Title: Wang Xiaoliang Catches Frogs
Fate
Category: Fiction Added Time: December 7, 2010, 20:09:06 Source: admin Clicks: 278
I don't know why my life is so unfortunate. Heaven didn't let me be born in the 1980s, but in the 1970s; since I was born in the 1970s, why wasn't I born in Western Europe or North America of the 1970s, but rather in China of the 1970s; being born in China, I was also born in Henan Province; being born in Henan, it was also in a rural area instead of a city; being in a rural area, it would have been better if I had been a boy, but instead I am a girl. My fate has not only been fixed at the bottom of society, but at the very bottom of the bottom.
Since I am a girl from a rural area in Henan, China, I must do physical labor. But God didn't let me grow up strong; instead, He gave me a willowy figure that looks good but becomes a problem when it comes to actual work. If I were born in the city, this would be advantageous because I wouldn’t need to worry about dieting. However, since I was born in the countryside, it's somewhat inappropriate. Once, I went for an arranged meeting, and while I didn’t like their family, they didn’t fancy me either. The reason was: with such a frail body, how could I possibly carry bundles of corn stalks or dig sweet potatoes in the field? Thinking about it, I've truly been unlucky, and I don't know what bad deeds I did in my past life to end up in such an environment in this one. For this, I am extremely distressed, especially when I see those dirty and tiring farm works that only cattle and men can handle. I'm scared out of my wits. So, quite early on, I made up my mind that no matter what, I must change my identity and not stay at home holding a hoe. If I spend my whole life cultivating the earth, my life would lose all meaning. I cannot imagine that after several years, I'd become a peasant woman, disheveled, dressed untidily, holding a cow by one hand and dragging a child full of snot by the other, shouting at the cow while scolding the crying child who doesn't have money to buy pencils. If that were to happen, I'd rather die.
Not only do I have high expectations for myself, but my father, this former 'fourth-class element' who barely finished primary school (not high school), also had high hopes for me. From a young age, he instilled in me the idea that if I didn't go to Qinghua University (a pun on "frog university"), then I should at least attend Dazhuan School (another pun on "brick school"). No matter what, as long as I could get into university, I could eat meat every day and have white bread every meal. At that time, I understood Tsinghua and Dazhuan merely as frogs in the river and bricks on the ground, not knowing their real meanings. But the prospect of eating meat every day was incredibly tempting to me. Because of this, I studied very hard during my childhood and always ranked among the top few in elementary school. Unfortunately, I am a girl, and like most girls, I fell into the common pattern: a treasure in elementary school, marginal in middle school, and completely ruined by high school. I don't know why this happens. In middle school, I was still naive and didn't even understand what dating was, yet my grades were already worse than before. This might just be a rule, something most people can't avoid. Just like my later efforts to change my rural identity and move to the city, which I couldn't accomplish. Perhaps the path to changing one's destiny has always been as difficult as climbing to heaven from Shu. To paraphrase a Christian saying: Since God placed you in this place, it is His arrangement and will, just as Jesus was born in a manger, and just as humans can't escape Earth's gravity. If you insist on going against God's will, aren't you opposing Him? Therefore, you must endure hardship, labor your muscles and bones, starve your flesh, exhaust your body, and still not know whether your fate can ultimately be changed.
I often think that if heaven allowed gifts, in my next life, I would certainly give God a generous gift to ensure He never places me in such a place again. A seed sown in barren soil, no matter how good the seed, without good soil, can barely grow well, let alone grow into a towering tree. Or hope to transplant oneself to fertile soil. The hardships and tortures involved are beyond description. Boys enduring some suffering is acceptable, but for a girl, if she resists her fate, she may very well lose happiness in the pursuit of it. Listen to that overly clichéd phrase, and you might grasp a bit of the bitterness: behind every successful woman stands a group of men. If you were to choose the phrase you dislike most, or find most nauseating, I believe I would choose this one. Because it is an insult and extreme disrespect towards women, as well as discrimination against successful women. Why does a man's success require only one woman behind him, while a woman’s success requires a group of men? What does that mean? I believe only societies biased against women would say such things. Moreover, such phrases indicate that if a woman isn't successful, she can only submit to fate's arrangements. If she succeeds, she must accept others’ strange gazes. Whether successful or not, as long as a woman has aspirations, she must bear much bitterness and helplessness, especially women at the bottom of society. Imagine if a high-ranking official's child or a city girl said she wanted to become an artist or scientist, people might believe her or not. But if a rural girl stood in the paddy field, covered in mud, planting rice while saying she wanted to become an artist or entrepreneur, you probably wouldn't believe her.
