During my summer vacation, I was invited to give a speech at a middle school in central Taiwan known for its outstanding educational performance. I took the microphone to a group of students and asked them: “Can you share a learning experience from your middle school life?” Except for one female student, most shook their heads, indicating they had had no awareness of any noteworthy learning experiences.
I was astonished, much like Helen Keller might have been if she had heard a friend returning from the forest say: “There’s nothing special about the woods.” It seemed unfathomable.
“Life experiences” are a crucial focus in middle school essays, with topics such as: “Situations and Feelings When Life Is Too Late,” “An Invention That Greatly Influenced Life,” “When I Disagreed with Others,” “That Time I Made My Own Decision.”
Many people ask the advertising genius David Sun why he is so endlessly creative. He replies: “Live life seriously, and you will have endless creativity.” As essayist Dehua Shi said: “Literature should originate from life but transcend it. Before becoming a writer, one must first become a life enthusiast.” So what does it mean to “live life seriously”? What does it mean to be a “life enthusiast”? I believe the key lies in “awareness.”
What is awareness?
Scholar Jin-Yan Chen defines “awareness” as understanding and thinking about one’s own changes in “emotions and behaviors” and the “reasons for these changes.”
I once asked a goalkeeper from a school soccer team to write about his journey to becoming a soccer player. His first attempt was bland and tasteless, with phrases like “team practice is tough, the coach is strict, and I hope to win a national competition.” So I called him over and asked a few questions: “Were you this good when you first joined the team?” “No, but I practiced a lot,” he replied shyly.
“How did you practice?” “My teammates kicked, and I caught.”
“Did you have to jump to catch?” “Of course, you must jump and dive for flying balls.”
“How high do you jump?” “About one meter high.” “How many times do you dive in a day?” “About a hundred times.”
“Does it hurt when you fall?” “Of course, it hurts!”
“Why keep practicing if it hurts?” “I’m a competitive athlete; it’s my only skill.”
“Have you gained other abilities from being a competitive athlete?” “I seem to be less afraid of other kinds of pain.”
“Other kinds of pain?” “Like my dad never coming home, my grandma who raised me being seriously ill, my living expenses often being insufficient, and my school grades always lagging.”
As I listened, I felt a subtle pain in my heart. “So why are you less afraid of these pains?” “I treat them like strong balls kicked by opponents; I block them, let them go, and then catch the next one.”
Looking at this dark-skinned, deep-eyed sports class student, I suddenly felt as if there was light behind him. “Here, these are your words, your own words. I just wrote them down for you. Add them to your essay and submit it again.” A week later, he submitted an essay titled “Skill: Falling a Hundred Times a Day”:
“Are you afraid of falling? Falling hurts, and I’m afraid, too, but I can’t be afraid because I have to face falling from a meter high a hundred times a day. That’s where my ability lies and the source of my honor. A teacher once said: ‘Everyone falls, but being able to get up again and again is a skill.’ It turns out that although I’m not great at academics, I have my skills; I know I will continue to fall from high places tomorrow, but I will still stand up and catch every strong ball that comes my way. Because I am a competitive athlete, a person with real skills.”
He entered this essay in a literary competition. Although it didn’t win, it was my most moving work that year. After the graduation ceremony, this goalkeeper came to the library to find me and said with emotion: “I used to be afraid of writing essays, but after writing that one, I started to seriously ‘feel’ every moment. Sometimes, I observe my life changes over the years as if I were an outsider and discover so much to write about. Everyone on our team has amazing stories.”
French artist Rodin said: “The world is not lacking in beauty, but in the eyes that discover it.” We are too “accustomed” to our lives and overlook life’s uniqueness. Growth requires courage and, even more so, awareness. We cannot change and grow if we continually avoid being aware of our lives.
Chapter 33 of the Tao Te Ching states: “Knowing others is intelligence; knowing oneself is enlightenment. Conquering others requires force; conquering oneself requires strength.” Awareness is self-knowledge, an endless source of essay material. If, after awareness, one can become a “self-conqueror” who makes positive changes, then one is solid! It turns out that “awareness” not only aids in writing, but also serves as the best guide to viewing life!
This article is excerpted from the book Write! You Deserve to Be Seen, published by Times Cultural Publishing, authored by Qi-Hua Cai.
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