Posts

The Newest

Noisy as It Rains

Image
  Today I think there is really one thing that I particularly enjoy: finding the books whose topics I particularly enjoy. Writing for Change is one of such books that catch my attention, in part, because I have for a long time interested in writing itself as a way of facilitating positive change that benefits the poor. Since arriving in Hong Kong, I discovered that the most intolerable thing is the nosiness of the city’s subway system. So disturbing is the chatty people talking with each other in their local dialect even at eleven o’clock in the night that I had no choice but to wear my noise-reduction Air Pods to keep the environment quite. Sometimes, it is true that a noise reduction earphone is a necessary. It’s extremely hard to tell in certainty whether this metropolitan is itself noisy in nature or not. However, the only quite places devoid of extreme crowdedness and disturbances are local public universities’ libraries whose large volumes of English books about writing and i...

Goodbye to All That, in Summer Nights

Finally, passers-by no longer kiss goodbye to anyone or anything except the raindrops that touch their shoulders by chance.  By Loulin In raining days, the dark clouds, it seemed, were pouring tears, instead of rains, kissing goodbye to the bright summer lights. It is true that summer days in Hubei are rapidly vanishing, leaving of trace of whereabouts. So profoundly unsettled were the poplar trees by the dying out of summer heats that their undying heart-shaped leaves tried hard to grow thickener than ever in order to memorize the passionate warmth they had absorbed from the sun during those heat summer days. Beneath the darkish grey sky were the beautiful and starlike heart-shaped poplar leaves so intensely greenish that it was as if they are the representation of summer’s unique strength. The stronger the sunlight the sweeter the leaves that eventually grow like a heart. Pedestrians in the wettish streets rarely greet each other perhaps in part because the darkened, discolored...

Story of Another Girl

by Lily Zhao There was a woman who kept nagging at people around her. She was actually 46 but looked older than her age. She always wore a loose blouse and a slack which didn't suit her much but would do good on farming. "I don't have the time and energy to enjoy life", that's what she said. Neighbors didn't know her much, considering her stubborn. Since she married here, it has been 25 years or so. Nearly all the Neighbors had quarrels with her. She could easily get offended and quarrel with anyone who is near her for she is a kind girl with high esteem. With no doubt, she didn't get on well with her husband's family. And that hurt her much. She was not well treated, neither was she well respected here. Her mother-in-law disliked her, talking bad words about her, viewing her as ill bred. She was asked to do all kinds of things right after the birth of her first baby. At first, she could still hold it and her husband could be of some consolation. As ti...

Life of a Girl (part 1)

By Lily Zhao There was a woman who kept nagging at people around her. She was actually 46 but looked older than her age. She always wore a loose blouse and a slack which didn't suit her much but would do good on farming. "I don't have the time and energy to enjoy life", that's what she said. Neighbors didn't know her much, considering her stubborn. Since she was married here, it has been well past 25 years or so from now. Nearly all the neighbors had quarrels with her. She could easily get offended and quarrel with anyone who is near her for she is a kind girl with high esteem. With no doubt, she didn't get on well with her husband's family. And that hurt her much. She was not well treated, neither was she well respected here. Her mother-in-law disliked her, talking bad words about her, viewing her as ill bred. She was asked to do all kinds of things right after the birth of her first baby. At first, she could still hold it and her husband could be o...

