My cousin died on the eve of the Chinese New Year.He was called out by his “buddies” after dinner when he had already had a few drinks. He was, as I heard, not much in the mood, but went anyways. Probably didn’t want to be a buzzkill on such a festive day. He played a few hands of poker, drank some more liquor, and laid down on the couch in the living room of the host family. He never woke up again. The rest of the gang didn’t pay much attention to him as they played well into the night, and then till dawn. They rushed him to the hospital when they realized something was wrong. Too late. It was the liquor, or the cold or a bit of both, we would never find out as no autopsy was performed, which turned out to be a big mistake leading up to the string of ugly developments that followed.  I couldn’t remember the last time we saw each other. It must have been at least three years. He was away most time of the year, working in the city to support the family. They went by, but were always tight with money. He always seemed cheery, though I must admit he wasn’t the most devoted husband or father, otherwise, he wouldn’t have left them on the night of family reunion.   The host family claimed zero responsibility and would not appear at the negotiation mediated by the village cadres who were trying to stop this from spiraling into something that may make them look bad. But the couple was adamant that they would not pay a single dime.  “Sue us as you please. We have nothing to lose.” Yes, they are going to court, but it’s gonna take months, even years. The group of young men present that night was divided on this though all believed that it was just his luck and they were truly innocent and, unlucky. In the end, those who don’t want to be at trouble with the law made their share of the compensation. Self-claimed creditors came to ask for money they loaned to the deceased. The devastated widow, my sister-in-law, brushed them off. “It’s your words against a dead body now. He had lent some to friends, but now that he’s gone, we won’t go collect it, and nor will you. ” As a matter of fact, she wouldn’t have any money to repay them even if they came with solid proof. She was diagnosed with breast cancer last year and has been going through chemo. Their three children were still very young, unaware of the tragedy that had hit the family. The youngest one even asked when to have the feast (after the burial). I felt sorry for my cousin. He was only in his early forties and would surely be greatly missed. But now, it seemed everyone blamed him for being dead. In situations like this, troubles of the living come before the lost life of the dead. I’m not sure if it’s just the rough way of life in the village or a general lack of empathy among my country folks. And I fear for the family. I can’t even begin to imagine their life going forward as the breadwinner is gone and the only adult left is sickly. I fear for my family too. My extended and dying family. My other cousin, paralyzed after a fall when working at a house-building site, died a few years ago after spending some miserable bed-ridden years. I was very fond of this cousin. He was so young and hard-working, always there for the family. Both cousins’ fathers, who were brothers, also died at relatively young ages, of different diseases. One of them, my second uncle, a grassroots master of calligraphy, would write the couplets for each family during the Spring Festival. Naturally, he displayed the temperament of a scholar and I found that very charming. That made him my favorite uncle. Unlike him, my third uncle was more “political”, being some kind of village official. He was always well-dressed, hurrying by on a motorcycle. You would find him at all important family events, always being, or looked like the one in charge. Personally, I liked to keep my head down most of the time, but I had no qualms about my uncle being such a high-profile figure. A family needs a person like that. That may give the family some standing in the village, but if not, it might be a kind of reassurance for family members that others would not easily mess with you. I wasn’t home when both of them passed away. When I came back during holidays, I could see from the road the new tombs and faded wreaths far out there in the fields. I stood there, watching, a strong sense of sadness welled up in me. The same happened to my father, his brother, and their father. When my sister called to tell me father’s gone, I was talking excitedly  with my dorm mates about something trivial and stupid. She told me to come back the next day as there was no point rushing home. My mind went blank. It’s like I was seized by crying. I just couldn’t stop. I wailed in the bathroom and then in my bed. I decided to go home. The overnight train carried a boisterous crowd. I closed my eyes, tears streaming down my face the whole way. When I changed into the home-bound bus, the first ray of sunshine came in, and all I could think of was that my own father was no longer here to see it. From that day on, every time I see the early morning light, I think of my father. These were the people I grew up knowing and loving. My father, the one with a strong sense of humor, always came home whistling. My grandfather, to whom I was not quite close, was a member of the amateur Erhu club in the neighborhood. Everyone in the club had died. My second grandfather ran a tofu workshop, and would happily make jellied bean curd for us children every time we barged in. The workshop died with him. Our next door neighbor, the greatest gossip around, died of breast cancer a few years ago. The mean guy that spoke ill of us behind our backs lost his wife to an incurable tumor. The man that took some of our land for his pigpen had a leg amputated after an accident, and eventually died of infection. These were not the easiest type of people, but the news of their death still saddens me. Sometimes, when I check on my mother through the camera, I hear funeral music, and my heart skips a beat: who is it this time? The fear that my acquaintance