Translated…
I’d always believed, that writing is opposite of youth. Youth being free, active; and writing is a jail cell, the trials of one word, right after the next. But, writing may be, the only thing, that we can manage well, being as young as we…
The first few months I’d started out in N.T.U., I’d spent a lot of time, wandering on the campus. I’d often needed to stop walking, and think, about which way to turn to get back to my dormitories, which hallways I’ll be passing through, to get to my classes. I’d often forgotten to take my cell phone, lost track of time, and can only walk to the old bell on the campus, to hear the bells getting rung (later on, I’d learned, that NO matter the hour of the day, the bell would ring for twenty-one times). Once, I’d needed to do research for my thesis, I’d found a typescript called “the Buddhist Verse of Lei-Feng”. It was, a THICK book, I’d placed a pile of books I’d needed to check out onto a desk somewhere in the library. As I’d gone back to look for the pile, I couldn’t find it anymore, and, I’d sweated, as I walked quickly, around the labyrinth-like library. Feeling the shame that’s come down on me through the walls, I could only, force myself to, read the map of the library. My behavior had alerted those who were set, reading their books, they’d lifted their heads one by one, like they feel the threats of an outsider.
This year, someone had drowned in the lake in the school, someone had leaped off the top of the building, and, the small families who saw NTU as nothing but a huge park were still, flying their kites in the scene of the tragic events. The trees, and the grasses still green as ever, the leaves are flowing, I’d enjoyed sitting in a crowd, for an entire afternoon. As the lights faded away, I’d found my own bicycle, in the bushes of parked bicycles. Belonging to just me, followed my schedules, found my place in the enormous campus. It takes a lot of focus, to get use to a place. During my spare time, I’d rode out on my bicycle, slid on my cell phone (there’s a campus map app now), to put the names, to these unknown buildings. With the hollers from my classmates, people started, asking me, for directions, it’s as if, I’d always belonged here since the very beginning.
My best friends from the university all found jobs one by one; and, those who are meant to become unemployed, all entered grad school. My friends became experienced and aged, like they’re the legendary workers of the society already; I too, learned, to recall the time we’d gone home separately after the gatherings. They’d needed to keep a steady schedule, and I would still, wake, in the middle of the nights, covered in cold sweats, hearing my roommates’ loud snores, until the light of day. We’d all tuned in, to our favorite writer’s activities, but, we could no longer act like those fanatic fans, chased after the lectures, and, asked those shocking but real questions at the Q&A forums afterwards. Recalling how we’d spent our days, we are all, in awe, at how much time we’d spent, on debating a feeling, a scene, and if they were proper for the time being. In that city in the mountains, we seemed to have endless time, could just, walk along side the winding mountain passes; just watch out, and not slip, then, we can take in the scenes along the way, and turn them into the words we pour out onto the pages.
This, is someone’s memories of college days, and, about how the person got into writing. He was observant, paid careful attention to the world around him, and, made connections with his own world, and, he’d made his college career memorable.