Look around

Author: Huang Aidi / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-08-01
Features: If judged by timeliness, this collection of columns should have been published earlier. During the time I wrote these columns, I worked at a newspaper under the Nanfang Daily Press Group, collaborating with a group of colleagues on a weekly publication. Looking back now, that period was very enjoyable. From the perspective of daily work, columnists are not rare in the newspaper and magazine industry; they are almost encountered every day or at least every week. Even when colleagues gather for meals, in addition to their regular jobs, they are all writing columns. Of course, from another angle, good columnists are always cherished by editors and readers. Speaking of this seems a bit chaotic—I don’t seem to be good at speaking so formally. Let me put it this way: over the past N years, I’ve stayed at this newspaper, surrounded by groups of reporters and editors, and groups of columnists. My official job is an editor, and my part-time job is a columnist. And I’ve always believed that my official job is better than my part-time one, but it seems others don’t see it that way. They all think I’m a freelancer, which makes me feel quite wronged when I desperately shout, "I’m part of an organization too!"
Additionally, I’ve always thought that my friends and colleagues’ columns are better than mine. You might say, after writing for N years, you only realized this now—wasn’t it too late? As for this, in fact, I knew it long ago. However, I’ve always believed that anyone can write columns. Whether they are published or not depends on the newspaper and the editors’ judgment and selection. It’s actually quite similar to the wildly popular blogs today—anyone can start one. Many editors now directly solicit articles from blog writers. And in the end, how many people actually read them has almost become a mystical question. Even now, I’m still a fan of columns. If I don’t browse other people’s blogs and columns online every day, I feel uncomfortable.
Several years ago, I had a column called "East and West Gazing" in the Xinmin Evening News, and that kind of restless, curious behavior really resembles me. This book is a collection of columns by Huang Aidi, the pioneer of "Little Woman’s Prose." She makes a living as an editor and gains fame through writing. She understands Guangzhou because she has studied it, and more importantly, she loves it. She has written many works, including The Flower Demon, Gender Differences, and The Peony Blooms.
Peach blossoms, I’ve seen them. Under the sun, they stretch across the mountains, dazzlingly beautiful, with a riot of pink flowers. If you want to talk about shock and grandeur, it would have to be a deep red or even blood-red. An unmarried woman who attracts men is called a "peach blossom," and a married woman who attracts men is also called a "peach blossom." Only after marriage is it called a "red phoenix." Men and women entangled for years, always mutual "peach blossoms," but suddenly, one of them starts a "red phoenix" romance with someone else.
This book is divided into four sections: The Misdeeds of the Concubine, The Peach Blossoms, Love Emergency Room, and The World Cup of a Football Blind.
The Shortcut Key Incident
Someone accidentally pressed the shortcut key on my phone, and suddenly, my phone rang—"Hello? Hello? Hello hello! Ugh." I don’t know if others would react more politely, but usually, I perform poorly in such situations. When this kind of call comes in, it might be my parents. My parents don’t call me unless something’s wrong. The most memorable calls are either my mom having gastritis or my dad catching a cold. The biggest incident was when my mom, with a sobbing voice, said my dad was critically ill, scaring me half to death. So whenever I see the caller ID, I immediately think, "What’s wrong now?" But in reality, they weren’t calling me. The other end of the line was a noisy outdoor gathering of some kind.
When this kind of call comes in, it might be the driver from our newspaper office. This is a bit strange because he never calls me—he should be calling the administrative director or higher-ups. Is something wrong? Sighing, whenever I see the caller ID, I always think the worst, truly a pessimist. But in the end, he wasn’t calling me either. The other end of the line was probably the cooing of his one- or two-year-old daughter.
When this kind of call comes in, it might be a Taiwanese colleague who lives in Beijing and has worked with us professionally. Is he coming for a business trip? Or does he have another work proposal? I answer politely, saying "Hello," but the other end of the line is a muffled voice, apparently ordering food and introducing dishes. Once, it was the sound of a karaoke bar. Another time, it was a bar. Eventually, I just looked at the phone number and said, "How come it’s always like this?" and directly declined the call. I declined it many times, and it worked quite well—this colleague only called me once more after that. Then, his big tragedy and everyone else’s big comedy finally happened—New Year’s Day, his phone rang—I thought of him as a very polite person, so I answered the call—wait, it wasn’t a holiday greeting.
Truly, as if by fate, my phone was about to die, so I thought, "Just listen to what he’s doing and replace the battery later." But then, I heard him talking to his girlfriend about breaking up, and I heard his girlfriend’s screams and cries, like listening to a collection of tearful scenes from a romance novel. Holding the phone in shock, I hung up. After a moment of stunned silence, I called him back: "Um, sorry, your shortcut key dialed my phone. What were you doing? I heard everything. I’m so sorry, Happy New Year!"
After that, this guy’s shortcut key never caused any more problems. However, it wasn’t until he casually discussed the scene of his phone call live at the dinner table that my awkwardness from accidentally intruding on his privacy finally lifted.
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