back home is dying off lingers. During our last video call, my mother told me that a new water station has been put in place, supplying low-cost filtered water to the villagers. The tap water system installed a few years ago is now history. So is the hand-pump well that was once a must-have in every household. When we were little, we all drank water freshly pumped out of the well. It was clear and sweet. No one ever raises any question on water quality. Then one day, the water suddenly became undrinkable. I blame the factory, the animal farms, and the garbage. Anyway, we started to fetch water from the hills. Later, the village laid pipes to deliver water from a supposed cleaner source, but you would be lucky to find water running one out of ten times. The water station is good news. So are the different-colored large garbage bins and regular visits of the collection truck (though the bins disappeared one after another and no one really sorts the garbage). Road lamps are erected and centralized gas pipes are newly built. There are rumors that the traditional cooking counters would be demolished as burning firewood is bad for the environment. My mother was disheartened to hear that as she likes to use firewood for specific meals. I assured her that it’s just rumors.In many ways, the village is becoming better and better. But “my” village, the one I used to know is disappearing. My connections with it are breaking, and memories lost. Yes. I have many new connections and new memories are being created every day. But these gains cannot make up for what's lost. But I believe this is the life we are all living, only in different versions.   

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter One can never judge a book by its name. Though it’s self-evident that this book definitely has something to do with loneliness, I didn’t expect it to be like this. Sadness throughout, tinged with a faint touch of despair from time to time. It tells the story of a diverse group of people in a southern town in the US in the late 1930s. Centered around a white deaf-mute John Singer, the story unfolds as his only friend Antonapolus got sent to an asylum and the other people started to come to talk to him. Mick is a teenage girl from a large family. But she’s never been able to talk with any of them or tell them what’s on her mind, even her dad, with whom the bond seems stronger. She has to take care of the younger brothers after school, and only gets time of her own at night when she would roam the streets and alleys and listen to music on the radio of a family in the well-off part of the town, hiding in the bushes in the front yard. Music is always there with her, Beethoven, Mozart and Bach. She hums, learns the piano and writes her own songs. She dreams of performing on a stage, receiving the applaud of a huge crowd. Mick is always different. She said I’m not when Bubber asked her are we common. She is rough, wild and boy-like. She’s got no close friend. The next-door boy Harry and her had a good moment, riding bicycles all the way to the lake and lying on grass, watching the clouds drifting away. Too bad it was destroyed eventually. So Singer moving in the house gives her an outlet to her pent-up emotions. She doesn’t talk much, but Singer, with his demure and poised temperament, must give her the sense that he gets it. This is true with the rest of the group as I see it. He listens, or it seems, smiles, and nods sometimes with a certain degree of solemnity, like when Mick asks him whether she should quit school and take the job in the store. Doctor Copeland is lonely for obvious reasons. He’s got estranged children and a vision for his people that none of them seem to understand. Mostly self-taught, he believed in the concepts put forward by Karl Marx and Spinoza. As a doctor, he tried to treat people’s mind, which was of no avail. When he finally decided to fight with fists, with demonstration, he got too sick and weak to even take care of himself. Blount is always in a state of near madness. He drinks, smokes and rants. He is angry at the appalling injustice but all he came up with was writing chain letters, in the hope of mobilizing people. He moves from one place to another, never make a real living or any real friends. He is rootless. Just when he thought he’s found some consolation from Singer, he lost it forever. Thus his next unknown journey starts. Biff is the most confusing for me to read through. He is somewhat faceless. First he seemed stuck in a marriage in which love had long faded. Then his wife died, but not much changed in his life except the decoration in the upstairs bedroom. He just continues to stand in front of cashier, day after day, watching everybody come and go. At first I thought they all have the need to talk to Singer because they are people with passion. They don’t just live their lives. They are after something sincere deep down in their heart. But I’m not sure now. I guess everyone has a story to tell if given the chance. The truth is, Singer never quite understand these people. He enjoys the accompany of them, however. It takes his mind off Antonapolus. Besides, he’s got nothing else to do. But Anto is very indifferent every time Singer comes to visit. Singer talks a lot, sharing all the details of his life. Rarely did Anto respond with the same eagerness or excitement. He barely talks. In their relationship, Anto is the Singer like when Singer is with the others. In the end, Singer is just like the rest of them, or perhaps everyone is Singer. Loneliness is the normal of life that most of us is unwittingly used to. But humans are also gregarious in nature. We can’t help opening up to someone we think understands. When we get our hopes up, disappointment and sadness is only a matter of time in many cases. Keeping everything to ourselves is the safest option, but not the best, nor the healthiest. We get hurt, but we will always believe. Mick has grown since she started working. She’s got no time for music. I feel sorry. I hope she can find a way to pick it up over time.

