Recalling the words of that good friend, I couldn't help but feel a sense of joy welling up in my heart, like little waves of happiness. "Your writing is good, but I don't like reading it. The reason is that I don't like to think; instead, I prefer real spoken language, what people often refer to as '口水话' (chitchat)." Yes, in this information-explosion internet era, how many people can still settle down to appreciate those intricate and exquisite works of literary art?
Flipping through old diaries, I found myself unconsciously transported back to my childhood and teenage years. Back then, everyone believed that "mastering math, physics, and chemistry allows you to go anywhere without fear," thinking it was an unshakable truth. It was in such an environment that a boy who loved vanity was shaped, and seeds of endless calamities were sown for him. At that time, my parents would constantly nag me about the saying, "In life, having multiple skills is always beneficial." Therefore, they not only wanted me to excel in all subjects—"math, physics, chemistry" and "literature, politics, history"—but also expected me to learn things like music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Perhaps due to my nature of being independent and unwilling to follow others' arrangements since I was young, I always went against my parents' wishes. As a result, I didn't study seriously and caused trouble at school every day, making my classmates, teachers, and parents extremely frustrated with me.
Especially during the first semester of fifth grade, because I ranked third in the town's fourth-grade Chinese joint examination, my homeroom teacher showed great care for me and asked me to write a diary every day. At first, I was quite willing to accept this suggestion and often wrote some "poems." Later, when my parents got involved in this plan, I started to resent it and even developed a ridiculous yet tragic motive: I wouldn't write any essays, and there was nothing they could do about it. Thus, the compositions I wrote during each exam always made the teachers frown and gave me low scores, causing my Chinese grades to decline day by day until the end of the first semester of junior three, where I never passed once. However, my overall grades in all subjects weren’t affected by Chinese and still ranked among the top ten in the entire school, leaving many classmates and teachers confused about me; it also led many to look down on my Chinese abilities, but I remained indifferent.
After the first Chinese class in the second semester of junior three, the head teacher called me and five other students to his office and talked for an hour, especially designing methods for me to improve my Chinese grades. But I still appeared indifferent. In the end, he used the strategy of provocation: Feng Weixiong, you're a Chinese idiot. If you can pass the graduation exam, I'll treat the whole class to dinner. Another friend also said in front of many classmates: "Do you want to attend Dongshan High School (a national first-class high school in Meizhou)? Dream on, unless you pass your Chinese test."
At that moment, I was furious, but since I really had no confidence in my Chinese at the time, I could only blush and remain silent... From then on, it marked the beginning of infinite calamities—I made a vow to myself: Not only would I make my Chinese grades rank at the top, but I would also become a famous litterateur. Therefore, I required myself to write something every day, and this habit has continued until now. Unfortunately, so far, this dream has not only failed to come true, but I also often bother people with my words, becoming the topic of conversation for friends after meals...
Today, looking at these diaries, I really want to publish them, but I always feel that these words have not reached a certain standard, be it the standard of chitchat articles or artistic literature. Because when I wrote diaries in the past, I always liked to use some "eloquent" phrases, making them neither fully vernacular nor classical. Every time I browse web pages online, I may easily lose direction due to the overwhelming amount of text, and sometimes I even complain: With such a level, one can still become a famous blogger? Or someone considered a writer? Their articles are simply garbage…
However, in the era of "preferring news over novels" and "recruiting new members," it really makes one admire the fact that some blog posts receive tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of clicks behind them… Perhaps I have never found a style suitable for the times, which is why I have never achieved my dream of becoming a litterateur. After all, a litterateur should let people understand some reasons from his words and accept these reasons to live their lives. Otherwise, the article will lose its meaning of "literary works lasting for a thousand years, knowing gains and losses in the heart."
Today, I've realized a truth: To move others with your writing, don't torment people with words; try to make chitchat the main character of your article. Of course, this kind of chitchat isn't the vulgar talk found in some blogs, but rather the language of the masses. Only in this way will people consider you a person of cultural value, otherwise, they might just call you a "talented person." This "talented person" carries a satirical connotation: either Kong Yiji or Fan Jin…
Of course, many people still subconsciously enjoy being regarded as a cultured talent, which often refers to someone who possesses vast knowledge and can quote and write reasons for others to accept…
Perhaps this piece of mine is still tormenting you.