An important lesson learned after 8 years

I’m not ashamed to say that I consider myself a very nice, considerate, and tolerant person. I am capable of putting up with all kinds of nonsense and difficult persons and still feel no particular resentment. There is one thing, however, that really brought the worst out of me, and in this wonderful country called the United States, the people often force me to go out of my way, and especially my character, to be a bitch—annoying, whiny, obnoxious, aggressive—so that I can have even the slightest chance of getting what I rightfully deserve. It seems that, if I don’t squeak, I am certain to get no oil and am left there to just die. A lot of times, the things that I must fight for are rather “dumb”—they are stupid things that really should have never happened, but some Americans get so caught up in some sort of system that, eventually, the system triumphs over reason, logic, and common sense. And then shit happens. I guess, I really should thank America. It’s been almost eight years bonding with this country, and the biggest lesson I learned is if I don’t get what I want from certain people, then I must annoy the hell out of those people to the point that they have to deal with me. In the past, when I was still a good, obedient Chinese, I try not to make trouble to others and if the problem isn’t too serious, I would suck it up and digest it then poop it out of my system. But America has taught me how to be squeaky and not feel sorry about being so annoying to other fellow human beings at the same time, because here, if I don’t speak up for myself, I will never get what belongs to me. And even though this ugly side of America has had empowering effects in me, I wish for a society where I don’t have to complain to make the simplest things right—where people get paid US dollars to do real work using their brains—where people take responsibility and care for those anonymous others they’ve never met.

A note on badass archery

So I went to Proline today with Chris...and a nice black old man called PeeWee, yes, really, who was like Coach Derek helped and instructed me. During one round when we went to retrieve our arrows, I saw two of his arrows were together on top and three were REALLY close together on the bottom. And he casually commented: "Oh I purposefully shot off-aim because I don't wanna break my really expensive arrows."

....................

Changed address

I changed address a while ago because one of the few ppl with whom I share this blog's link actually talked to me about the things I wrote and judged me based on it...I guess the fact of sharing this blog with others is a form of my asking to be judged, but I still feel really uncomfortable. This is a place where I write what I think that might represent who I am for a long period of time or who I am for just a few minutes of anger or confusion. I don't share it with the public for the exact reason that I do not want to take responsibility for what i say here. I guess, I'm just being a hypocrite every time I share this address with other people. I know they will judge me, but I don't want them to say it in my face.

I've straightened out my priorities

I think I finally came to realize my priorities and limits. I learned from my mistakes and debacles and I have faith that this coming sophomore year of college will be a better year, if not the best.

This summer, I began to care

about 9/11, the war, the civilian deaths, the soldiers' deaths, veterans, loss, death penalty, healthcare system, flaws of capitalism, the poor, the sick...basically, OTHER people with whom I share nothing. Thanks, Michael Moore, and the movies and books I watch and read.

I want to create a world where

people don't hate those who they do not know.

Numb

I did nothing wrong.
But I was ready for a fight.
But there was no fight,
just words and tears.
And then a fight between them.
More tears. More.
And then, just numbness,
my heart was emptied out.

selfish wisdom from self

Talking to Naina about family and things helped me organize one aspect of my beliefs...and that is to live for oneself selfish FIRST. I feel parents often get the feeling of their kids owe them something because they have sacrificed so much--and that is absolutely true--the latter. The kids DO NOT owe parents anything. Adults must take even more serious responsibilities when they make decisions (like having children) and not assume that they can just push off those responsibilities onto their children just because they bore them. I feel that unless one has lived his or her life rather fully during his or her youthful years, and has enough EXTRA money to support an additional member of the family, one is in no position to have a child. But most people decide to have kids way before they are in a position to do so, and that's why to repent for their mistakes they must sacrifice, and they get this self-imposed notion that their kids somehow owe them their life-long service to them just because they had to sacrifice a lot to raise them, when in reality the birth of the kid was a result of their imprudence--they actually owe their kids, quite possibly, an unfulfilling life. This then turn into a malicious cycle that, after generations and generations, becomes established values that settled deep inside people's minds, and anything that runs against those values, such as disrespecting parents, disobeying parents, becomes unconscionable.

