Rolling Up the Pants to the Field, Taking Up the Brush to Doodle

During the May Day holiday, I returned to Beijing from school and got my fill of rural life. I repotted the houseplants and flowers that needed repotting, added soil where it was needed, fertilized where needed, and pruned branches where needed.

On the shared balcony of my residential compound, I have about fifty flowerpots. About half of these pots I bought online myself, and the other half I picked up from around the compound or were given by others. Since the year the pandemic broke out, the property management of our compound set aside this balcony as a shared planting area for residents. At the time, this measure eased the gloom many people felt during lockdown life.

But once the pandemic was over, few people came to tend it. Gradually, only an elderly gentleman and I were left managing this balcony. Later, the old man developed advanced liver cancer and returned to his hometown; for the last three years, I have been the only one tending it. Occasionally, the old man’s daughter plants something in the few large flowerpots her father left behind, but often she does not water them for a month or two. If I did not help her water them, they would all wither and die.

Now and then, people still put their own flowerpots on this balcony. These pots and the plants in them are things they are unwilling to care for but feel it a pity to throw away, so they simply give them to me to dispose of as I see fit. I love gardening and am very patient, so over these seven years (from 2020 to 2026), this roughly 10-square-meter balcony garden has been under my management.

In summer, the various green plants and crops I grow on this balcony become a sight in the compound. I am always happy looking at my own “masterpieces.” I am a very persevering person; I can keep doing one thing for a long time without feeling bored. I have been writing continuously for more than thirty years; my blog and WeChat official account have run for 11 years, and I basically write something every day.

Since I started memorizing vocabulary words 500-plus days ago, I have learned some every day without missing a single day. Before I knew it, I have memorized more than 5,000 words. Medical English has roughly 10,000 to 20,000 words; at my current pace, another two or three 500-plus-day stretches should basically allow me to finish memorizing the medical English vocabulary. By then reading medical literature in English will be no difficulty.

In 2020, in addition to this balcony garden, I rented a small vegetable plot of more than 20 square meters at the foot of the Western Hills in Beijing; before I knew it, this is now its seventh year. Originally, after going to university, I considered that my time for managing the garden was very limited and planned to pause it for a few years. But my wife said that she did not want me to give up the rural life I have always loved. During my university years, she will find time to help me manage the garden. With a wife like this, what more could a man ask? So we did not give up this plot; on holidays when I return to Beijing, I can still go to the field to do some work and find some joy.

Many people are enthusiastic for only three minutes; I am not. I am enthusiastic for a lifetime. The things I love, I can keep doing continuously, full of energy every day. I have had wide-ranging interests since childhood and a strong mind of my own; every life choice I have made has been free from outside interference, so I have always been able to choose the things I enjoy. This approach fully guarantees that I live driven only by pleasure rather than by other factors, and ensures that I am in a happy state most of the time.

Besides the medical research and writing I am now doing, I also love gardening. Gardening is a great counterbalance to desk-bound work, and my growing skills are now quite good. For one thing, I grew up in the countryside and am used to farm work; for another, seven years of trial and error have taught me many of the laws of plant growth. So whether it is the balcony garden in our compound or my small plot at the foot of the Western Hills, I manage both well.

Regularly rolling up my pants and going down to the field also gives me a sense of steadiness. Many people now worry that after losing their job they cannot support themselves; I have no such fear. At worst, I can go back to the countryside and farm, and still live a life of adequate food and clothing. When one has enough to eat and wear, one should be content; there are still many interesting things to do in life, and it is not worth spending time and energy on anxiety about survival.

I often joke with my wife that she married a man who can pick up a pen to prescribe, treat illness, and write, and roll up his pants to farm—so she will most likely never go hungry in this life. Our demands on life are both very low; as long as we do not starve, we are fine. I can basically treat minor ailments myself; if I develop a major illness I cannot treat, I will let nature take its course and follow fate—after all, everyone must die.

My wife wholeheartedly agrees and follows along without question. She also often jokes with me: “You may have many fans in your life, but your number-one fan is me. I married you, bore your child, and stay with you through thick and thin—something no one else can do.”

I am very grateful for that. We met at age 14; I am now 47. Thirty-three years have passed in a flash, and our son is already 21, soon to take the postgraduate entrance exam. Since this year, the child has become much more sensible than before and has begun to support himself. Our life has not been free of setbacks, but after weathering some storms, we can still be tolerant and understanding of each other and support one another—which is not easy.

I count as someone who has struggled on the line between life and death. Now, having seen the glamour of the world, I have returned to simplicity; I only hope to spend the rest of my life plainly. As I walk this final stretch of life, I will incidentally pursue the work I love. Success would be wonderful, but if not, I will let nature take its course; no one is born having to succeed.

The meaning of life may or may not exist, but we can make life very interesting. An interesting life is always linked with pleasure. My greatest luck in this life is that, from childhood to adulthood, no one ever suppressed my interests, and I have never abandoned my interests to yield to reality. In high school, my beloved teacher said I had great courage—daring to think and daring to act. I think that must be the fundamental reason I still have so much vitality today.

Many people complain that their life is unsatisfactory; I rarely complain. Even if I grumble once or twice, I quickly forget my complaints. Birds of a feather flock together; when we ourselves are people who are easily happy, we find that a group of easily happy people always gathers around us.

I am well placed to speak on this. I now mix with young people twenty or thirty years younger than myself, yet there is no generation gap. Not long after I arrived at school, I got along with more than half of my class (our class has over 130 people) and became one of the most popular people in the class. Because of my mischievous nature, some classmates teasingly call me the “old urchin.”

I have no intention of changing at all, because I am perfectly satisfied with my life. In my view, the most absurd thing in life is being dull and unhappy. In a certain sense, respecting individuality, breaking away from so-called orthodoxy, and not being defined by rigid formats—that is the source of all happiness.