As English majors, we were asked to write down our English names alongside our Chinese ones in the roll-call book back in college. My dorm mates and I went back, rummaging through the dictionary to find a suitable name. The strategy was clear: it should be similar in pronunciation with one’s Chinese name. In the end, the girl whose family name is Su chose the obvious Sue, Jia selected Jocelyn, Liang Lisa and I went for Connie as my surname is Kang. But I felt really uncomfortable answering to it in class. I just didn’t relate to it. And it became worse when this weird foreign English teacher insisted on pronouncing it ['kʌni]instead of ['kɔni] as I preferred. I later changed it once, or twice to whatever seemed fit then. But I didn’t feel much different. Luckily that didn’t go on for a long time. This teacher, who was in no way qualified was fired after half a semester and we had a new wonderful Kiwi teacher. He was learning Chinese and could well pronounce Kang and better still, remember it. Five years on, I am still grappling with this English name conundrum. Should I have an English name? Why do I need it? I’ve adopted Joey as my English name as I’m constantly asked in work as an interpreter. I also wanted to make it easier for foreigners who always find Chinese names difficult to say. But with Joey, it’s not quite what I had in mind. I was identified as Joe, Joy and Zoey and asked questions like isn’t it a boy’s name or are you a fan of Joey the Hong Kong singer. So I’m thinking of abandoning it and use my family name, which is not at all mouthful. However, the last time I did so, I got a sneer from this Chinese lady who were about to introduce me to her foreign boss. It was very confusing for me. What’s wrong with using the pinyin of my Chinese name when talking to foreigners? The foreigners don’t have Chinese names and no one laughs at them! Well, to be fair, several foreign diplomats I’ve worked with do have Chinese names. That’s understandable. But still, people would call them by their real names most of the time. But I’ve made up my mind. If I can say those foreigners’ names, surely they have no problem with my four-letter surname. And in most cases, there are many of them from different countries, and only one of me. This is more natural and real for me and I think it would be so for foreigners too. I printed a box of name cards bearing the name Joey but I don’t give it out anymore.Yet I’m stuck with it here at CD. I’m sure I can live with this.

