Dr. Kowawa: 2012

This is an essay I’ve been wanting to translate for years. Back when I was still a high school student, this letter found its way to me in my Classical Chinese textbook. It’s been more than fifteen years now, and I still remember the turmoil of emotions alongside millions of Goosebumps that was once aroused in my young body.

The author, Lin Jue-min, was a student not much older than my teenage self. He had been finishing his study in Japan when Dr. Sun Yat-sen, later to be known as the founding father of the Republic of China, called for students overseas to join in the revolution against Qing Dynasty, the last monarchy to have ruled China. Lin was among the hundreds to return to his homeland, participating in the famous Yellow Flower Mound revolt in 1911. It was the most unique uprising in Chinese history in that it was led predominantly by young students, professors, writers and journalists. Following its failure, 86 youths were arrested and executed. As Sun Yat-sen later put it: “The elites of our republic were all burnt in one gust of flame.” Among the martyrs, was our 24 year-old author.

This letter was written just a couple days before the revolt, hurriedly on a piece of handkerchief he carried with himself. Lin had apparently left Japan and gone into the revolt knowing he would never return. After his arrest, he made a deep impression on the Governor of Guangzhou Province with his calm and elegant mannerism, and refused to eat or drink before his execution, which took place two days after the trail. Lin’s wife, Madam Chen Yi-Ying was seven-month-pregnant at the time. They also have a five year-old son named Yi-xin. One month after his death, she gave birth to a premature baby. She herself died only two years later, at the age of 25.

I now consider myself as an individualist. I believe that one’s individuality is more important than his/her social identity, and under no circumstance is the happiness or suffering of an individual less significant than those of a country. (For example, Lin’s identity as a husband and father is no less significant compared to his identity as a patriot, and he certainly had no rights to assume his wife’s suffering more trivial when compared to the suffering of a country.) I have always hoped that the will of an individual could be better respected than his/her sacrifice.

But fifteen years ago it was all different. This was a time when I still believed in heroism, grandness and eternity. This was a time when reading aloud the Confucianism teaching “Life, I desire it, virtue, I also desire it. When I cannot have them both, I shall give up the former in favor of the latter” would turn my face red in a spell of excitement.

How I disagree with myself at that time, yet how I miss that beautiful time! I was not the doubtful and sarcastic person I am today. I had boiling blood, innocent eyes and a believing mind.

In that sense it was a blessing that Lin died the way he did, as I look back on this letter of his. At least he escaped the saddest thing called the rusting of innocence, otherwise known as growing up.

On the other hand, I do have doubts on my current thoughts on individualism when confronted by his writing. If it weren’t for pioneer martyrs like him, we could still be living in a monarchy society. Same thing can be said for all those who gave their lives in the revolutions of modern world history. Sometimes the heavy pages of history are indeed turned by heroes and heroes only, as another reformist before Lin had said: “Every huge reformation has to come with bloodshed” – young and heroic blood. I also still have a deep respect for intellectuals who care about the injustice in their country and the suffering of the mass. It is the spirit of these people that has enlightened and is enlightening our civilization. Having graduated from Peking University, I can never sever myself completely from the passion of those who died in the Tiananmen Square incident, for a similar cause that Lin had given his life for eighty years ago.

Had the parliament reformation or the republic revolution succeeded in Chinese history, there might not have been the huge famine that claimed millions of lives between 1959 and 1961; there might not have been the Cultural Revolution that swept away another few millions swiftly afterwards; there might not have been the massacre of students on the Tiananmen Square; and there might not have been this anxious nouveau riche culture that is devouring everything related to spirit like a black hole in nowadays China. But, all these tragic happened, regardless of the dreams that once seemed so real to people like our author.

Did he die in vain? Did his wife suffer in vain?

I cannot claim that I love my country as much as Lin did. (In fact I definitely won’t consider going back from California just to be shot by a fire squad in my hometown L ) But I do love my motherland, and I do desire to be proud of her, of her current self as well as her old history. It is because of this love and desire that Lin Jue-min’s writing brought tears to my eyes fifteen years ago, as it did tonight. The same love and desire led me to translate his last words: A Letter to Wife.

A Letter to Wife

By Lin Jue-min

Yi-ying, my darling, I am writing this letter today to bid you a permanent adieu! Now as the letter is being completed, I am still a living being; by the time you read it, A ghost I will have become in the under world. The pouring tears run down to meet with ink, and I could hardly resist the temptation of putting down my brush, were it not for the worry that you might not understand me, that you might think I have cruelly deserted you, that you might think I did not know how much you needed me. Thus despite the torturing pain, I shall go on with my explanation to you.

I love you dearly. It is from this very love that I derive the courage to face death. Ever since I met you, I have always wished all the lovers in the world live happily with one another. But innocent lives are lost everyday, upon their blood wolves and wild dogs thrive. How many families can live the worry-free life they truly want? Unlike the ultimate sages*, I cannot be so detached as to lose my sympathy. As the Confucianism saying goes: “From the respect for one’s own parents one learn to respect all the elderly, from the love for one’s own children one come the love all the youth.” I have extended my love to you to all the lovers around us, hoping to fight for them a better world to live and love in. This is the reason why I dare to die alone, leaving you behind.