I think people should live for themselves first, others second. This is the best way for us to be responsible for ourselves and not nurture that sick feeling coming from "sacrifice." Moreover, any nice things people do on this principle of "me first" will be more genuine than altruism because that's "additional" and burdenless. The other could freely receive the favor without feeling obliged to pay back.

Just a quick thought after reading Searle's "Minds, Brains, and Programs"...

Link: "Minds, Brains, and Programs" by John Searle


I believe that human beings have the potential to create anything, but there are lines that we should never cross:

1) the cloning of actual human beings
2) making machines that are so biological and "intentional" that even Searle would call it a "thinking" thing.

I think these two things would create ethical and moral problems so huge that they would completely alter our society for the worse.

A formal afterthought is coming up...Searle's paper is absolutely fantastic not because I agree or disagree with it but because it brought up so many contradicting ideas in me that it led me to a whole new level of utter confusion as to what my beliefs are. Absolutely fantastic read especially watching Battlestar Galactica and Blade Runner.

change

I've changed. I'm starting to believe in karma and reincarnation with practically zero "scientific" evidence backing up the belief. It just feels right. Is it called faith? I'm starting to consider becoming a, part-time, vegetarian, because the idea of meat-eating is becoming increasingly grotesque and intolerable to me. I feel guilty whenever I eat meat; I feel particularly sick when I eat chicken and pork, remembering what Foer said in Eating Animals. I'm beginning to feel that China really has no right to claim Tibet as its own; and even if we accept that no matter what the situation was in the past, now Tibet is an indivisible part of China, China should not be promoting the kind of censoring and condescending attitude. Driving away the Dalai Lama and tens of thousands of Tibetans is both a significant economic loss and cultural loss.

If I look at myself today as myself in the past, I would think that the myself today is severely brainwashed by Western ideals. But things change when one is exposed to more, good or bad does not matter.

I gave my first to the phantom

OMG. FIRST BROADWAY SHOW EVER. and I'm so happy that I gave my first to Phantom. Like everyone else, I've always loved the music, I watched the movie version too many times, but this time at Broadway it's the first time that the drama really got to me, and I cried like crazy starting "Past the point of no return" all the way till the climax. I also felt the chills, whenever I am supposed to. This is a retarded comparison/statement but: even though I've watched many high school musicals and quite frankly enjoyed quite a few of them very much, Broadway is Broadway after all. It's just DIFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFERENT.

luv it. luv it. luv it.

fashion

For some reason ethnic and ancient/past fashion/costumes really interest me. Current fashion, not so much so. They're certainly pretty and unique, but they don't make me want to study them in a scholarly way. On the other hand, ethnic and ancient/past costumes of literally ALL cultures and civilizations fascinate me. It's just a pity that I don't have the skill or talent to make these clothes myself.

overcome

Today at CPC I was sitting in for its volunteer program's group meeting, with about 20 high school kids split in groups planning for upcoming events. As they were talking, I saw parts of the old me in them--afraid to make phone calls to strangers, not knowing what to do, nervous...If anything, the one thing that has changed in me since college begins is that I've become more brave--Of course I'm still nervous about things like talking to, calling, interacting with strangers and professionals, but I am no longer deathly afraid of doing that. It was a phase, the phase when I thought there was no way that I could do it--but now I did it, many times over. Now I know it could be done, all that left to do is to perfect it.

{Nest.} Tumblr

To all who are dear to me enough that I shared the link of this blog with you:

Here is my tumblr that I intend to keep active...I'm planning to make it like my Bwog, posting about relatively random things that I want to share with other ppl. There is also some kind of schedule...so. Enjoy. What's better, follow. =D

Today, I got my paper back...

And my final draft's grade was lower than the first draft's....

[Blabber] New Post on my views on ROTC and human nature

Ugh...it's late...and I have tons of hw that was due more than ten hours ago...but...intellectual curiosity triumphs homework...so...here it is, the latest post on my public blog.

