Fate
Column: Novels Added Time: December 7, 2010, 20:09:06 Source: admin Clicks: 278
I don't know why my fate is so bad. Heaven didn't let me be born in the 1980s, but rather in the 1970s; since I was born in the 1970s, why wasn't I born in Western Europe or North America in the 1970s, but instead in China in the 1970s; being born in China, I was also born in Henan Province; being born in Henan, it would have been fine to be in the city, but I ended up in the countryside; in the countryside, it would have been better to be a boy, but I turned out to be a girl. My fate was not only fixed at the bottom of society, but at the very bottom of the bottom.
Since I am a girl from the rural areas of Henan, China, I must do physical labor. However, God did not let me grow strong, but instead gave me a willowy figure. It looks good, but when it comes to work, it's frustrating. If I had been born in the city, this would have been great because I wouldn't need to lose weight. But being born in the countryside makes it somewhat inappropriate. I remember once when I went on a blind date, I didn't like the family, but they didn't like me either. The reason was: with such a slender build, how could I possibly carry bundles of corn stalks or dig sweet potatoes in the field? Thinking about it, I was really unlucky. I don't know what bad deeds I did in my previous life that made me end up in such an environment in this one. For this, I was very distressed, especially when I saw those dirty and tiring jobs that only cattle and men can handle. I was terribly afraid. So, quite early on, I set my mind to change my identity, determined not to stay home holding a hoe. If I were to repair the Earth for my entire life, then my life would truly lose its meaning. I couldn't imagine, after several years, becoming a peasant woman, disheveled and unkempt, dressed improperly, leading an ox with one hand and dragging my snot-nosed child with the other, shouting loudly at the ox while scolding my crying child who cries because there's no money to buy a pencil. If that were the case, I'd rather die than live that way.
Not only do I have high expectations for myself, but my father, who was a member of the "four categories" back then, having barely finished primary school (high-grade elementary school, not high school), this rural intellectual also had high hopes for me. He instilled in me from a young age that if I didn't attend Qinghua University (Tsinghua University), I should at least go to Dazhuan School. No matter what, as long as I could get into university, I could eat meat every day and have steamed buns with white flour every meal. At that time, I only understood Tsinghua and Dazhuan as frogs in the river and bricks on the ground, not knowing their true meanings. But the idea of eating meat every day was fatally attractive to me. Because of this, I studied very hard when I was young, always ranking among the top few in elementary school. Unfortunately, being a girl, I couldn't escape the common pitfalls most girls face: excelling in elementary school, fading in middle school, and completely failing in high school. I don't know why this happens. In middle school, I was still naive, unaware of what falling in love meant, but my grades weren't as good as before. This might just be a rule, something most people can't avoid. Just like later, when I desperately wanted to change my rural identity and live in the city, but I couldn't change it no matter what. Perhaps the road to changing one's fate has always been as difficult as ascending to heaven, akin to what a Christian might say: Since God placed you in this place, it is His arrangement and will, just like Jesus being born in a manger, or humans being unable to leave Earth due to gravity. If you defy God's will, aren't you opposing Him? Therefore, you must endure hardship, toil your body, starve your flesh, exhaust yourself, and still, you may never know if your fate can truly be changed.
I often think, if heaven allows gifts, in the next life, I will definitely give God a generous gift, asking Him to never again place me in such a place. A seed planted in barren soil, no matter how good the seed is, without good soil, it can barely grow well, much less grow into a towering tree, or expect to be transplanted to fertile soil. The hardships and torments one must endure are beyond description. Boys enduring some suffering is acceptable, but for a girl, if she doesn't accept her fate, she might very well lose happiness in the pursuit of it. Listen to that overused saying, and you might understand a bit of the bitterness: behind every successful woman stands a group of men. If you choose the statement you dislike most or find most disgusting, I believe I would choose this one, because it insults and shows extreme disrespect towards women. It also discriminates against successful women. Why does a man's success depend on one woman, while a woman's success depends on a group of men? What does that mean? I believe only a society biased against women would say such things. Moreover, these words imply that if a woman isn't successful, she can only submit to her fate, and if she succeeds, she must endure others' strange gazes. Whether you succeed or not, as long as you're a woman with aspirations, you bear much sorrow and helplessness, especially women at the bottom of society. Imagine, if a high-ranking official's child or a city girl says she wants to become an artist or scientist, people might believe or not believe her. But if a rural girl standing in a paddy field, muddy hands planting rice, says she wants to become an artist or entrepreneur, you probably wouldn't believe it.