Every time I invite my mom to go travelling a little bit or come to visit me here in Beijing, she finds it really difficult to leave home behind. There are so many things she’s concerned about, the dog, the flowers, her vegetables and everything! I would argue that there’s nothing valuable in the house, only old furniture and home appliances. But it’s home, she always says. She’s too attached. I never thought much about buying a home of my own as I didn’t think it matters. It’s fun living in rentals and it’s like the start of a new adventure every time I move. This sounds phony. Let’s face it. I can’t afford a home in this city. I didn’t want to buy a home for a few reasons. Money comes first that’s for sure. But I think I could manage to save enough for the down payment in a few years’ time. The question is, my desire to put all my savings and next 20-30 years’ income into the property that may not be the one I want is not that strong (the worries about finances). I’m a freelancer. I travel a lot and I don’t come back home for two to three weeks sometimes. Home is like a longer stopover. It doesn’t seem to make much difference whether I rent or own the place. And one thing with freelancing is that stable gigs are not always easy to come by, thus making it difficult to plant roots. Besides, I’m not sure that Beijing is the city I want to settle down in. I thought about the possibility of moving to the south in the future. My flat mates tried to dampen my enthusiasm for this idea by arguing that I would be in my 30s by then. Is this ageism? Why can’t I move to the south when I’m 30 something? Just kidding. They were implying that it’s possible I’m married (with or without kids) by then, in which case, staying put would be a better option. I wouldn’t be so easily discouraged by this tradition-like possibility and the thought of moving recurs. But I’m seeing the other side of the coin. There’s no problem with renting when I’m young. But imagine having to move around from time to time when I’m in my 70s or 80s, if I live that long. Probably wouldn’t be so much fun. And the cost of 30 years’ renting is no less than that of an apartment. Owning a home means being free from the fear of eviction when the owner decides to sell. And it’s always a smart investment choice. But not a choice I’m free to make at this moment. Our lease of the current apartment is due next month and we have to start a new round of house-hunting now. We got a good bargain last year with this contract, but not again this year, our agent warns us. The price is much higher now. Well, that’s the inevitable risk one has to take when renting. I’ll take good care of my life and let the agency takes care of the house for now.

We say that spring rain is as precious as oil. But we’ve had more than a fair share of rain these past few weeks back in my hometown in central China. Guess oil is not that precious any more. Incessant rains, strong winds and occasional thunder，it felt like summer except the temperatures constantly fell below zero. Many people found the thunder （which is just a natural phenomenon） alarming as it was still January in lunar calendar, and an old saying states that thunder in lunar January increases burial mounds, that is to say, thunder at this time of the year is a bad omen. It forebodes death, particularly for elder people. To expel this lurking danger, (if it really exists), adult children would buy dragon-shaped steamed buns for their parents. The dragon, roughly the length of an A4 paper, has two dates as its eyes and holds a boiled egg in its teeth. As to why eating these buns is a solution, I asked some older people, but they fumbled for a credible explanation. I read on the Internet that it has something to do with the dragon king, the God of Rain in Chinese mythology. The second of lunar February is supposed to be the day when the dragon “raises its head” according to folklore. It’s like when insects come out of hibernation in the spring. If there is thunder before this day, people would assume that the dragon king is in a mood as its work started earlier than it should be. So eating the dragon-shaped buns is humans’ way of showing reverence toward the king. The hope is to have good health and a long life. This kind of superstitions doesn’t hurt and is quite new to me. I laughed it off, but I have to say that learning about such a belief has been interesting. Actually, the Spring Festival period is a time when superstitions are rampant. I’ve received several reminders about hair-cutting since this morning from various apps on my phone as it happens to be the second of lunar February today. When the dragon raises its head, people go have their heads shaved as a gesture of welcoming the spring. Back home my folks usually have their hair cut/done in the last few days leading up to the Spring Festival and they wait until today to go to the Barber’s. It’s another superstition that goes like this, having one’s hair cut in lunar January gets one’s uncle (from mother’s side) killed. It’s stupid and it’s the dying reason. People now are doing this mostly as a kind of rite for the occasion. On the first of lunar January, the first day of a Chinese new year, one is not supposed to sweep the floor or empty the dustbin so as not to throw away fortune. Well I did both as my mom said that we don’t believe that in this family. My grandfather, when he was around, always said that don’t pick up money, but firecrackers from the ground during Spring Festival. I never knew why and have never found even a coin. Come to think about it, these are hardly everyday superstitions. Right this moment, I can’t think of any superstition that’s real everyday. Does star signs count? Because if it does, then we are seeing it every day.

