From Harvard to the World

Author: Liu Xuan / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: This book is another new work by Liu Xuan, the son of the renowned Chinese-American writer Liu Dong. In this book, Liu Xuan writes with the lively and youthful style of a teenager, capturing his boundless and carefree spirit in humorous pieces such as "Unsinkable Love," "A Carnival Weekend in Montreal," and "Happiness Is Getting a Punch on the Face." The writing is fresh, spontaneous, yet filled with clever insights. Liu Dong introduces his son Liu Xuan like this: In the Harvard University campus in Boston, he has become a seasoned local, knowing every street, every restaurant, and even recognizing every chef. He often invites me and his mother there, not to show us his campus, but simply to say, "There's a great restaurant nearby." This book includes over twenty humorous essays written by "My Odd Son" about Cambridge, Harvard, and his travels to Brazil, the UK, Mexico, and the Arctic.
This book is another new work by Liu Xuan, the son of the renowned Chinese-American writer Liu Dong. In this book, Liu Xuan writes with the lively and youthful style of a teenager, capturing his boundless and carefree spirit in humorous pieces such as "Unsinkable Love," "A Carnival Weekend in Montreal," and "Happiness Is Getting a Punch on the Face." The writing is fresh, spontaneous, yet filled with clever insights. Liu Dong introduces his son Liu Xuan like this: In the Harvard University campus in Boston, he has become a seasoned local, knowing every street, every restaurant, and even recognizing every chef. He often invites me and his mother there, not to show us his campus, but simply to say, "There's a great restaurant nearby." This book includes over twenty humorous essays written by "My Odd Son" about Cambridge, Harvard, and his travels to Brazil, the UK, Mexico, and the Arctic.
I sat nearby, eating a sandwich, while a group of sparrows gathered on the ground to pick up the crumbs I dropped. Usually, I would deliberately feed them, but today, my attention was divided by two pigeons. They jumped around between the iron legs of the chairs, the male chasing the female, running back and forth like clowns, constantly cooing. The female pigeon walked with dignity, trying to avoid the clown, but the clown wouldn’t give up, chasing her relentlessly. I admired the male pigeon's perseverance—it truly was "persistent." If only my face were as thick as his, I wouldn’t know what kind of trouble I’d be in right now.
Spring has arrived, and the girls on campus are all wearing short skirts. Actually, the weather isn’t that warm yet, but I don’t know how they stand it, but I can’t say anything either, because they really look nice. They’re like deer in the forest; carrying backpacks, with their skirts fluttering like deer. Strangely, the boys aren’t as elegant—rather, they remind me of lazy bears in jeans.
In the evening, the subway station area becomes lively. Punks with colorful hair and two or three nose rings sit together, smoking. On the other side, students stand under the lights of a newspaper stand, waiting for someone. A group of Native Americans from South America, dressed in traditional clothing, are playing traditional instruments on the street. It’s said they travel around the U.S., performing on the streets in cities all year round and making quite a bit of money. Listening to their music, I also know that spring has arrived.
I was seeing off a friend who wasn’t exactly close to me at the subway station. I had just spent a few afternoons with him, showing him around campus and acting as a tour guide, explaining the hundreds of Harvard legends I’d already explained countless times. To keep from getting bored myself, I started making up stories. "This building hides treasure stolen from the pyramids," "Someone invented a new law of physics under this tree." Legends are just legends—the more outlandish, the better.
Yet, after having dinner at an Indian restaurant nearby and then taking the subway back to the hotel, this kind of thing has happened to me countless times. Spring nights are especially noisy, especially after bars close. A large group of people walk shoulder to shoulder on the street, singing drinking songs. Their voices sound particularly muddled in the damp spring air. On the way back to the dorm that night, I brushed past a few people. I glanced back casually, only to find that they were looking back at me too. One of them cursed, then turned back.
"What did you say?" I turned around and followed them, raising my voice. "Did you hear me clearly? Don’t ask again!" "I didn’t hear! You can come talk to me!" I continued walking toward them. The three of them stopped, shrugging and turning their backs to me. "Want to come over and try it?" one said. "You come over here, or I’ll beat you!" I looked at the three of them and didn’t have much confidence, so I went back to the dorm angry.
I thought about it more and more, and the anger only grew. I decided to call a friend. "Forget it. They’re three drunkards, and you’re one sober person—you can’t take them!" "But because they’re drunk, I might still be able to beat them!" "You’re not sure either. What if they have guns? You should just let it go and go for a run by the river!"
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