The concept of male superiority and female inferiority may merely be ideological in cities, but in the rural areas of the 1970s and 80s, it wasn't that simple. Its actual effect was that a girl's life was worth less than a blade of grass. People born after the 1980s might not feel this deeply now, and urban people even less so. But in the countryside, the situation was vastly different. Even today, abandoned infants are mostly girls. Have you noticed that all characters with negative meanings are related to the "female" radical, such as 'jian', 'pian', 'yao', 'nu', 'xian'? None are related to the "male" radical. To illustrate how lightly girls were regarded in history-bound rural areas, let me tell you about my cousin and neighbor Aunt Yan.
My cousin was the third child, and since there were already two girls, when she was born—suppose her parents, who desperately wanted a boy, saw her—they were utterly disappointed. Since she cried a lot (children cry naturally), my uncle, her father, became extremely annoyed and wanted to abandon her. My aunt, though reluctant, couldn't stand up to him. Eventually, she was taken outside and abandoned. Afterward, my aunt wept at home. Fortunately, my cousin's grandmother came by, asked why my aunt was crying, and learned about the abandonment. She decided to retrieve the baby. My aunt said it had been half a day, and it was so cold outside that the baby might not survive. Her grandmother insisted on checking anyway. When they found the baby in a ditch by the roadside, she was freezing and could no longer cry, but her eyes were still half-open. The grandmother took her back, fed her some rice water, and saved her life. At her wedding a few years ago, when the host asked her to thank her parents, she only bowed to my aunt, refusing to bow to her father. Even now, she doesn't care much for her uncle.
Another example is my neighbor Aunt Yan, who was also the third child. She was born prematurely at seven months when her mother fell during a trip back to her hometown. If it had been a boy, they would have fought hard to save her, but seeing it was a girl, they gave up hope, considering premature babies unlikely to survive. They wrapped her in old cloth and left her in a corner until she passed away. Surprisingly, after a day and night, they found her still breathing the next morning. Thinking she had a strong fate, they decided to try feeding her some rice water, and she miraculously survived. Recently, Aunt Yan gave birth to a girl. During the full moon celebration, while holding her baby outside in the sun, she said, "Even if I have to beg in the future, I won't let my daughter suffer. I'll never be as heartless as my parents were." Her mother sat nearby and showed no reaction to these words.
Compared to them, I was fortunate as the eldest child and favored by my father, so I avoided such misfortunes. However, fate didn't favor me much more. As a rural girl, avoiding physical labor was impossible, especially for someone like me, with no older siblings, and a frail and slim build resembling willow branches.
Although my father always treated me like a precious pearl and had high hopes for me, my academic performance was unsatisfactory. During the college entrance exam, the school pursued high admission rates and allowed only a small portion of students to participate. I didn't even have the chance to take the exam, so there was no talk of failing. After returning home, I felt heavy-hearted and lost, unsure of my future direction.
Let's rewind to when I first left school, and see how my destiny unfolded as someone who refused to submit to fate. As an insignificant person like an ant or a blade of grass, how did I resist going with the flow in China's rapidly changing society, yet ultimately sink into it? My story lacks the legendary flair of those great figures' biographies, but it is real, representing and reflecting the experiences of countless blades of grass. It is also the voice of millions of rural girls. At the time, I didn't realize that Chinese society was undergoing significant changes, nor did I foresee that the path I chose would be the same one most rural girls who didn't pass exams would follow years later. Of course, there were exceptions. Below is a diary entry recording my mental journey after leaving school and returning home.
May 2, 1989
Last night, I didn't sleep a wink. Since returning from school, I've been worried about my future. This morning, just as I closed my eyes, my mother called me to get up. I was so sleepy I couldn't lift my head, but I got up anyway. Now that I'm not going to school, there's no excuse to stay in bed lazily.