I learned of the mistress-dispelling business in China from a recent BBC podcast. Behind this industry are mostly wives in distress, who decide to resort to the so-called love detectives to get their cheating husbands back. It’s an uncomfortable 30 minutes, listening to the documentary. Some of the contents haunt me. First, this company and its employees believe that while they are fighting a moral cause (to separate the husbands from their mistresses), they can do whatever it takes as all actions would be justifiable, including setting up honey-traps for the mistresses to get sex videos or photos as evidence. Second, there are vigilante groups against the mistresses. They punish the mistresses (commonly known as Xiaosan, or Little Third in literal translation in Chinese) in ways like stripping them naked on the streets or beat them up. Though the wives admit that their husbands made mistakes, they think the Xiaosans are solely to blame as homewreckers who should all be sentenced to death for the sake of family harmony. What the new business reflects is not only a moral problem, but a deep-rooted social problem. One may reasonably wonder, why don’t the women leave their unfaithful husbands, and why would someone willingly choose to be a mistress? For the first question, one obvious reason might be love as is mentioned by one wife in the podcast. Women in the 40s or 50s think their chances of finding another partner are slim once they leave their husbands. Some would also argue that they are keeping the family intact (seemingly) for the benefits of their children. Other likely reasons include the stigma still attached to divorce, especially for women and women’s fear of their inability to support themselves after years of staying at home. The second question baffles me. I understand from hearsay that these women stay with the married men mainly for financial reasons. Men who are able to keep mistresses are rich and/or powerful. They can provide the mistresses (relatively young ladies) with a luxurious lifestyle which they can’t afford themselves or from a peer boyfriend. When asked is it possible that love is in the equation, most people are dubious. It seems that the problems are mostly caused by men, but it is women who bear the brunt of the aftermath. (I don’t know what to say about the mistresses. But knowingly get involved with married people romantically goes against the principles I stand by.) Many women are still not independent enough to walk away when in such situations, even when they are, they may not out of different considerations. Traditional thinking and cultural traditions have their shares in holding women back. The good thing is, changes are happening though slowly. More and more young women are rejecting the common idea that women belong at home. They are not shy to say they are ambitious. Because being strong yourself is more reliable than securing a husband. All in all, love is free but marriage means commitment. People both in and out of the marriage should respect that commitment. And most importantly, we should all learn to love ourselves before we learn to love others.

I’ve visited many of the most well-known tourist spots in Beijing, but I don’t know the city as good as I thought. I need to use the maps on my phone every time I go out. I would very much like to help a lost tourist on the street but then I realize I don’t really know the area. So I took the opportunity of the Golden Week to explore deeper into the city. And now there is only one day left for the holiday. The sad thing is, I believe I would still need my map next time. But I did come across some interesting scenes. This must be one of the best. There’s a large open space near where I live. It was almost dusk time when I walked there. The air was fresh and cool with a gentle breeze. I saw this family. The dad was flying a small kite. As soon as it was flying, the two kids started cheering and chasing it, leaving their mom behind, who watched them with great tenderness. I managed to capture this lovely moment. It touched me and brought me joy just recalling it in my mind. Here is a very normal picture of a random street. It’s all traditional-styled buildings on both sides. It was the banner that caught my eye. “Long live the great Chinese people; Long live the great Communist Party of China.” With that man riding by, I got a kind of time travelling illusion. On the National Day, I accidentally found several senior singing troupes in the Jingshan Park. They stood together in circles in the open spaces, singing or/and dancing jubilantly. The songs were old and I didn’t know most of them except Ode to the Motherland. I actually hummed along in the crowd as the enthusiasm and patriotism they showed were infectious. A foreign friend asked me, will the young come to sing when the old stop? I don’t know but seems unlikely. The older generation and young generation have different feelings for the country which are also manifested in different ways. The Internet is the young’s battleground. It happened that I met a similar group the other day while strolling in a park near home. I sat by the lake the whole afternoon reading, and I kept hearing music sounds. First it was someone playing the flute. He or she must be still practicing as it came intermittently. But it was quite nice. Later I heard Peking Opera accompanied by Erhu performance. With the exquisite pavilions on the lake and in the bushes, I found the singing perfect for the occasion. Just when I was leaving I saw the trio right there enjoying themselves. Isn’t that great! I was always thinking of walking to the well-known Hutong with the beautiful name of At the Depth of Various Flowers. I ended up in another Hutong, Apricot in Full Blossom, equally if not more beautifully named. But the English translation must have compromised the beauty to some extent. To be honest, the two Hutongs looked no different from others, and actually seemed a little bit run-down. But the poetic names made great differences.I also learned that three roads in Beijing are named after three generals. I’m going to walk the roads and share the stories I learned next time. On my way home the day before the Mid-autumn Festival I took this photo of the moon casually. The irony was that the next day I walked hours to the Temple of the Moon to see the moon, only to find that I went the wrong way and only got a glimpse of the bright shining moon through the gap between leaves. That didn’t kill the fun though as I really enjoyed the night view of the financial district of Beijing when heading back. Hope you enjoyed your holiday too wherever you went.

