I love bitter melon.

Author: Liu Xinwu
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2002-10-01
Features: This book is a collection of contemporary Chinese prose, composed of four parts: "Wild Calligraphy of the Body," "Listening to Spring Sounds," "Early Morning Movies," and "Great Waterfall and Rainbow." It includes numerous prose works such as "Wild Calligraphy of the Body," "Crossing Forests and Rivers, Music Arrives," "Listening to Spring Sounds," "No One Can Be Ignored," "Mother's Releasing Hand Has Faded," "Beautiful Fences," "Great Waterfall and Rainbow," and "Jinyuan Moss Flowers." The book compiles the author's prose works from the Mao Dun Literature Prize over the years, reflecting his entire creative achievements and style.
Excerpt:
Wild Calligraphy of the Body
Twelve years ago, I first visited the United States and unexpectedly met a student from Beijing at an art department of a university. He was studying modern dance there. When we talked, I learned that he had attended the 13th Middle School in Beijing, and I had once taught there. Although I had transferred to a publishing house by the time he enrolled, I still felt a special closeness. I asked about his advisor and how he was doing. The advisor praised him extensively. I was delighted but then heard the advisor say, "Chinese people's bodies are too stiff. When it comes to dancing, they only know how to use their limbs. If they can use their waist, that's already quite good. They have no idea how to release emotions through their back, chest, or abdomen. I had a hard time teaching him." I found it quite offensive, but since I had never studied dance or compared Eastern and Western dance, I had no basis to argue with him. I had to endure my displeasure and simply made polite remarks before leaving.
Later, that Chinese student caught up with me outside the teaching building. He clearly saw through my thoughts as we walked together. "He didn’t mean any harm," he said, "don’t mind. Even if they don’t dance, they often use rich body language to express emotions. We value subtlety, you see. There are fixed postures for the body—‘stand like a pine, sit like a bell, lie like an arch.’ We believe in ‘eyes wide open, nose observing the heart.’ How different the two cultures are." I still felt uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to say anything about it. Instead, I steered the conversation elsewhere.
I remember that after returning to Beijing, I occasionally thought about this incident, and it still bothered me. When Zhao Feiyang danced on the golden plate, did she only use her limbs? When she performed the "Feather Dance," how could she not release emotions through her back? I had once had the chance to watch the performances of pioneers of modern Chinese dance, such as Wu Xiaobang and Dai Ailian. Even though they were already "old horses" by then and their performances were more like teaching demonstrations, they still left a lasting impression of grace and elegance. Though I didn’t pay close attention to how much they used their limbs and waist, I could never say that Chinese people’s bodies are too stiff.
Later, while reading Lu Xun at night, I noticed that the adult Tong Ti in his works not only lacked expressive body language but also had a wooden manner of speaking. He also wrote about how, even in seemingly thrilling scenes like executions, the onlookers often appeared numb. In front of foreigners’ cameras, Chinese people often stared blankly at the lens, pulling down their chins.
Of course, there were also outstanding Chinese people in Lu Xun’s time, including farmers, who had advanced ideas, civilized behavior, and rich verbal and body language. But overall, they were rare exceptions. Most were suppressed by internal and external troubles, unable or unwilling to express their emotions. Lu Xun also wrote about a well-educated Chinese woman who visited Europe. When asked if Chinese women bound their feet, she showed off her "natural feet" and told them it wasn’t true. Lu Xun was not impressed by this.
Lu Xun advocated facing life head-on, opening his eyes to China, and opening his eyes to the world. His patriotism was rooted in the willingness to admit his country’s flaws and the strengths of other nations. With this mindset, he even suggested not reading Chinese books but instead reading more foreign ones. Can we truly grasp the essence of his profound and passionate patriotism?
Later, while watching TV, I noticed ordinary Chinese people in news reports, especially farmers on screen. I had to admit that most of them were rather wooden or, at best, quite open, answering questions readily but rarely using gestures to enhance their expressions. Those who did use body language were few and far between. Of course, we still love these compatriots, especially farmers, and particularly the older generation. It is precisely because they lack expressive skills that, in their statue-like silence, we feel a deeper resonance in their hearts, which we find uniquely beautiful.
In the early 1980s, Luo Zhongli’s "super-realistic" masterpiece, "Father," fully expressed this experience. Chen Kaige’s "Yellow Earth" seemed to deliberately build upon the path set by "Father," showcasing the endurance and tranquility of Chinese farmers to an almost unbearable degree. At the same time, through the (unrestrained) waist drum performances, he revealed the explosive power of Chinese farmers’ emotions, expressed through body language, to the point of bringing tears to one’s eyes. Zhang Yimou’s adaptation of Mo Yan’s original, "Red Sorghum," attempted to activate the frankness and unrestrainedness of emotional expression among contemporary Chinese farmers and the entire nation through subjective imagination, highlighting the rough "performance art" of Chinese farmers through "my grandfather" and "my grandmother." This effort continued in the 1990s, with numerous literary and artistic figures expressing themselves in various forms, blooming more and more extraordinary flowers.
However, what truly lifted the spirits of the Chinese people, especially farmers, and freed them from oppression, allowing them to unleash their intelligence, healthy desires, and inner passions, was not literature and art but the living pace of the times—specifically, reform and opening up, the liberation of productivity.