Words of Innocence and Experience

Firstly, even though Sir Philip Sidney had refuted the accusation in his Apology for Poetry, poetry (literature) still gives people improper desires. The divine powers Sidney argued in his essay constitute the anguish of common people. Poetry certainly inspires people and moves people to action, yet it also arouses ambitions. As stated above, there are numerous goals that are impossible to attain for poor people. Ruthlessly, books continue to prick and sting their impractical aspiration, causing extreme pain. If not for the fantastical goodness learned from reading, perhaps people would be more satisfied with their current circumstances without wishing for something better.

Also, better knowledge entitles people to see things in a more rational light. Yet, being more insightful brings about seclusion and unhappiness. According to William Golding in his essay “Thinking as a Hobby,” grade-one thinkers, or people who have consistent beliefs and principles, are “those found in books.” In other words, the number of intellectual people is few and they endure agonizing loneliness. Moreover, since people with better knowledge usually have brilliant insight into various issues, they are likely to be saddened by the folly of the whole world. After all, there are some aspects of life, where rationality does not apply. That one’s intellect cannot solve problems regarding the aforesaid matters is exceptionally depressing.

The above downsides may be disheartening, but at least people suffer from the two can seek comfort and security from their logical beliefs. There are people, nonetheless, unable to grab consistent philosophies from book knowledge. Confusion and self-doubt take them over, and they end up like walking corpses. One day an acquaintance of mine told me wistfully that he decided to give up on books, as they cannot offer him the satisfaction he expected to find. The world never lacks bibliophiles and some people are still perfectly pleased with knowledge. With so much information suffocating us, however, occasionally we feel confused and lose our way.

Above all, book knowledge does not necessarily generate material earning or mental delight. Conversely, in the eye of my comrades and seniors, I am still an assiduous student. What drive me to make efforts are two major reasons which may be put down as absurdities.

One is foolish, incurable vanity. Before entering my high-profile senior high school, I had always been ahead of the pack in terms of academic achievement. My hubris was strongly challenged in the competitive high school days, yet I still strived not to lag the fearful ranking after every exam. Now that I am in university, but my pride have not waned a bit and I still aspire to be good. In exchange of impressive academic records, I have sacrificed the other two “compulsory” credits a university student must take in college—romance and clubs (I join clubs but am not an avid participant). At times I question myself whether my exertions are worthwhile.

The other reason is that I choose to believe in miracles. As the Chinese saying goes, gold will eventually be discovered in books. In spite of my above points that books do not worth any material value, somehow I choose to think that one day my dreams will come true through the skills that I have sharpened at school, impossible as it seems. It is better for me to cling onto naïve faiths, considering the fact that scholarships have been decreasing and the money I earned through my academic scores is quite limited.

In sum, please do not blame us if we are reluctant to devote ourselves fully to studies. What I have written may be merely pointless anxiety of a tumultuous pre-adult, but we are truly confounded and frightened by the nonchalance of the world. Emphasized by my temporary unchangeable poverty, the torture only becomes greater. In the composition class we studied William Zinsser’s essay “College Pressures,” but as he writes lightheartedly about the distresses of college students, he should have thought that he was able to make a living by his profession while students were still groping in the dark. When he was at out age, he might have worried about similar things as well. Please have some pity for us and stop encouraging us to make wishes that will never come true.

Finally, I am really sorry to have written such a long letter. If I have said anything inappropriate, please forgive my imprudence. Thank you very much for reading this letter!

May you have a wonderful time during the Chinese New Year!

Sincerely,
Your Anonymous Student

Dear Professor Kuo,
Greetings, how has your vacation been? For a mediocre student like me, being able to take some rest is bliss indeed since I am given more time to organize my thoughts and what I have learned last semester. While sorting out the tangled information restored in my memory, one thing remains quite clear—some professors’ continuous accusation of our inertia. After having been contemplating for some days, I would like to discuss with you about my explanation for such laziness. In my humble opinion, both material and spiritual factors can account for students’ lack of motivation to endeavor.

Economic concerns, unsurprisingly, are what students worry about most. Unlike people who had strong confidence in themselves and their future careers decades ago, it seems that “the Golden Age” of Taiwan has long passed and everyone feels anxious about job finding. Thus, most students crowd into the departments which are likely to provide better job opportunities after graduation. The trend is, de facto, pretty shallow, yet with the unceasing warning from the media and family, everyone is forced to think ahead gloomily. Foreign Language and Literature Department is generally considered a “promising” department to study in, but students, good and bad alike, all suffer from insecurity. After all, with diploma in hand, one’s academic performances at school are not of the concern of the hostile society, and everyone’s chance is equal. In short, studying hard no longer promises us a future.