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 was far more complex. Its actual effect was that a girl's life was worth less than a blade of grass. People born in the 1980s may no longer feel these things, and urban dwellers feel them even less. But in the countryside, the situation was vastly different. Even today, among abandoned infants, girls still outnumber boys. Have you noticed that when you flip through books, all the words with negative meanings use "female" as a radical, like “jian”, “pian”, “yao”, “nu”, “xian”. None use "male" as a radical. In rural areas where historical prejudices are still heavy, how devalued a girl's life can be, I'll explain using my cousin and neighbor Aunt Yan as examples.
My cousin was the third child, and because there were already two girls, when she was born, her parents, who desperately wanted a boy, were deeply disappointed. She cried and fussed a lot, which is normal for babies, but her father—my uncle—was so annoyed that he wanted to abandon her. My aunt didn’t want to, but couldn’t resist my uncle, so she was eventually taken out and abandoned. Afterward, my aunt cried at home. Coincidentally, my cousin's grandmother came over and asked why my aunt was crying. When she learned the baby had been abandoned, the grandmother went to retrieve her. My aunt said it had been hours and it was too cold outside, so the baby might not survive. The grandmother insisted on checking anyway. If alive, she'd bring her back; if not, it would be over. The grandmother found my cousin in a ditch by the roadside, almost frozen and unable to cry, with her eyes half-open and half-closed. The grandmother took her back, fed her some rice water, and saved her life. At her wedding last year, when the host asked her to thank her parents, my cousin bowed only to my aunt and not to her father. Even now, she doesn't care much for her uncle.
There's also my neighbor Aunt Yan, who was also the third child. She was born prematurely at seven months when her mother fell and tripped on her way back to her maternal home. If it had been a boy, they would have done everything to save her, but since it was a girl, they lost hope and thought premature babies wouldn't survive anyway. They wrapped her in old cloth and left her in a corner until she passed away. But after waiting a whole day and night, when they checked the next morning, she was still breathing. Thinking she had a strong life force, they decided to try feeding her. They cooked some rice water and fed her, and she miraculously survived. Recently, Aunt Yan gave birth to a girl. When celebrating her baby's first month, while basking in the sun with her child, she said, "Even if I have to beg in the future, I won't let my daughter suffer. I will never be as heartless as my parents were." Her mother was sitting nearby but showed no reaction upon hearing this.
Compared to them, my good fortune lies in being the eldest child and favored by my father, so I didn't have such misfortunes. However, fate didn't favor me much either. As a rural girl, avoiding physical labor was impossible, especially for someone like me, without elder brothers or sisters, and physically weak, looking like a willow branch.
Although my father always treated me as his pearl and had high hopes for me, my academic performance was unsatisfactory. During the college entrance exam, due to the school's pursuit of higher admission rates, only a small portion of students were allowed to take the exam, and I didn't even get the chance to participate, so I couldn't even fail. After returning home, I felt heavy-hearted and lost, unsure of what to do next.
Let's rewind to the time I first left school and see how the fate of this person who refuses to bow to destiny unfolds. As a character akin to an ant or a blade of grass, I show how I resisted going with the flow amidst China's dramatic social changes, yet ultimately sank. My story lacks the legendary qualities of famous figures' biographies, but it is true, representing and reflecting the lives of countless blades of grass, echoing the voices of millions of rural girls. At the time, I didn't realize the significant changes happening in Chinese society, nor did I foresee that the path I chose would be the same one followed by many rural girls who failed their exams years later. Of course, there were exceptions. The following diary entry records my mental journey right after leaving school and returning home.
May 2, 1989
Last night, I didn't sleep at all. Since coming back from school, I've been worrying 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 still got up. Now that I’m not going to school anymore, there’s no excuse to stay lazy in bed.
When we went to the field, my mother actually told me to drive the sheep along. It's embarrassing enough as it is. Here I am, a girl, driving a flock of sheep, practically becoming the village shepherdess. How can I ever face my classmates again? Doesn't she consider my feelings? Just because I can't continue schooling, am I really so worthless that I've sunk to herding sheep? Oh, my great mother, you're truly considerate! After being scolded a couple of times, I came to the field alone. Hmph, not only will I not herd sheep, but even if I were beaten, I wouldn't do it.
Strictly speaking, today was the first time I worked in the fields. If I were still in school, my father would never expect me to work. Thinking about how my father hoped I would go to university, and how I couldn't even attend university because the school pursued high enrollment rates and didn't let me take the college entrance exam, I feel ashamed.
Now, when I think about the gray half-inch-long wheat bugs wriggling on the ground between the wheat rows, I still feel fear and disgust. But when I think about my father's sweat-soaked shirt sticking tightly to his back, I can't stand idly by.
We don't even have a fan at home. While writing this diary, I'm sweating profusely. The red marks on my arms pricked by the wheat awns sting painfully when soaked in sweat. Alas, life at home is truly unbearable.