Now, homework time.

A Poem

Here is a beautiful poem I came across with through watching a Chinese drama...probably the most superficial way there is. At first people were saying that this was written by the sixth Dalai Lama...but hm...apparently that was a misunderstanding. It was written by a female poet. Regardless, it's very very beautiful. I'm no translator of poems, but in order to share this with all of you, I'd try my best. The names of the poem and author are direct translations from Chinese...= =

班扎古鲁白玛的沉默
Banzhagulubaima's Silence

作者：扎西拉姆·多多
Written by Zhaxilamu Duoduo


你见 或者不见我
Whether or not you come to see me,

我就在那里/不悲不喜
I'm there, neither sad nor happy

你念 或者不念我
Whether or not you think about me,

情就在那里/不来不去
my feelings are there, neither coming nor leaving

你爱 或者不爱我
Whether or not you love me,

爱就在那里/不增不减
my love is there, neither increasing nor decreasing

你跟 或者不跟我
Whether or not you follow me,

我的手就在你手里/不舍不弃
my hands are in your hands, never letting go

来我的怀里/
Come to my chest,

或者/让我住进你的心间
or, let me move into your heart

默然 相爱
Silently, love

寂静 欢喜
Quietly, rejoice

Bubble of Idealism

Like the many people of my age,
I have idealistic visions of my life and the grander world.
I believe that I would be happier in the future
working for something I genuinely enjoy
than working for something I do not enjoy
but is promised with great monetary reward.

I have faith in human rationality,
and I believe that there is a poignant and meaningful story
out of every seemingly retarded choices that people make everyday.

I think if I work hard enough,
I would make a difference.
And that's all it matters in the end.

But I am experiencing this ever-growing anxiety
that this bubble of idealism of mine
will gradually grow bigger and bigger and then...
burst.

It's a strange feeling...
Right now, I am more certain than ever about my idealistic visions
At the same time, though
there is something very unreal about idealism
just by definition.

I'm deeply afraid that one day,
maybe one, three, ten years later,
I'd wake up and realize these things that I now believe in are all untrue.
or maybe they are still true,
but I would have already been so worn out
by the cruelties of adulthood and reality that I no longer believes in these beautiful ideas.

Frightening thought.
To the me now,
it's like living without a soul.

Like death.

One day

This probably belongs to the few rare spontaneous things I've ever done in my life, but I did write an email at 3 in the morning to a person that I've been avoiding for a very long time. I am not an person of eventful history. There is only so much memory I can actually hold on to. I don't want the ending of this part of the memory stay the same until I die. I want to give it a good ending. Or at least attempt to do that. Maybe the person won't even see that email. But at least I tried.




Hi,

How are you? It’s been a while since we last talked, and the last time we did it ended sort of strange. Every time when I’m reminded of, for whatever reason, the four years of pure nothingness between us, who could have become really good friends, I think again and again of my stupidity. I have long forgotten the reasons for why I did what I did; all I was left with was the mystically determined will that I must continue doing what I had been doing, which was nothing. I used silence as a defensive mechanism for starting and ending something I did not quite understand, and that costly price was a friend. From time to time in the past four years, I’ve gone back reflecting on those meager bits and pieces of memory there were, and I realized uncountable mistakes I’d made and selfish things I’d done. Each time it put me to deeper shame. Deeper and deeper mortifying shame. I tried to lesson my own pain by running away from that shame. I didn’t realize the running away was a bigger mistake than any other mistake I had ever made. Now I see how petty these feelings were. How trivial the shame that stood between me and simply talking was. If I were given another chance, I wish I could have learned more about you, and been a better friend. I imagine one day, we would meet again on the streets of Fort Lee, maybe at the basketball court that you used to go, and I would say, Hey, haven’t seen you in a while. How’s life. But I know this is just a ridiculous and passively romantic imagination, so I’m writing you this letter to take the first step of filling that four years of gap.

I’m really sorry.