Do you still remember? Once in an evening four or five years ago, I said to you: “I’d rather you die before I do than the other way around.” Upon hearing this you were furious, and would not forgive me until many a gentle word of explanation was uttered. What I meant then was that you were such a soft soul, and I could not bear to think of you suffering the pain of my death. If had to, I’d rather myself being the one left with that kind of a pain. Alas! How could I have known that it eventually came to this, that I will leave you suffering alone after all!

How can I let go of you in my mind? I think of our house in the backstreet, past the gate, across the corridor and hall rooms, after three or four more turns there was a small drawing room, on the side of which our bedroom lied. This was where we spent most of our times together. Three or four months after our wedding, in the midst of a winter month, moonlight was sifted by the thin plum branches outside our window. Where it cast itself, shapes and shadows quietly blurred up. Shoulder by shoulder, hand in hand, we shared with each other every secret we had, whispered to each other every word of love we knew. Now looking back on that night, I found myself with nothing but tears. I then think of the time six or seven years ago, when, upon my return after fleeing away from home, you cried to me and said: “From now on, whenever you have to leave, please tell me ahead of time. I will follow you anywhere!” So I promised you that I always will. Just ten days ago when I went back home, I did mean to tell you about this final leave. But I could not bring myself to those words once I saw your face. Not to mention that you were almost due in your pregnancy, and I was worried it might crush your health. Thus I did nothing but drinking myself into oblivion day after day. The guilt and sorrow I felt in those days can hardly be described by words.

I truly wished to die together with you. But if you take into consideration our current circumstance, you will see that there is indeed many a chance for an untimely death! One can die of natural disasters, one can die of highway robbery, one can die in the hands of foreign invading troops, one can die in the prisons of local corrupted officials. We as the civilians of China nowadays, can die anywhere anytime on anything! If it comes a time when we have to watch each other die in front of our eyes, can we put up with that? Even if we survive all those disasters, we could be separated in times of chaos for good, worrying and longing for each other throughout our lives, with chances of a family reunion extremely scarce – how does this everlasting pain compare to death? It is lucky that we are both healthy and alive. Yet in our world numerous of those who don’t deserve to die are dying, countless of those who don’t deserve to part are parting. Sentimental to each other as we are, how can we bear to think of this fact! These are the reasons why I dare to sacrifice myself without concerns for you.

As for my own death I shall have no regret. Whether this revolution turns out to be a success or not, justice and hope will always be with my comrades. Yi-xin is almost five years old now. Soon enough he will grow up to be a young man. Bring him up well so he will share the ideals of his father. As for the baby you are carrying, I suspect it will be a girl, and it brings me great comfort to think she will be a lot like you. But if it’s a boy again, you should nonetheless pass down to him the dreams for which his father had fought and died. That way, long after I perish there will still be two boys to follow my legacy, how lucky is that! Our family will inevitably sink into poverty. But poverty is not the end of the world for those contented from within.

At this point I have no more to say to you. In the dim underworld, echoing your remote sobbing, I will be shedding many a bitter tear. I have never believed in ghosts before. But now I almost wish that they did exist. And people talk about “mental telepathy” nowadays, which I also hope is true, so that even after my death, my spirit can still linger on by your side, so that you may be less grievous and lonely.

I have never spoken to you about my political ambitions. That was my fault. But I was afraid that if I had told you, you would be deeply worried everyday. I would not hesitate to die a hundred times for my country, but to see you worried even once tears my heart apart. You are the dearest thing in my life, I have been trying all I could to keep you happy. It is fortunate that you met me, yet how unfortunate you are to be born in China nowadays! It is fortunate that I married you, yet how unfortunate I am to be born in China nowadays! At last, I found myself not able to ignore the tragic of others. I cannot fend only for ourselves.

Alas! So short is my handkerchief, so vast is my feelings. There are still thousands of lines I would like to write that cannot fit onto this piece of silk. I will never see you again! I know you cannot forget me, will you see me now and then in your dreams? Thoughts as such broke my heart.

April 24, 1911, 2am at night. Yi-dong*

(All the aunts in the family can read well. If there is anything unclear in the letter please don’t hesitate to ask them for help. I hope all that’s in my mind will be heard by you.) *

* This was a historic anecdote that took place during Jin Dynasty. A man had lost his child to illness and sobbed mournfully on the funeral. One of his friends said: “It’s just an infant, get a hold of yourself.” To this the man answered: “The lowest of beings do not know about love, while the ultimate sages let go of their love. It is to people like me who are caught in between that love means everything.”

* Yi-dong was the literary name of the author.

* The original text was written in Classical Chinese, in accordance with the habit of traditional intellectuals to speak modern Chinese in daily conversations but use Classical Chinese in formal writings. The author’s wife, Madam Chen, like many other Chinese ladies in her time, did not have much of an education growing up. After she married Lin, he taught and encouraged her to write and read in Classical Chinese. Thus he was concerned she might have trouble with certain grammars and words in the letter.