A Revisit to Cultural Revolution: Preface

#1:

How to reasonably understand this event, and how to tell it — I’ve thought about it for a long time. Peeking into this past always carries a sense of secretly exposing someone’s wounds from the shadows: I didn’t live through it, I didn’t ask whether the wound wanted to be uncovered, I just felt it needed to be seen, needed to be opened — at least I needed it. I need to understand. I want to understand. It’s impossible for me not to.

Before this year, I don’t think I seriously considered the question of where I come from, but I’ve always repeatedly thought about why I’m here. Why am I here? Why not at home? Why does everyone want me to stay here? As if I’m the only one who doesn’t. Why is that? Maybe the more important question isn’t why I must be here, but why I cannot be there.

From a subjective point of view, the answer is obvious: I hate that place. I never liked it — except for the very small radius of people I had direct interaction with. Even within that group, the ones who made me truly comfortable were very few, and they’re fading. Everything outside that small radius makes me feel disgusted, nauseated. I don’t want to know it, but I have to. I keep one eye open and the other closed. All the clues are already at hand, and I don’t even want to piece them together, to reach a conclusion. Since the conclusion isn’t what I want, then let’s not have a conclusion.

But the reason a life motif is called a motif is because it cannot be avoided. I guess when I was born, these questions were already silently buried in my future. Only when I solve them, can I truly enter the next phase. Since I can’t escape it, then I’ll crush it.

When I was working in China, I was constantly being complained about for “poor interpersonal skills,” while at the same time many people spoke up for me. It wasn’t that I couldn’t handle relationships — I couldn’t. No matter what I did, it was wrong. Or it was all right. It had nothing to do with my actions, nothing to do with my intentions. It was entirely up to the receiver. I had no way to prevent others from making assumptions or having misunderstandings, and other times, no matter what I said or did, I would not be misunderstood. The difference between the two is like night and day. In fact, there were no misunderstandings — the misunderstandings were deliberate.

That’s when I understood: if you can’t dodge it, crush it. That’s still my motto today. So far, works fine.

#2:

Since I want to crush it, I have to go all in. In fact, I really enjoy diving into any complex event — though so far, it’s limited to events within the scope of my ability to comprehend. These events usually involve many factors, with interactions between factors, points connecting into lines, lines into webs — pulling on one part affects the whole. At the start, you usually only grasp one corner of the matter, or the point with the highest information density or external pressure. Then, by analyzing surrounding environments, other factors, and historical causes, you can slowly unfold the full picture. This process often takes time and energy, and can’t be pushed forward constantly. It needs frequent pauses to marinate, self-correct. Even the blank spaces between articles are times when I’m thinking, generating new understandings, ideas, methods, strategies — to tackle this question.

The process of discovery is also a process of self-exposure. The words I write only reflect my own perspective and views, which actually tells you who I am more than who they are. This easter egg-like process is often only revealed when I go back to read my own writing later — it’s a fun form of self-reflection. Or maybe at this age, to be honest, I can’t “self-reflect” anymore — at most I tell myself, “Oh, so that’s how I am. I get it now.” As for improvement — maybe it’s more effective to completely embrace my traits and take them to the extreme.

Since I can’t dodge it, then I’ll crush it.

#3:

The process of becoming American is confusing. I always feel like I just arrived — but it’s been almost 15 years in the blink of an eye. Left and came back, came back and left, over and over again. Seems like everything else in life is the same way: again and again, thinking I can dodge it, but I can’t. Now I’m gradually accepting: who am I kidding? Other than here, I have nowhere else to go. Whether I want to admit it or not, this place has changed me deeply. The change is irreversible, even though I didn’t know it at the time. I was too young. I didn’t know what that decision meant. Just going to take a look. Just running away for a bit. Just going to study. Just trying something different — almost everything different. Just leaving for a few years. And that turned into over a decade.

Skype still existed. Phone calls needed calling cards. WeChat had just copied Chatbox. I hated myself, life, the world. My bipolar hadn’t been diagnosed yet. People asked if I ate dog, where I was from, could I eat spicy food, where I was going to school. In college, it was still: where are you from, what are you studying, why this, what are you going to do after, going back? Then, at some point, people stopped speaking Chinese to me.

It wasn’t entirely their fault. In college, I hardly used my mother tongue. Not because I didn’t want to — I simply had no chance. South Tahoe High School had only two Asian students. Ohio was very white. I’ve heard there are more international students now, but back then, all the Chinese students were in the business school. I studied Greek mythology — someone told me it was an easy class. Turns out it wasn’t — at least not for me. I had never heard those myths. The Homeric epics were hard to read. I studied psychology. There weren’t many foreigners in that major. I couldn’t understand the readings, so I had to ask the professor. Luckily, they were supportive. Maybe I had some talent. But my talent has always been rational, not intuitive. It’s only recently that I’ve started learning how to use intuition. It’s useful. You jump straight to the result. Skip all the in-between logic.

What I mean is, at some point, people started refusing to see me as Chinese. But if I can’t tell them I’m from China — what can I say? I don’t know. Lately I’ve started realizing maybe I can only stay in California. Maybe what I want to do can only be done here. Maybe I, as a person, only make sense to myself here — not repressed, not broken, not lost, but expressive, fully living, at ease, and okay with having no direction.

Now I’ve entered a new phase: even Chinese people don’t want to speak Chinese to me anymore. What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t get it. Every Chinese person I run into speaks English to me — unless I forcibly switch. Even people I met in Chinese-speaking contexts are gradually saying: maybe just speak English. So what, my daily Chinese writing and reading gets extinguished like this? (lol)

I know when I speak Chinese now, it’s starting to sound out of context. Maybe I, as a person, just have no context. I’m disjointed. But that’s just the surface. I’m extremely grounded. So deep you can’t see. You don’t know what you’re looking at. You’re only seeing what I let you see. Ha — isn’t that fun?

But here’s another thought — maybe these people secretly have a crush on me? They just have to know what my American side is like? Is it this kind of cross-cultural, intellectual mixedness that turns people on or what? Don’t consume me. I’ll say what I want.

#4:

I’ll talk about the Cultural Revolution next time. Today is just for rambling.