China in Ten Words

Unequal lives give rise to unequal dreams.

When we think back to what was best about our childhoods, we tend to reminisce about remarkably similar things, all involving the eating of some kind of treat; apart from that, we have very few memories to cherish.

I had always assumed that my life was firmly grounded in revolution. For a street urchin like me the experience of growing up consisted of streets full of red flags and big-character posters: I had observed countless demonstrations and acts of violence, and trailing along behind grown-ups, I had gone to watch innumerable struggle meetings.

Revolution fills life with unknowables, and one’s fate can take an entirely different course overnight; some people soar high in the blink of an eye, and others just as quickly stumble into the deepest pit. In revolution the social ties that bind one person to another are formed and broken unpredictably, and today’s brother-in-arms may become tomorrow’s class enemy.

A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery; it cannot be so refined, so leisurely and gentle, so temperate, kind, courteous, restrained, and magnanimous. A revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence.

Money is an unseemly topic that may well be deplored by gentlemen of lofty principle. But I tend to think that people’s views differ not only between one day and the next but also before and after meals. When people admit that money is necessary to feed oneself but still insist on its vulgarity, then one can safely predict that they still have some undigested fish or meat in their systems. They’d sing a different tune, I’m sure, if you made them go hungry for a day.

Sometimes life and writing can actually be very simple: a dream can trigger memory’s recall, and everything changes.

Experience tells me that too many answers are the same as none at all; perhaps only one can constitute a real answer.

It’s your experience while growing up, I believe, that shapes the direction of your life. A basic image of the world is planted deep in your mind, and then, like a document in a copy machine, it keeps being reprinted again and again throughout your formative years. Once you reach adulthood, whether you’re successful or not, whatever you accomplish can only partially revise that most basic image; it will never be entirely transformed.

“It’s good if it hurts,” he assured me in a doctor’s upbeat tone. “That just shows you’re seeing the benefits of remembering the bitter to think of the sweet.”