Collected during illness

Author: Ba Jin
Publisher:
Publish Date: 1984-12-01
Features: My fourth collection of "Reflections" is now complete. I titled it "Collected Reflections During Illness," simply because the thirty "reflections" included in this collection were all written during my illness. Five of them have subheadings titled "During Illness," and "During Illness (Four)" and "During Illness (Five)" were even written in the hospital, naturally discussing my condition and treatment. Initially, I had planned to write thirty "reflections" each year, but I never anticipated falling ill, suffering injuries, or being hospitalized for an extended period. Yet, all these things happened. I had no choice but to put down my pen. For eight long months, I only signed my name and did not write a single word with it. Later, at home, when I began sitting at the sewing machine each day to write three or four lines of "reflections," 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. However, 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." Therefore, I clenched my teeth and persevered, eventually writing one "reflection" after another.
A friend, seeing how hard I struggled to write, felt sympathy and urged me to switch to dictation. However, 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 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 will never write articles urging others to prioritize "the public good" while acting "selfishly." I will never promote something I myself don’t want to do. My motto is: "Never use words to deceive or deceive the world with fame." No matter how long or short the piece, I always keep this in mind. Reflections written during illness are unlikely to be "complaining without cause." I write not for leisure or to entertain 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 and free of illness. After much reflection, I also believe I can follow a coherent train of thought and have not yet developed Alzheimer’s disease, so I won’t speak nonsense.
Of course, a doctor’s words are not law, and self-praise is unreliable. Moreover, rumors have spread about me being "in my twilight years" and "suffering from illness." Some well-meaning people worry about me and often write to urge me to rest. I am not stubborn, and I know that the time to put down my pen is near—nature’s laws cannot be defied. But people have their own aspirations, and my desire is not to "enjoy my old age." I only wish to exhaust all my emotions, all my love and hatred, and then leave this world without regret. This is great happiness for me, which I call "the blooming of life."
I mentioned "rumors," and in recent years, all sorts of whispers about me have spread, causing friends and readers to worry and suffer on my behalf. I have repeatedly asked them to let me be, to 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 basis. Rumors wound people more sharply than swords; yet at eighty, I have grown numb and am not easily shaken or angered. Sometimes, I calmly reflect: Why can’t I be at peace? Is it because I refuse to be? I have thought about this endlessly, but I remain neither fully understanding nor fully confused. However, one thing is clear: according to my original plan, I was to compile five volumes of "Reflections," and now only the last volume remains—almost complete. 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, "Rebuttal to Mr. Inoue Yasushi." I like this letter-like essay, as it expresses my sincere feelings for Japanese friends, writers, and the Japanese people. I have included it as an appendix in this collection.
Lastly, I want to mention one more thing. Starting with the thirty-first "reflection," I developed a habit of letting my daughter, Xiaolin, be the first reader of my "reflections" and give me feedback. Xiaolin is an editor for a literary journal with years of experience. She carefully reviews every "reflection" I write, speaks her mind without hesitation, and is not afraid to be blunt. We have had disagreements and arguments, and sometimes I insist while other times I yield. But I often delete words or even entire paragraphs based on her suggestions. Today, while editing "Collected Reflections During Illness" and rereading my old works from the past two years, I feel I should thank Xiaolin for her constructive suggestions. As a young person, she has vitality and cannot tolerate my endless ramblings as an old man.