回望:走过的地方

By Tome Loulin 香港大学文学院与比较文学系于线上举办张爱玲纪念展,经由港大档案馆的支持,许多尘封的文件得以展示出来,在这些褪色的历史文件里,我们仿佛也随着岁月的镜头,一瞥张爱玲在港大的岁月。 几年前,我路过港大美术馆,因此进去参观,展馆位于小山间,是典型的木制建筑,周围都静静的,有英国乡村农舍的作风,建筑小巧紧凑。管理员穿旗袍,整理档案。楼梯都是木制,下脚稍重便发出吱吱的响声,怕发出响声,因此轻步上楼,步伐也缓慢下来。当时正展出的是平壤街头的宣传画,观展的人也不多,仿佛在与香港独处。港大周围的社区都很宁静,只是港大在山上,道路高低起伏,我出馆后,上上下下行走着,这起伏的波动实在陌生,在平原地区度过的童年,一切都是平面的,在港岛的山丘里穿行,走不尽的上下坡仿佛大地的皱纹,走多了就腻了。 不知道是不是特意保持古风的缘故,许多建筑都有历史,让人容易产生错觉,仿佛不在现代。 在港大的山间漫步,一切都是纵向的。图书馆在山腰,广场前是静坐着看书的人,山径边的热带树林极富亚热带特色。那还是几年前的时候,过去好像就在眼前,静谧的山路边,是等待公车的人们,许多人从此踏上新的路程,当然,站牌边,那些伫立的人们所有的,是无言的等待。远处是驶过海峡的船舶。 附: "张爱玲于1939年8月港大开学前夕到达香港...两年多里她修的课程有英文、历史、中国文学、翻译、逻辑和心理学,其中英文和历史的成绩胜出其他科目。她是不缺课的学生...学籍纪录上的证件照里,她穿着深色旗袍和深色针织外衣,戴着圆圆的眼镜片,含着微笑,是即将从上海圣玛利亚女中毕业的高中生模样。"—— "港大张爱玲文献展"1 1.  Eileen Chang at the University of Hong Kong: An Online Presentation of Images and Documents from the Archives

Roundtables: Hubei in 2021

by Lily Zhao There is a good deal of anxiety about the direction of the moral life in China. Some argue that there is reason to fear that China may be entering a moral crisis. In my eyes, It is truly so, while China is not the only country facing this dilemma.  I was born in Hubei, a central province of China in terms of geography. Born and raised here, I saw some obvious great changes. If asked the question "What's happening in Hubei or China at large?" My reply would be: by and large, people are changing their minds and thoughts gradually. Though the mainstream is still there, there is also room for the minority to happen and develop.  Poverty is one of the fatal illnesses of the failure of a society. Decades ago, the real poor haveno access to the life of the rich. They didn't know how poor a life that they are living and how rich could a person be. Take me as an example, 10 years ago, I didn't know what is "poverty", living in an economic...

Are you happy?

By Lily Zhao "How are you today?""Are you happy?" This has been some sort of a cliché of my class. To let the students express their feelings freely, I don't teach them "I'm fine, thank you! and you?", Instead, I tell them to say "I'm happy", "I'm sad", and "I'm angry" in response to my greetings. Most of the time the students would reply to me, saying "I'm happy". While some students would say they are angry or they are sad. To my surprise, once upon a time, when I asked this question, a student replied "I don't know, I just feel bored." Though it's not a big deal, I'm deeply impressed. Because it's not easy for a little girl at that age (5-year-old) to figure out what or how she feels, let alone to express it. "Are you happy?", the answer to this question may vary from person to person and from time to time. But one thing is certain. That is, adults te...

Offended - An Essay

by Lily Zhao I was a sensitive person who could easily be offended. Almost everything in the world can make me feel humble, and I had no power to escape from that humbleness let alone to fight against it and win over it. At least, it's the case for the past 22 years. To give me and my younger brother a better life, my parents had been out all these years just to make a hard living. It's often the case that my parents are not at home, I feel humble when others can be with their parents. I feel humbled when my parents get home to celebrate the Chinese new year but end up with endless squabbles. I feel humbled when I have no choice but to accept my mother's offer on clothes, my skin color is so dark that I have few choices on clothes, which means I can't choose the color I like. And my mother cares too much about me, maybe in her eyes, I'm just a little baby who knows nothing. She would never ask me what I like or what I feel, Even if I made it clear to her, to her, I ...

Writing Is Remembering

 by Tome Loulin For many times around, I did know what to remember not because of the forgetfulness but of the heaviness of the things gone too soon to be properly preserved or remembered. Writing is, of course, not all about remembering things worth remembering but imagining also, maybe, because for most of us, there are many different ways of interpretating an event. Human beings are capable of telling a thing or a story from different angles, increasing the fragility of our already-too-fragile belief of the existing of truth. Writers, who are said to be the truth seekers and a moral vocation, rarely write for their own interests but for the irresistible urge to tell something ineffably important, something absolutely meaningful.   To this point, nothing stops writers from picking up their pens or typing for that 'something' will never be told clearly not because the languages we speak or spoke failed short on this regard but that telling something as a vocation is alw...