Sending holiday wishes on Dragon Boat Festival has become a little tricky in recent years, or at least that’s the impression you get from social networks, be it Wechat or Weibo. We are used to saying wish you a happy Dragon Boat Festival, but now some argue that we should say wish you a peaceful and healthy Dragon Boat Festival instead as the day is meant to commemorate the departed. It’s like the debates on the flavors of soybean curd and zongzi when some love the salty flavored and others are all for the sweet ones. Dragon Boat Festival is Duanwu Festival to be precise. It got this name as it falls on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month. The traditions differ from region to region across the country. In my hometown in Henan province, we eat zongzi, boiled eggs/salted duck eggs and garlic. Some drink realgar wine (which can be poisonous with excessive intake). Mugwort leaves are hung on the wall in every household. Mothers make scented sachets with tassels made from sections of mugwort stalk for children. Young girls and boys wear five-colored threads around their wrists (we are told these threads would turn into snakes after the holiday when we cut them off and throw them on the ground). All these practices are supposed to prevent diseases and evil. Dragon boat racing is most commonly seen in the south. There is no consensus on the origin of Duanwu Festival. It may be related with the summer solstice, ancient dragon totem worshipping, or the unlucky number of double five. But the general public has always believed that this festival is established in memory of the great poet and patriot Qu Yuan. As a minister in the royal court of Chu during the Warring States Period, Qu was banished for alleged treason. Hearing the downfall of his state while in exile, Qu Yuan drowned himself in the Miluo River in despair. It is said that local people raced out their boats to retrieve his body, and when they failed to do so, sticky rice balls were thrown into the river so that the fish would not eat his body. This explains why we have the customs of having dragon boat races and eating zongzi. However, academics have long ago dismissed the connection between the origin of Duanwu and Quyuan’s death as there is no solid proof. Existing documents on Quyuan’s life are not entirely reliable. Most of the stories about his death are either fictional or hearsay. Besides, there is no record of the exact date of his death. The same is true of the stories of Wu Zixu and Cao E. What is certain is that the special day is set aside not because someone died. All the records indicate that people have been celebrating this day with practices mentioned above to fend off evil spirits and pray for blessings. The Spring Festival, for example, was originally an activity of offering sacrifice to the gods and ancestors. Therefore, it is perfectly ok to wish others good health and happiness. There is nothing wrong in being cheery on this day, in action or in words. By the way, I like both sweet zongzi and meat zongzi. I have soybean curd with sugar. And Happy Dragon Boat Festival to all.

It’s easy to find a job, but not always a good one. People have different definitions of good jobs. I don’t know about others, but for me, a professional xxx is all I’ve been thinking about. But the reality, which I only get to know when I’m seriously hunting for a job, is harsh.Roughly, half my class have got offers or have signed contract, the other half are still searching. As we were talking about this yesterday, a girl from another department pointed out that almost all the boys have found jobs, only the girls are struggling. From what I can see, gender is a factor employers consider, but not always a deciding one. After all, boys only constitute a small fraction of foreign language students. But the feeling that it is difficult to find a proper job is shared by all those still unemployed. Here’s my experience. I received few offers of interview for the hundreds of resumes sent. Sometimes I thought they were never viewed. They were just like stones dropped into the sea. I checked and revised my resume time and again and also asked for advice, but things didn’t improve much. For those I did have interviews, I found both the companies and positions disappointing to me. I sat for the national civil servants examination last year but nothing good came out of that: I was terrible at that kind of tests and was not really well-prepared. As time went by, I got frustrated and started to lower my expectations and applied for jobs that I knew I didn’t want to do.The struggle is: to choose what you like or to settle on what’s good for you (or to be practical) because the two don’t always come together. I’ve never thought about hukou before but was reminded of its importance by two close friends. One of them very much hopes to find a job that offers her BJ hukou. When she finally managed to land one, she wasn’t sure whether to take it or not as the work was not quite desirable. The other wanted to be a teacher in SH but was unsure of herself. We talked on Wechat last night. I thought she would make a great teacher because she’s got a very loving and kind character. Both of them forward recruitment information to me from time to time, encouraging me to keep faith and keep trying.They also advised me to just pick one job if no ideal offer come by the time I officially graduate, and change to better ones later when there are opportunities. They made good points. Hukou, home, stability, medical insurance and children’s education. But I can feel the strong resistance within whenever I start to think about this option. Luckily I met someone. An alumna who graduated five years ago. She shared her story. It was not easy for her either and she got a job pretty late but stayed on it for only twenty days. Then she started over and has been doing what she’s doing now since. And she’s doing great.I knew what I wanted to do all along but didn’t got the courage. She gave me that. My mom was a bit concerned though as I might face more uncertainties and instabilities choosing this career path, but she can be easily persuaded.Job hunting is a struggle for many of us. Some are not clear about what they want. Some decided to play it safe. Some gave in to tough realities. More fight. I will.To quote Lisao, the journey is long, but I’ll search up and down.