Of course, professors on campus have been really nice to give suggestions on our future plans, namely studying overseas, becoming a professor, even applying for the job as a writer at the New York Times. However, it seems to have skipped their notice that the prerequisite of embarking on the aforementioned vocations is to have money. A poor person like me cannot afford to be so ambitious. What I want is merely a job by which I can make a living, period. I really appreciate the professors’ kind suggestions, yet they all appear out of the question, sadly.

Under the unrelenting circumstances in Taiwan, quite a few excellent students are forced, or tempted to abandon their studies despite their willingness to learn. The event of technology companies recruiting new staff attracts tremendous attention from students annually in Tsing Hua. With the high salary and welfare the companies guarantee, many students in the Computer Science Department would take the jobs gratefully rather than solidify their capabilities at school. Such rash flux to companies in the Science Park, actually, foreshadows serious problems. Since many employers in technology companies are not equipped with adequate abilities, it is unlikely for them to come up with creative discoveries which will enhance Taiwan’s economic competitiveness in the world. Also, universities are in short of experts to work on researches and thus the creativity of technological development is on the downgrade. The problem has become a vicious circle which some people have noticed; still, few feasible solutions have been brought up. As mentioned above, everyone is looking for a way to make ends meet, and the hidden worry of our island is not something we are capable of handling.

Another reason that we have been told to enhance knowledge is the competition with the people from across the Taiwan Strait. Mainland Chinese people have been making impressive efforts on nearly everything and they are probable to surpass Taiwan, which has been stagnating. Nevertheless, common college students are not those who will be compared with Mainland Chinese people. Underprivileged like me, I have yet been to places other than Taiwan the main island, and thus no one would care about whether I am knowledgeable or not. There are also numerous people who possess extraordinary talent but are doomed to be trapped on this island. To put it in a better way, we are not the people who can make a difference, but the rich people are.

The rich are the source of attention from the outside world. Since they are already endowed with a good wealth, it would be wonderful if they can take the responsibility of making Taiwan a better place. Conversely, their participation or presence on some occasions stigmatizes Taiwan’s reputation. For instance, the legislators’ fights have been a laughing stock of the world, and some of the leaders’ inferior proficiency in Mandarin Chinese decreases the elegance of our language in the view of Mainland China. At times normal people wish to stand out and show the world that not everyone in Taiwan is so uncouth, but without money all the attempts would be in vein.

Perhaps I am being overly pessimistic, for there are numerous cases of people rising from poverty and obscurity. However, I must say that the number of successful people is few, or they would not have become famous if everyone shares similar experience. In addition, it is increasingly difficult to strive for the top position in every field with the growing number of talented people. Bribes and devices are useful tools for some people to take the shortcut as well, while the poor are never exposed to the access.

Therefore, material things can hardly be gained from books, studies, and knowledge. Still, if books can shower us with spiritual contentment, their function would suffice. Unfortunately, not only does it not provide happiness but also invite sadness.

On the third night, I finally forsook the intention to run away. I had made it through more than half way and it would be pointless for me to leave at this point of time. The awareness of the testing on the next day plagued me, but I supposed that no one would judge me according to my probable failure. To put it in a better way, I did not give a d*mn.

As mentioned, the “Angel and Master” game was still ongoing. I had received a small card with no particularly shocking statements, while many comrades had been deliberately tricked. However, on the fourth morning, two mild surprises struck me. In the first card, someone asked me introduce myself to everyone in English, and so I did. My last utterance was an outragerous lie: “The Harmonica Camp rocks!” Knowing my annoyance, Erica later joked that she believed that I had said “The Harmonica Camp sucks!”

If I keep recounting the occurrences this way, it is awfully boring. Since I adapted Sting’s lyrics at the beginning, I am going to post the complete lyrics.

Upon a secret journey
I met a coy man
His shyness was his trademark
I’m such a lonely fan
And as the world was turning
It rolled itself in pain
This does not seem to touch you
He pointed to the rain

You will see light in the darkness
You will make some sense of this
And when you’ve made your secret journey
You will find the crush you miss

And on the days that followed
I listened to his words
I strained to understand him
I chased his notes like birds

You will see light in the darkness
You will make some sense of this
And when you’ve made your secret journey
You will find the crush you miss

You will see light in the darkness
You will make some sense of this
You will see joy in this sadness
You will find this crush you miss
And when you’ve made your secret journey
You will be a holy fan
—Adapted from “Secret Journey” by the Police/Sting

However, the song is an overstatement. There was just somebody who made the camp slightly more tolerable.

My performance of the harmonica, as predicted, was pretty poor, yet I did not give it too much thought. That night, a departure party was held outdoors, and oddly, not many people seemed sorry to leave. Perhaps all of us had reach the age where excessive emotions were saved for more influencial occasions.

On the final day, the talented students performed their songs on stage along with a simple commencement ceremony. As I scanned the thin papered certificate in my hand, I was suddenly happy for its presence. For if it had not been there, the five-day tough experience would be likely to become a blank section in my brain. At least the thin paper can prove that I was once in the camp.