Xinyi

What should I quit...

Seeing this schedule...what's awaiting me is a funless semester of hell...

My To-Quit List:
1) QQ (popular messenger in China) --> only use it to leave urgent messages for my cousin)
2) 99% of dramas (I was going to say all...but I SHOULD continue to watch J-dramas to practice my Japanese...let's make it a maximum of 2)
3) Facebook, Douban, Renren, and other social networking sites --> limit to 20 min per day collectively
4) unnecessary shopping, eating out, movies, and other fun activities (My mom has officially said that she is sponsoring anymore trips of mine--but note the keyword "unnecessary")
5) to be continued...

This is a punishment for my idleness during the last semester. I must redeem myself...

a nonprofit conference

Friday my boss asked three of us to attend this conference on advocacy hosted by the United Neighborhood Houses. It turned out fine although I didn't really expect much out of that conference. A city councilman (I have mixed reactions, too complicated to explain just now, maybe another time when I meet another politician so I can conclude something altogether), three journalists, and three experts on the budget process from different institutions spoke. i think the biggest thing I learned today and should have realized earlier is how nonprofits are the true human organizations. It's solely made of people who believe what they do would make a difference in others' lives for the good so that they were willing to do many annoying and tiring things (for example, harass politicians in Albany in the hopes of getting money for their programs) with little paid. Nonprofits are truly made by the people and for the people. No matter who they were, are, or will be, one thing is certain: they are good, generous people--because if they see themselves as their priority in life, then they wouldn't be in a nonprofit. People like my mom and dad would never understand why anyone with a decent degree would want to work for nonprofits. However, I don't think nonprofit is where I will, or would like to, end up eventually.

mata.

We had another fight today. What my dad said was the same stupid stuff as always I'm not even going to bother explaining. Explaining the flaws of his character and the idiocy of his many "logics" would take years.

What's more important was that I told my mom she hasn't been supportive of me. Just an hour ago I told her that I have an opportunity to tutor some kid for a paid, but I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to balance academics, internship, and work with such packed schedule. She said it's up for me to decide and then I said I'm not sure that's why I'm asking your advice. And she said impatiently and almost nonchalantly why not quit that stupid Chinatown job of yours.

Back to the dinner I told her I agreed to the tutoring job. And then I muttered that I'm doing this knowing that I have a packed schedule mostly because dad and she constantly criticized me for doing only unpaid work. They said that's because I kept telling them that I want to travel here and yet I do no real work to earn money. I said that's not the point and does not give them the right to call what I determined to work for "stupid Chinatown job" of mine. I said they've been subconsciously hurting me on a regular basis with those tiny remarks of my being stupid (because apparently unlike other kids of their friends who always have paid jobs and internships I never have any). I was not even going to talk to them about how just like you can't job the value of a college by its tuition, you can't judge the value of internship by how much it pays. I knew my dad would always come up with some other ridiculous excuses that make no sense.

Anyway, it went on and on and they picked up something we fought about a couple of days ago (how they are not rich and the "poor" people in Chinatown are) and dad got emotional and left for bathroom. I told my mom how every time I smile at her (literally and figuratively), she would never smile back. She said she's so overwhelmed with work, kids, money, and everything how do I expect her to ever smile?

That was the saddest thing I heard from her so far. I got up and said don't you see a problem? You have three kids (and two cars and a house) and yet you can't smile. That means there must have been something wrong with what you've done and believed all these years. I'm overwhelmed by a lot of things too but at least I can smile.

Since Chris said he likes how I end posts with no definitive conclusion, I would prefer to do something similar. But I really don't want to at this point. I could be wrong. I might be just too idealistic now and would completely understand my mom in the future when I'm a mom. But I would rather live an impoverished life knowing that I'm poor but I'm doing something for the good of people and my own pleasure--so that I can smile, then be doing a meaningless job (I don't think my mom takes pride in that she's helping people with her research, but she didn't have a choice) to earn a decent living and yet feverishly believe that I am impoverished--so that I lose the ability to smile. I'm almost certain--If she is doing something that she really loved and she actually have a dream to pursue, she wouldn't feel this way. Unlike her, and thanks to her, I have more options in my life and I'm going to value that precious opportunity--because I love and respect my mother--, take advantage of those options so that regardless of my financial situation, I would be content with my life.

