A Collection of Essays During Illness - (Volume 4 of "Random Thoughts")

Author: Ba Jin
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-05-01
Features: My fourth collection of "Reflections" is now compiled. I call it "Collected Reflections from Illness," simply because the thirty "reflections" included in this collection were all written during my illness. Five of them have subheadings titled "Illness," and "Illness (Four)" and "Illness (Five)" were even written in the hospital, naturally discussing my condition and treatment. Initially, I set a writing plan, believing I could produce thirty "reflections" each year. At that time, I never imagined I would fall ill, suffer injuries, or undergo long-term hospitalization. But all these things happened. I had no choice but to put down my pen. For eight months straight, I didn’t write a single word—only signed my name. Later, at home, when I began sitting at the sewing machine to write three or four lines of "reflections" each day, the ballpoint pen in my hand felt as heavy as dozens of pounds, making it extremely difficult to move. So I simply threw the pen away. Yet, as I mentioned in a letter to a friend at the end of last year, "Silence also causes pain. If one lives on, they must leave something behind." So I gritted my teeth and persisted, finally writing one reflection after another.
A friend, seeing how hard I struggled to write, couldn’t help but feel sympathetic and repeatedly persuaded me to switch to dictation. But writing has never been about showcasing personal talent for me. Without a pen, relying solely on my voice, I would be helpless—I couldn’t articulate my thoughts. With a pen in hand, even if I wrote only one hundred words a day, I could still complete a collection of "Reflections" in two years. I don’t rely on mastery of language because I lack such skill—I rely on emotion. I have sincere feelings for people and things, and I pour them into my writing. Readers can tell whether I’m speaking the truth or lying.
Let’s not dwell on the past; speaking of the present, I would never write articles urging others to prioritize "the public good" while acting "selfishly." I would never promote something I myself don’t want to do. My motto is: "Never resort to literary tricks or deceive the world with false fame." No matter what I write, long or short, I always keep this in mind. Reflections written during illness probably won’t be "complaining without cause." I write not for leisure or to please friends, but out of genuine feeling, based on decades of experience in life, reading, and writing. Though I am ill, the doctor says my mind is clear, free of illness. Through careful reflection, I also believe I can follow a coherent train of thought and haven’t yet developed Alzheimer’s, so I won’t speak nonsense. Of course, the doctor’s words are not law, and self-praise is unreliable. Moreover, rumors have been spreading about me being "on my last legs" or "suffering from illness." Some well-meaning people worry for me and often write to urge me to rest. I am not a stubborn person, and I know that the time to put down my pen is near—nature’s laws cannot be defied. But each person has their own aspirations. Mine is not to "enjoy my old age." I only want to exhaust all my emotions, all my love and hatred, and then leave this world without regret. This is great happiness for me—I call it "the blooming of life."
I mentioned "rumors," and in recent years, all sorts of whispers about me have circulated, causing friends and readers to worry and suffer on my behalf. I have repeatedly asked: "Let me be quiet, forget me." But it hasn’t helped. Sometimes rumors fade on their own, while at other times, they grow. Some are completely baseless, while others seem to have some foundation. Rumors wound people more sharply than swords—they are sharper than knives. But at eighty, I’ve grown numb to them, not easily frightened or angered. Sometimes, I calmly reflect: Why can’t I be quiet? Is it because I refuse to be quiet? I’ve thought about it endlessly, but I’m still in a state of not quite understanding. But one thing is clear: according to the original plan, I was to compile five volumes of "Reflections," and now only the last volume remains—almost done. Thinking this way, I feel at ease again.
Over the past two years, in addition to the thirty "reflections," I have written only one short piece, "Reply to Mr. Inoue Yasushi." I like this letter-like essay—it expresses my sincere feelings for Japanese friends, writers, and the Japanese people. I’ve included it as an appendix in this collection.
Lastly, I’d like to mention one more thing. Starting from the thirty-first "reflection," I developed a habit of having my daughter, Xiaolin, read each "reflection" and offer feedback. Xiaolin is an editor for a literary journal with years of experience. She reviews each of my "reflections" with great care, speaking candidly and without hesitation. We’ve had disagreements and arguments. Sometimes I insist, sometimes I yield, but I often delete words or even entire paragraphs based on her suggestions. Today, while editing "Collected Reflections from Illness" and rereading my old works from the past two years, I feel I should thank Xiaolin for her revision suggestions. As a young person, she has vitality and can’t tolerate my endless rambling as an old man.