A Collection of Thoughts: Volume 4 of "Random Reflections"

Author: Ba Jin
Publisher:
Publication Date: 1984-12-01
Features: My fourth collection of "Random Thoughts" is now compiled. I call it "Collected Thoughts in Illness," simply because the thirty "thoughts" included in this collection were all written during my illness. Five of them have subheadings titled "In Illness," and "In Illness (Four)" and "In 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 "thoughts" each year. At that time, I did not anticipate falling ill, suffering injuries, or undergoing long-term hospitalization and treatment. But all these things happened. I had no choice but to put down my pen. For eight months straight, I did not write a single word except for signing my name. Later, at home, when I began sitting at the sewing machine each day to write three or four lines of "thoughts," 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." Therefore, I gritted my teeth and persisted, eventually writing one "thought" 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 "Random Thoughts" in two years. I do not 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 am speaking the truth or lying.
Let’s not dwell on the past; speaking of the present, I would never write an article urging others to prioritize the "public good" while acting selfishly myself. I would never promote something I myself do not wish to do. My motto is: "Never resort to writing to deceive or defraud." No matter the length of the article, I always keep this in mind. The short essays written during my illness probably won’t be "complaining without cause." I write not for leisure or to entertain friends, but only when moved to do so, drawing from decades of experience in life, reading, and writing. Though I am ill, the doctor says my mind is clear, 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 recently, calling me "a dying man" or "suffering from illness." Some well-meaning people worry for 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 each person has their own aspirations. Mine 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 have circulated about me, 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 than swords—yet at eighty, I have grown numb and am not easily shaken or angered. Sometimes I reflect: Why can’t I be at peace? Is it because I refuse to be? I have thought about this endlessly, but I remain in a state of half-understanding. However, one thing is clear: according to my original plan, I was to compile five volumes of "Random Thoughts," and now only the last volume remains—soon to be completed. Thinking this way, I feel calm again.
Over the past two years, in addition to the thirty "thoughts," I have written only one short essay, "Reply to Mr. Shingo Inoue." I like this letter-like piece, 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 from the thirty-first "thought," I developed a habit of having my daughter, Xiaolin, read each "thought" and offer feedback. Xiaolin is an editor at a literary journal with years of experience. She reviews each of my "thoughts" with great care, speaking candidly and without hesitation. We have had disagreements and arguments. Sometimes I insist, sometimes I yield, but I often revise words or even entire paragraphs based on her suggestions. Today, while editing "Collected Thoughts in Illness" and rereading my old works from the past two years, I feel I should thank Xiaolin for her revisions. As a young person, she is full of vitality and cannot tolerate my endless rambling as an old man.