May 3, 1992
Yesterday morning, I worked in the field for half a day, and by afternoon, I was exhausted. By dusk, there wasn't a comfortable spot on my entire body—aching legs, sore arms, stiff waist like a wooden plank. The blisters on my hands caused by the hoe handle had burst and were bleeding. Every time I dug another hole, the pain from the pickaxe handle made me wince. But I had to persevere.
Last night, lying in bed, I didn't know whether to stretch or curl my arms and legs, and I tossed and turned uncomfortably for half the night before finally falling asleep. That's why I didn't manage to write in my diary yesterday.
This morning, my mother woke me up early to cut wheat in the west field. Half-asleep, I opened my eyes and realized this was worse than being hanged.
While working in the field, Aunt Juan from the neighboring plot heard that I had dropped out of school and said that because I looked good, I could still lead a decent life even without education. I replied that looking good was useless. No matter how pretty you are, if you can't pass the exam, you're still bent over digging in the dirt. In our rural area, where else can you dig for food besides the soil? Farming isn't ideal, but there are plenty of farmers. When I return, I'll find you a good husband, and you'll still live a good life, Aunt Juan said. Hearing talk of marriage proposals, I quickly declined, but my mother was unhappy. She said since I wasn't continuing school, I should find a husband sooner rather than later. Otherwise, all the good families would be snapped up by others. Hearing her, it felt like I was some leftover product that needed quick disposal. Truly ignorant and ridiculous—I'm still so young. Even if I were starting a business or career, it's still early. Not to mention getting married. According to her thinking, if I don't marry, I have no way forward. Who knows, maybe I'll have a child next year.
May 4, 1992
Yesterday, I thought threading corn was the most uncomfortable work in the world. But after cutting wheat today, I truly understood what labor means. I now know why everyone says labor is glorious, and why they say "face the earth, back to the sky." Before, I used it as just a phrase, but now, experiencing it firsthand, the feeling is deeply ingrained. There is no heavier labor than farming. It not only tortures the body but also tests the spirit and perseverance.
Under the blazing sun, heads down, backs bent, the entire back fully exposed to the sunlight, burned and roasted without mercy. Not only does the posture bend the back, but the spirit becomes humble and subservient, wanting to shrink the head into the chest and the limbs into the body. Desperately wishing to find a crack in the ground to hide in. At such moments, thinking of those who don't have to toil like this, a sense of admiration arises. Especially when thinking of my classmates in school, the emotions are indescribable. While I was cutting wheat yesterday afternoon, I saw Li Xiaofeng from the same village riding a bicycle to the city. Suddenly, I envied him—not for 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. Because of having a good father, despite both of us being the same age and unable to continue schooling, he didn't have to endure such hardship. Although he graduated from junior high school, although deep down I somewhat look down on people who rely on their fathers for meals, at this moment, as long as I don't have to labor under the sun, as long as I don't have to face the earth and endure the scorching heat, I'd be content. In the past, during school days when I didn't have to labor, I never felt happy. Only now do I realize that those days were truly precious.
May 10, 1992
These days, whenever I reach the edge of the field and see the endless golden wheat shimmering under the sun, I feel fear and dread. I think the composer who wrote the lyrics about the golden waves of wheat was absurd, and all talk of the joy of harvest and the glory of labor are big lies. Because this season of harvest is a time of exhausting effort, a time of pulling tendons and skinning, a time that can kill people. Everyone works tirelessly like machines, running around frantically. People are tired like logs, devoid of any sense of joy. I believe the person who wrote this song must not have experienced the terror of these golden waves of wheat, must not have risen at dawn and worked till dusk cutting wheat, otherwise, they would never have written such a song. These days, while bending over and cutting wheat one stroke at a time in the vast expanse of rolling wheat fields, I inexplicably keep thinking of the term "Jingwei filling the sea." I feel that I am as insignificant and unimportant to society as Jingwei is to the ocean, so small that I can't even control my own home. If I had the power, I'd rather die than plant crops, and I'd rather starve than cut this wheat.
Everyone is so busy and tired, yet my mother keeps bringing up the topic of Aunt Juan arranging a match for me. She said Aunt Juan had already spoken to her, and the other party was her younger brother from her maiden home. He liked me so much that he offered me to his younger brother. Otherwise, with their newly built two-story house and being an only son, there would be countless offers. Haha, it seems my value is equivalent to that two-story house. Aunt Juan is annoying. I've already told her I'm not considering it now, yet she keeps mentioning it, causing my mother to constantly remind me to meet potential suitors after finishing the wheat harvest. Isn't this creating unnecessary conflict? Today, I told my mother: even if he had ten floors