{Blabber} announcement...

A new entry on education has just been posted on Blabber.

This message is for all who I love enough to share the blog with and other anonymous stalkers or random visitors. I don't know how you got the address but <3 you all.

Btw I just added a music player on the bottom, watch out for really loud music, esp. if you're in the library reading my blog. =D

Intern Diary. (Unfinished)

Ten minutes before the end of work Steve, my boss, called me into his office to ask me about what I did for the day and what I planned to do for the future. He asked me to write up a proposal/objectives of internship-sort of thing ASAP. I'm starting to feel the pressure and kind of embarrassed because I shouldn't have let my boss come to talk me about that; I should have gone to him myself. But overall, I'm pretty happy because I feel like I'm finally at the place where people want me to learn. Well, I'm sure my mentor in Sloan-Kettering's lab wanted me to learn too (and it was my job to be proactive and to communicate with them) but they did not take the extra step to guide me. The sense of nurture was lacking in that environment. Even though the work hours in the lab was an hour less but I felt the day was so much longer. Right now in CPC 8 hours felt like 4 hours; they just flied by each day and the day was over before I realized it. I guess that's a good thing.

{Chinatown} Ugh.

I finally realized how disgusting Chinatown is.

The moment I walked out of the D train I smelled a strong fishy odor that I was so familiar with when I lived in China or went to Chinese markets. Why? Well, because Grand street was filled with markets for seafood. And if you thought the aisles of the seafood market were gross, then you would see that the street in Chinatown was hundred times dirtier than the aisles. But they smelled just the same. Even the sunshine, which usually evokes positive feelings, was painfully bright and blinding. Then it was the roads: slushy, grayish, dirty, filled with puddles that could fake the road. The roads in Fort Lee are all dried up with snow piled on the side, but the roads in Chinatown (and apparently its surroundings such as SoHo) were still covered with a layer of snow that was half-melted.

This place is so disgusting I don't know how people can stand living here.

After work I walked down to Pell St. to pick up my contact lenses. There were some issues with the insurance that was beyond me so I called up my mother for more info and so that she could talk to the lady. The sales lady did not want to take over the phone at first and when she finally did she sighed and got a piece of tissue to wipe the screen of my cellphone. And then when she was talking to my mom, she flipped her eyes and gave a dirty look blatantly in front of me as if she didn't even consider hiding her impatience and disdain in front of the daughter of the person she was talking to. Her attitude was absolutely horrible and she spoke in such a rude manner that one would never see in a Korean or Japanese optical store--or any store. I'm not even going to try to imagine what she commented after I left the store.


The intersection between Mott St. and Pell St.--the narrowness and the sharp turn and the somewhat claustrophobic feel--kept bringing me back to an image I had long, long time. A movie? Or maybe, a dream? I remembered seeing that corner as the site of Chinatown gang violence. When I was standing at the corner, I kept having the feeling that a bunch of gang members were about to suddenly appear, running from the corner. It was 7 P.M., there was barely anyone around that area. It was pretty creepy. All kinds of hair salons were still up and busy. But the streets were quiet and dimly lighted. Together with the weird layout of that small area, I felt more like I was on an abandoned movie set--of the 1970s or so--than in the center of Chinatown. At that point, I think I was feeling the story of Chinatown. This is kind of hard to describe: feeling the story. But I felt like I could sense the struggles, successes, ups, and downs behind those shady doors of small businesses. I'm pretty certain I was feeling the magic of Chinatown.

Today, I went to the DMV...

to upgrade my provisional license to a full license...

I put a check next to organ donor because I figured there is nothing to lose.

I told my mom, and she, again, chuckled with disdain and called me stupid and brainwashed by Americans.