I was stopped by a young couple (who later claimed to be brother and sister) while getting out of the subway months ago. The man (both of them are of my age, if not younger) said his wallet got stolen but his sister had to go take the bus home in a place I don’t recall and were short of 20 something. So they asked me if I can lend them and they promised to pay it back as soon as they could. I had my doubts. For example, why should I trust you? He answered this by eagerly showing his ID card which I didn’t even take a look (come to think about it now, the card should probably be gone if his wallet was really stolen). Can you pay me back now by Wechat or Alipay? He said something about his bank card that I no longer remember. Deep down I wanted to believe that they are honest people who indeed need the help, but obviously they looked too much like liars. See me struggling there, he even played the “guilt” trick, asking me why would they lie and blah blah blah in a fretful manner which perplexed me until this day. How could they cheat money out of people and still being so unapologetically self-righteous? In the end, I gave them 30 (that’s all the cash I had. They clearly had no “mercy” for me. ) He added me on Wechat and I left. A part of me knew that the money would never come back, but the other part wanted to have faith in people. I didn’t hear from him for one week and then two weeks. Turned out he had already deleted or blocked me god knows when. That was the first time that I met people who officially asked me for money. I mean, I’ve seen many times at train stations people of different ages walk up and down the queues, asking for money. Sometimes it’s an old man with a cane in one hand and a box in the other, but more commonly adolescent girls and boys who cannot speak with a book, gathering signatures and money. But I didn’t have to make the choice of trusting or not trusting them because there was no direct confrontation. But in some cases, I can spot a liar when I see one. I saw an unusually “grand” scene outside the entrance of a mountain park during the past holiday. The square was packed with “performers”. Some as I see are real performers, singing or drawing to win tips. A young lady without arms was writing calligraphy with her mouth, attracting a huge crowd. Some, however, were less hard-working. They sat in a row in a nonchalant manner with large pieces of paper in front of them telling the sad stories of each. A woman no more than 30 was wearing mourning for her husband, her little girl sitting beside her. Honestly, I’ve read the same story of a man suddenly fell seriously ill upon arriving in a completely new and strange place several times while in Beijing. You experience world of difference from Beijing to Guangdong, yet the misfortunes of people are surprisingly similar. My family discussed all the way up the mountain. My mother was totally in awe of the armless lady and talked about her in great respect. I really felt sorry for that little girl. Growing up like this must be difficult and will surely affect the way she leads her life in the future. But we all wondered why those adults wouldn’t go get a job. Young and healthy, they can support themselves with a job in any factory. Why would anyone prefer to live like this, being looked at as liars and crooks? The temptation of reaping without sowing, laziness, lack of education, or family reasons, I cannot know but to guess. It started raining when we got out of the park. The square was half clear. Most of the performers were gone, nowhere to be seen. There are frauds everywhere, so are people really in need of help. I was cheated but not discouraged. Do to others as you would have them do to you. But stay alert and stay sharp.