Going to the fields, my mother actually told me to take the sheep along, embarrassing me to no end. As a girl, driving a flock of sheep—I'd become the village's female shepherdess! How could I ever face my classmates again? Doesn't she consider my feelings? Not attending school doesn't mean I'm worthless enough to herd sheep. My dear mother, you're too considerate! After being scolded twice, I went to the fields alone, muttering under my breath that even if beaten, I wouldn't herd sheep.
Strictly speaking, today was my first day doing farm work. If I were still in school, my father wouldn't expect me to work. Thinking about his hope for me to attend university, and realizing that I couldn't even participate in the college entrance exam due to the school's focus on admission rates, I felt ashamed.
Now thinking about the gray, half-inch-long wheat bugs wriggling on the ground between the wheat rows, I'm still scared and disgusted. But when I think about my father's sweat-soaked shirt, tightly sticking to his back, I can't stand idly by.
We don't even have a fan at home. While writing this diary and sweating, the red marks on my arms caused by wheat awns sting painfully when soaked with sweat. Sigh, life at home is truly tough.
May 3, 1992
Yesterday morning, I worked in the fields for half a day, and by evening, I was almost exhausted. By the time dusk fell, there wasn't a single comfortable spot on my body—my legs hurt, my arms were sore, and my waist stiff like a board. Blisters on my hands from the hoe handle had burst and were bleeding, and each time I dug a hole, the pain from the hoe handle made me wince. Still, I had to persevere.
Lying in bed last night, I couldn't find a comfortable position for my arms and legs, tossing and turning uncomfortably for half the night before finally falling asleep. Thus, I didn't write yesterday's diary.
This morning, my mother woke me early to cut wheat in the west field. I opened my eyes groggily, feeling it was more painful than hanging myself.
While working in the field, our neighbor Aunt Juan heard that I had dropped out of school and surprisingly said that since I looked good, I could still lead a decent life. I retorted that looking good was useless—if beauty could replace education, why was I bent over digging in the dirt now? We peasants, if not digging in the dirt, where else could we dig? Farming is tough, but many people still farm. Once I find you a good husband, you'll still lead a good life, Aunt Juan said. Hearing about matchmaking, I quickly declined, but my mother was unhappy, saying since I wasn't studying anymore, I should find a husband soon, otherwise, all the good ones would be taken. Hearing this, it seemed like I was some leftover item needing quick disposal—how ignorant and absurd! I was still so young; whether starting a business or a career, it was still early, let alone marriage. According to her thinking, if I didn't marry, I had no future, and I might even have a child next year.
May 4, 1992
Yesterday, I thought threading corn was the hardest job, but after cutting wheat today, I truly realized what labor means. I now understand why everyone says labor is glorious, and why people say "face the earth, back to the sky." Before, I used it as a phrase, but now experiencing it firsthand, the sensation and feeling are deeply ingrained. There's no harder labor than farming—it tortures not only the body but also the spirit and perseverance.
Under the scorching sun, people bend over, their entire backs fully exposed to the sun, getting roasted and scorched. Not only does the posture make us hunch over, but the spirit becomes submissive as well, wanting to shrink the head into the stomach and the limbs into the body, wishing to find a crack to hide in. At such times, thoughts of those who don't need to wrestle with the land for survival evoke a sense of admiration. Especially when thinking about schoolmates, the feelings are indescribable. Yesterday afternoon, while cutting wheat, I saw Li Xiaofeng from the same village riding a bicycle to the city. Suddenly, I envied him—not because of anything else, but because his father was the director of the county commerce bureau, and it was rumored that his family would soon move to the county town. Thanks to his good father, despite both of us being the same age and unable to continue schooling, he didn't have to endure such hardship. Though he graduated from junior high school, and though I secretly looked down on people who rely on their fathers, at that moment, as long as I didn't have to labor under the sun, as long as I didn't have to face the earth, I would be content. In school, I never felt happy during those days without labor, but today I realize those were truly happy times.
