready? Are you really worthy of who you are now?

During the first two years of my college life, I had an almost blind obsession with CET-6. Not because I need this certificate to find a job, but because it seems to be a measure of "I am excellent enough". During the night chat in the dormitory, roommates would talk about who passed the CET-6 and who got high scores. There was an invisible sense of superiority in those casual tone. Especially when a classmate with excellent grades said lightly, "Just pass the exam casually", I always feel a sense of sadness. I don’t want to be compared, and I don’t want to be compared by myself. So, I started a long marathon for the exam. I get up at 6 o'clock every morning and memorize words, use apps to brush my listening during class, and bury it in the sea of questions in the study room at night, even the dream is an option to fill in the blanks. This effort made me feel like I was "progressing", but it also made me gradually fall into a mechanical cycle. The process of preparing for the exam is like competing with myself. Every time I memorize a word or do a right question, I try to prove that I can control my life and I can not be swallowed by anxiety.

However, anxiety always has a way to find a breakthrough. When I first took the CET-6 exam, I sat in the exam room, my palms were sweating, and the conversations from my listening headphones were like alien languages, and my speech speed was so fast that I doubted the meaning of English that I had learned for more than ten years. The reading comprehension articles are densely packed, and every word in the options is like a trap, which makes me hesitate again and again. After the exam, I walked out of the teaching building, and the sun was so dazzling that I wanted to cry. At that moment, I felt like a loser, not just because I might not have enough scores, but because I realized that the CET-6 English is no longer a test paper, but my repeated questioning of my self-worth. It made me see my limitations and also made me wonder: Can I really become that "ideal self"? The shadow of failure is like a dark cloud, shrouded in my college life, making me full of fear of every exam, and even affecting my confidence in other courses.

When I was preparing for the second time, I tried to adjust my mindset and told myself that it was "it was just an exam." But this self-comfort didn't make me much more relaxed. The pressure of university life is like an invisible net, with academics, clubs, internships, and postgraduate entrance examinations. Each item is like a stone, which makes people breathless. CET-6 is just one of them, but it is particularly dazzling because of its "visibility". Someone in my circle of friends posted a CET-6 certificate, accompanied by the words "Finally Liberated"; someone in the dormitory said lightly, "You can pass the exam anytime," which made me feel an invisible isolation. I began to envy those who seemed to pass the test without any effort, and also began to hate my sensitivity and seriousness. The days of preparing for the exam made me silent, the headphones became my safe haven, and the vocabulary books became my armor. I know that I am not fighting for a certificate, but trying to break through the self trapped by self-doubt and outside expectations. Every time I face myself in the mirror, I try to find a trace of persistence in those tired eyes.

On the day of the exam, I sat in the exam room, with the nib of my pen making a slight rustling sound on the answer sheet. The listening part is still crazy, the reading comprehension article looks like an endless tunnel, and the wording of the composition topic makes me unable to start writing for a while. But strangely, this time, I was not as panicked as last time. Maybe it's because I'm used to this kind of pressure, or maybe it's because I'm starting to accept that the results of the exam cannot define my full value. I wrote the last sentence of the composition and looked up at the sky outside the examination room. The sun shone through the window on the desk, warm and calm. At that moment, I suddenly felt that this exam was not the end, but a monument in my spiritual history. It records my struggles, my hopes, and how I learned to reconcile with myself through repeated failures and attempts.

Walking out of the examination room, the campus is still noisy. Some people were running on the playground, and sweat shone in the sun; outside the library, some people hurried by with books; under the shade of the tree, some people called, their tone was full of longing for the future. I didn't rush to answer the answers, nor did I discuss scores with others. For me, CET-6 is no longer synonymous with a certificate. It is a microcosm of countless days and nights in my college life, an interweaving of anxiety and hope, a confrontation between fatigue and numbness, and a small collision with my "trapped self". This monument not only records my contest with the test paper, but also records how I slowly learn to accept my imperfection in the face of the complexity of interpersonal relationships, the heaviness of my studies and the confusion of my heart in the micro society of university.

College life is like a turbulent river, carrying everyone forward. English CET-6 is just a small rapid in this river, but it makes me feel the weight of pressure and also allows me to learn to find balance in the rapids. It made me realize that growth is not a victory that can be achieved overnight, but a dialogue with myself again and again. Every torment of preparing for the exam and every heartbeat in the exam room is my reexamination of myself. In interpersonal communication, I began to learn to listen, instead of blindly comparing with others; under academic pressure, I began to find my own rhythm, rather than blindly chasing others' pace. Every failure is like a brick and stone, built on this monument, making it more stable.

The significance of the exam may not lie in the results, but in how it shapes my inner world. The CET-6 English exam room has become a witness to my spiritual history, recording my transformation from youth to maturity in college. It shows me that anxiety is not the enemy, but the driving force that drives me forward; fatigue is not the weakness, but the price of growth. Whenever I pass by the teaching building and look at the familiar window, I can feel a complex emotion - both a memory of the past and an expectation for the future. This monument stands quietly there, reminding me that every collision on the road to growth is a redefinition of myself. Every time I compete with the test paper, I reconcile with my heart.