Deresiewicz and the Popular Response

This afternoon I re-read William Deresiewicz's The Disadvantages of an Elite Education. He began the essay with how he realized the deficiency of his elite education when he couldn't even make small talk with his plumber for ten minutes. He then moved on to many other relevant topics but overall I really connected with this article although it obviously has a lot of generalizations. I was curious about what other people think of it--it turned out the essay was much more controversial than I had expected, if not drawing mostly negative responses. It was a twelve page thread in College Confidential. Many people there criticized Deresiewicz for his over-generalizations and "straw-man" fallacy of blaming his own deficiency (not able to communicate with the plumber) on his elite education.

What interests me is that these people's evidence and support tend to be "I or my child or my friends can make small talks with the plumber with no problem" and therefore Deresiewicz is wrong. (Isn't this a straw-man fallacy also? Just like what they presume Deresiewicz's arugment is?) Deresiewicz may be the stereotypical elite who always uses big words or talks about Descartes (I'm not sure if he is really like that) but he is certainly not stupid. I'm sure he is not saying that EVERYONE in Yale and Columbia are socially stupid with people outside of their class. I think it's a common sense that exceptions always exist, and exceptions alone is not good enough to reject Deresiewicz's argument.

One person pointed out that, among the twelve page thread, if we look at it another way, we can say that a plumber doesn't know how to talk to a college professor. To take this further, a professor may not even be able to talk to another professor because their areas of studies have become so narrow and specific that there is only a handful of people in the entire world that study similar subjects.

My point is, who is able to talk to whom does not make or break Deresiewicz's argument in the essay. Many people in the thread, however, are so caught up with this controversial opening to the essay that they are losing the big picture, which is written right beneath the title: Our best universities have forgotten that the reason they exist is to make minds, not careers.

How Rich Does One Have to Get to be Not Poor?

Just like how girls always think they are fat, or not think enough, people always think they are poor, or not rich enough. But how rich does one have to get to be not poor? What happened tonight inspired me to look into this question and hopefully it will end up as a post for my public blog.

------

Tonight at the dinner table, my mom asked me: "Tell me, why don't you think of making money as priority even though we are this poor?" She was talking about my decision to study humanities instead of subjects like business or medicine that would be more lucrative in future.

I didn't answer. I got up and left the kitchen. She repeated the question as I was about to go upstairs and added: "You know how my family was really poor before and your uncle [her brother] was determined to make money and he succeeded? Why aren't you like that? Tell me."

Suddenly I realized she was not joking. She was serious. I paused for a second, standing in the middle of the house, and went back to the kitchen and said:

"Do you seriously think you are that poor? Look at what you have, a three floor house, in suburb of New Jersey, TWO cars, THREE children, and one of them is going to college. You think this is what a poor person could have?"

My question is, how can a person like my mom and dad, who had no doubt gone through some extremely poor times, still think that they are "poor" now--and not just "normal" poor, but SO poor that it only makes sense for me to think of using my college degree to make as much money and as quickly as possible?

Just a couple of days ago I told Chris I knew I wouldn't earn much money in the future; all I want for myself is to be independent and not be a burden of my parents. Chris, ironically, commented that the only reason I was even saying things like that is because my parents gave me a comfortable life for me to feel secure enough to think this way.

I said, that's true.

My mom said, so you think we're not poor?

Unfortunately, I made a wrong move here by bringing up the people who live on food stamps. Immediately both my mom and dad chuckled with disdain:

"We were not going to bring this up but now you mentioned it...the people who use food stamps are MILLIONAIRES! They get cash, they don't pay taxes, they are much wealthier then we are! You know...." My mom started listing examples of her friends who are eligible for food stamps on paper but are actually pretty wealthy, at least by their standards.

My dad interrupted and said: "You know why America is not doing well? It's because all these rich people taking advantage of these social services!"

I left the kitchen while I could still hear them exchange with much amazement how I've changed. How my thoughts have changed overtime, or maybe it was "so suddenly". I could hear clearly enough because I was already on the stairs, but I yelled back anyway: "Is this what you want me to think? To fill my brain with? Money? Money money money? All the time?"