May 10, 1992
These past few days, every time I reached the edge of the field and saw the endless golden waves of wheat shimmering under the sun, I felt fear and dread. I thought the composer who wrote the lyrics about the golden waves of wheat was absurd, and the phrases about the joy of harvest and the glory of labor were all big lies. This season of harvest is one of exhausting effort, peeling skin and flesh, and it's a season that can kill people. Everyone works tirelessly like machines, running around frantically. People are worn out like wooden logs, devoid of any joy. I believe the person who wrote this song must not have experienced the horror of these wheat waves, or they wouldn't have written about the golden waves as a song. These past few days, while bending over and cutting wheat one stroke at a time in the vast field of rolling wheat waves, I kept thinking of the word "Jingwei filling the sea." I felt like I was as insignificant and unimportant to society as Jingwei was to the sea, so small that I couldn't even control my own home. If I could control it, I'd rather die than cultivate this land, and I'd rather starve than cut this wheat.
With all this hard work, my mother still remembered Aunt Juan mentioning a matchmaker. She said Aunt Juan had spoken to her, and the man was her younger brother from her maternal side. He supposedly liked me so much that he wanted to marry me, otherwise, with their newly built two-story house and their status as an only son, there would be countless proposals. Ha, it seems my worth equals that two-story house. Aunt Juan is ridiculous; I already told her I'm not considering it now, why bring it up again? Isn't she creating unnecessary conflicts by making me meet potential suitors right after the wheat harvest? Today, I told my mother, "Even if he had a ten-story building, I wouldn't go." Mother, busy kneading dough, picked up the rolling pin to hit me, scaring me into fleeing the kitchen. Coincidentally, my father returned, asking what happened. I explained to him, and he sighed, trying to persuade my mother not to force me too much. Unexpectedly, this stirred up a hornet's nest, making my mother yell and curse, calling me and my father ignorant. Since I had no hope in schooling, marriage was my only path. Why not take it? Do I plan to ascend to heaven?
May 12, 1992
Last night, watching the thresher spin and roar, swallowing bundle after bundle of wheat, I was terrified, especially remembering how Big Guang from the village lost his hand to the machine a few days ago. I lacked the courage to step forward. Seeing my hesitant expression, my mother grew impatient, saying that if she had let me drop out of school earlier, I wouldn't be so incompetent and cowardly now. Her words made me feel incredibly uncomfortable, unbearable.
Despite my discomfort, I had to work like a陀镙, switching tools repeatedly—dropping the pitchfork for the shovel, dropping the shovel for the basket, wishing I had four arms. Yet, I still couldn't keep up with the rhythm. Just as I was about to faint from exhaustion, the power suddenly went out. The previously noisy threshing yard immediately plunged into darkness and silence. Others had electricity, which made my mother furious. I, however, liked the blackout, allowing me to catch my breath. My father took a flashlight to check the wiring. My mother, meanwhile, fumbled in the dark clearing the unfinished wheat seeds, criticizing my father again.
Previously, I hadn't felt the cold despite sweating profusely. Now, after the brief pause, my rain-soaked clothes suddenly felt icy, making me shiver uncontrollably. The night was pitch black, faces invisible even close up, and the flashlight, with weak batteries, barely emitted any light, requiring occasional tapping to function. My father checked for a long time without finding the cause, growing increasingly irritated. The two began arguing loudly.
Amidst the rain and their quarrels, my mood mirrored the scattered wheat straw. Cold and trembling, I couldn't help but fall asleep sitting by the wheat stack, dreaming I was back in the classroom listening to the teacher lecture, writing on the blackboard with chalk, producing a soft scratching sound. I listened attentively, taking notes. Suddenly, I heard someone call my name. Opening my eyes, I saw the thresher, the wheat stack, my mother, and the drizzling rain. Realizing I was still at the threshing yard waiting to thresh, I felt an indescribable sadness knowing I would never sit in a classroom again.
May 25, 1992
For more than half a month, we worked day and night, regardless of meals or rest. Finally, the wheat was all harvested. Looking at the field now empty of wheat, I suddenly felt farmers were remarkable, coloring the earth differently through the seasons, dressing it in various outfits. They produce food for the world, creating