I have nothing to write today, and the desire to post something while not having anything to say just drives me nuts. If I haven’t already been driven crazy by English language, this urge to post every day will certainly finish the job. I kind of feel that I am pushing myself to a wall here. I’d rather read something right now and give up this post, but some devils in me just force my fingers to type on the keyboard.
I can’t help remembering those days while I was still in school. I had to write something, but I just couldn’t. I had a very big unwillingness to write about a topic assigned by others. Whenever such occasions come, I usually do it out of duty and it ends up quite affected and unnatural.
And when I was in high school, I had one very embarrassing experience of being forced to say something but not having anything to say. I was a country girl coming from the southern edge of Mongolian Steppe. And in the big subtropical city where I attended boarding school, I was the only country girl who didn’t speak the local accent. I only had one friend Z. Since Z wanted to be the class president, I vaguely suspected that showing kindness to me could improve her image. “Hi, everybody, just look at me. I rescued a country lout from a pitiful friendless status. None of you did that. That’s one extra merit for me.” I imagined her saying that to herself. Sorry. I am so cynical. Actually she is a good girl who likes to do appropriate things. Nothing wrong with that. And I was desperate to find a friend. No doubt we immediately hit it off. Desperation is the best motivator.
As the class president, she had to organize a kind of talent show for that year. Unfortunately nobody had much interest in it. She had to work hard to get people to “show talent”, but not enough people wanted to participate. So she asked me. I had no talent to speak of but I hated to disappoint my only friend. So I said yes. She suggested that I talked about my life living at the Steppe and I agreed, even though I knew people most likely would look down on me more if I talked about the arid, barren, wind-blown place where I had as many friends as I wished for. In those days, I had not lived long enough to know that it’s a place that I would always love no matter how far away I am from it. Actually in my next life, no matter how cold, arid, barren, windy the Steppe is, no matter how conservative and conventional people are, I will never leave. I would stay there all my life, marrying my primary school sweetheart, becoming the most unliberated woman ever existed, and enjoying the ease and the belonging. I will always love the Steppe no matter what. I thought I would forget it but no… I will never forget it. I remember it so well and so lovingly.
So I agreed to do this for my friend Z and even prepared a little for it. However when the time came for me to go on the stage to give a performance, I just froze. I couldn’t speak a word. I had a note that I prepared, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say anything. It was quite embarrassing. I was not nervous, but I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t know why. And I still don’t know why. I guess I am just not the performance type.