Will I join the harmonica club then? My answer would be negative since the harmonica does not intrigue me, and I have no wish to make efforts on something from which I would not benefit. However, something, someone makes my determination fluctuate. As the old maxim goes, time will wash away everything. I truly hope that my temporary insanity would be eliminated, and everything will be the same next semester, without the harmonica attacking my life.

Upon a secret journey
I met a coy man
His shyness was his trademark
I’m such a lonely fan
–Adapted from “Secret Journey” by the Police/Sting

After having returned from the harmonica camp for two days, my waned annoyance with the harmonica propelled me to dig it out from my desk, where papers and books lay scattered. Although my brain was still functioning slowly due to exhaustion, I began slowly recall the incidents of the five-day camp. Tedium, seclusion, and insomnia that I suffered during the five days still left a bad taste in my mouth, yet there were some sweetness springing from my memory that I could not deny.

Frankly speaking, it was my fault to not realize what the activities were like before going. When Erica invited me to go with her, I agreed on the spot rashly. The reason for my hasty reply was unknown, but the rather inexpensive price must have been a powerful incentive. Since the two weeks before the camp were filled with arduous exams, I longed to linger in the comfort of my hearth rather than attending a camp totally alien to me. Reluctant to shirk the responsibility, I still did what I was told.

Before arriving at CYCU, where the camp was to be held, Erica and I took the train with the member of the Harmonica Club in Tsing Hua. Neither of us knew anyone from the club, so Erica and I only conversed with each other. She told me that she felt worn out owing to lack of sleep the night before, and even though I had sufficient sleep, what was on my mind was a wish for the camp to end soon.

Upon our arrival, T-shirts, teaching materials and a bottle of water was distributed to everyone. There was nothing special about the rituals at the beginning. Our luggage was placed in where we were to stay at night, and the members who belonged to the same group sat in a circle, singing or greeting one another. Similar to what other camps usually do, there was also the “Angel and Mater” game. The childish game was adapted with some sinister schemes was, surprisingly, a significant element of the activities.

The nightmare did not start until after lunch. After stuffing our stomachs with rice, we were asked to go to different classrooms according to our scales of skill in harmonica. Neither Erica nor I had any contact with the harmonica before, and we were in the elementary-level class along with other seven people. On knowing that we would be tested and perform after the learning, I was thoroughly startled. Besides, our class was small so that the teacher was able to take notice of everyone’s endeavor. Despite my lack of interest, I strive to blow the accurate notes painstakingly, grudgingly.

After the elementary training class, the preliminary ensemble class came forth. It was during this class that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake of joining this camp. I have always loved music to the bone yet I never desired to learn any musical instrument and have been satisfied with merely being a dilettante. Moreover, if I must learn to play an instrument, it would have been the flute, the piano, or others that are considered more “girlish.” The harmonica is not a feminine instrument to me, for the posture of playing it is by no means graceful, and it also does damage to the lips. In addition, I knew that I would never become a virtuoso, and I resent doing things that I am destined to fail. After all, being able to play the harmonica would not benefit the material life at all.

I was much more relieved during dinnertime. The people on the same group with me were generally friendly, some of whom were standout figures throughout the camp. Although I still had the too familiar sensation of not belonging there, my apprehension was not too strong for me to handle.

After dinner, a crude party was held outdoors. It had been freezing for weeks, so sitting on the chilly ground against the angry wind was utterly uncomfortable. The leaders played some silly playlets in an attempt to amuse us, and I really appreciate their efforts regardless of some boring parts. Occasionally our lackluster bodies were forced to rise from the ground, and we ran around playing some open-air chasing games.

Fortunately, we stayed in the dormitory in the first three days of the camp. With the price NT $9500 not including utilities a semester, the dormitory resembled a hotel with decent showering systems. However, the supply of hot water would be cut after midnight, and therefore everyone rushed to cleanse themselves. To my surprise, in CYCU the curfew was supervised strictly, and no one was allowed to enter or exit the dormitory after 11 p.m.

The night was icy, cruel, and I was sleepless. Feelings of depression overwhelmed me, and I was as dispirited as a caged bird. I desired to flee, yet with the curfew there was no way that my contrivance should succeed. As the low temperature wrapped me like an icecap, my state of mind shifted between doze and consciousness until the morning was broken.

The next few days passed by in the similar fashion. There were endless practices of the harmonica in daytime, and at night we were finally bestowed the privilege to do things other than playing the harmonica. Excellent concerts were held at the second and third night; still, the breathtaking melodies sent out from the harmonica musicians could not erase my melancholy. Despite my lack of interest and motivation, my harmonica was slowly progressing, yet the gradual improvement did not brighten my dark mood. The eagerness to escape had been keen on my mind until something happened…

(more coming soon)