I did not even reflect on this episode at the dinner table until just now, more than four hours later. I was disillusioned. A little bit embarrassed. And a little lost as to what I should think. What is right.

On Oracle Bones, and more (+ a little note)

I edited and expanded this old blog entry for a new blog that I created named "Blabber." Blabber will be my public blog on books, pop culture, the past and the current, and other things of the universe, featuring a more formal writing, as opposed to this blog Carpe Diem, which consists of more casual writings about my personal life.

-------------------

Peter Hessler's Oracle Bones showed me both the China I already knew and the China I have no clue about. Peter Hessler, a typical elite white American, spent seven years in China first as a peace corp volunteer than as a journalist and a freelancer. He was present right at the center of many historic events such as the period when Falun Gong was banned from China. He read so many famous and obscure Chinese literature and research on China. He had developed profound friendships with so many Chinese and foreign people, both prominent individuals and common folks like you and me. I truly believe the China this man has seen and met far exceeds the China that most average Chinese themselves know.

Many Chinese people think that they know a lot and like to make comments about China, but in reality they are just using ignorance as a weapon. On the other hand, when a foreign white man like Peter Hessler begins commenting on the current events of China, many Chinese people--before even reading a word of his book--presume that there is no way he would be able to objectively, correctly, and thoroughly evaluate China simply because he is not Chinese like they are. In some way, I believe that Peter Hessler knows more about the Chinese people and Chinese mentality than Chinese people know themselves. Unlike many writings on China I read, I do not sense bias in his writing. He does criticize China at many points throughout the book but he does so in what I believed a highly objective manner. During a conversation with my economics professor, he commented on Peter Hessler: "this man obviously loves China, but that doesn't mean he has to be sentimental about China." Too many Chinese people including myself are sometimes overly sentimental about China. We feel the right to mock the government ourselves but get ridiculously outraged when a foreigner tries to say the same thing--except not in mockery, but in a more constructive manner.

I vaguely remember my former high school English teacher Ms. Armstrong said about mockery in writing. It was something about how if you only rely on that then there would be no meaning to your writing. I didn't really understand what she said at the same--I was, and we all were, at a cynical age when we just want to mock the entire world that displeases us so much. We put ourselves in such a high moral position that our eyes can't let in a grain of dust. Through all the mockery that we have done, however, we begin to lose the bigger picture--how do we fix the problems, and then how do we prevent us from making the same mistakes again?

The Chinese people are like our high school selves. They mock, they criticize. But when they come to the very cruel realities that they mocked and criticized--in private, they conform and they yield. They sigh and say that this is just how the things work, and how life is.

The popular and controversial author, blogger, and racer Han Han recently wrote a blog post titled "Just truth, or the truth we want," in which he talks about a seemingly shady death of a Chinese who refused to give up his home and land to the government. There was a huge outcry on the internet and in the media, questioning the "truth" provided by the officials and suspecting the death is a result of murder. Many doctors and experts of other fields investigated and concluded that it was just an accident, but the outcry grew ever louder and these doctors and experts became the new targets of conspiracy theories and so on. Han Han wrote that he rather believe in the opinions of the doctors and experts than the popular suspicions, which are based on little to no evidence. That is, however, not the point. It is sad that the people would always jump to conclusions when things like this happen. He wrote that the government has been so opaque with its operations in the past that it is making simple and straightforward matters seem shady. The government should reflect upon the reason why it has lost the trust of its people. Han Han once again eloquently expressed his opinion, which is certainly not anything ultra progressive or uncommon, logically and convincingly.

Well, if we examine the other party in Han Han's story, the conclusion is people like the truth that makes most sense and entails most drama. Our judgment is often clouded by our emotions and prejudice. To make my point brief, Peter Hessler is not one who is clouded by the popular conceptions and prejudice of what China is. He writes with beautiful fluidity and honest language. He is certainly one of the most inspiring figures of mine.