Wedding Photo, 2010

Before I knew it, we’ve been married for 14 years now—our wedding was on December 31, 2010. While visiting my hometown, I stumbled upon a love letter I wrote to Gan Pingping in 2003, when I had just started college. Back then, I was beginning my new life at Huazhong University of Science and Technology, while she was studying hard for her second attempt at the college entrance exam after not doing well the first time. This letter was filled with my longing for her and words of encouragement. Looking back now, every page was full of youthful innocence, yet here we are, having walked through so many years hand in hand.

While organizing this text, I’ve been listening to Maggie Chiang’s gentle song “Love Letters from That Year.”. Here is the letter in English translation:

Dear Pingping,

Hello!

This is the first time I can remember writing to you through the post office. Maybe when you see the HUST envelope and the perhaps still-familiar handwriting, you’ll already know it’s from me.

After the college entrance exam, when I heard you applied to Beijing Language and Culture University instead of Renmin University of China, I knew you probably didn’t do as well as you’d hoped. When the scores came out and I heard you didn’t get in, I was really heartbroken. After all, students struggle for over a decade just to receive an acceptance letter from a university they want. I can imagine how helpless and lost you felt watching others receive their acceptance letters one after another—you must have been blaming yourself for not working harder, for not making the most of your time, for putting too much energy into other things. In short, it must have been regret. I know you’re strong, but even the strongest person has the right to feel exhausted. This setback must have hurt you deeply. During summer vacation, I heard from your mom that you cried all day long. Actually, I really wanted to meet up and talk during that vacation. Do you remember the words you left on my door when you went to Teacher Zhang’s house for English tutoring the summer before ninth grade? “Cheng, 5222199, call me.” One day when I came home, I noticed those words seemed to have been traced over darker—maybe because I hadn’t lived there for over two years and my memory of them had faded. But I found a reason to ask you out, deceiving myself as I dialed that number, yet the line was always busy. I thought about it later and decided not to call. First, I was afraid talking to me would make you feel more inferior—I didn’t want to hurt you. Second, probably too many people were comforting you, all with sympathetic looks, but I know strong people don’t like others’ pity. Maybe it would be better for you to have some quiet time alone.

When I got to college, facing a new environment and unfamiliar faces, I truly felt lonely from the bottom of my heart. Although I occasionally ran into former classmates, our conversations always stayed superficial. I didn’t have a single close friend I could confide in.

Counting back, we’ve known each other for over nine years now. Remember when we were desk-mates in third grade? There’s something I remember very clearly: one day during class, you wrote in English “I love you” on a piece of paper and asked if I knew what it meant. I said, “I love you.” You smiled with your face turning red. Your smile made my heart race for a long, long time—it was nervousness, but more than that, it was happiness. Later, you said when you grew up you wanted to be a career woman, living alone. Looking back now, you were probably just joking, but at the time I was really unhappy, feeling like we would have to part when we grew up. I didn’t understand anything then; I just knew being separated from you would make me very sad. There was also that time when Lu Juan invited us to see some magic show. Actually, whenever I recall elementary school life, this is always the first thing that comes to mind. I remember saying I liked you, and also said I kind of liked Lu Juan—I only said that about her because I didn’t want her to feel left out or hurt her self-esteem. You compared me with Tan Zhong and then eliminated Tan Zhong because he was too fake, choosing me instead. When I heard you say you liked me, I was so incredibly happy—no other feeling has ever surpassed it since. Remember on the way back when you reached out your hand and said, “let’s walk together”? I refused, saying I was afraid someone might see us. It wasn’t that I didn’t like you—I was just too introverted and shy, too embarrassed. But thinking about it later, I really regretted it. Back then, a song by Qi Qin’s sister, whose name I’ve forgotten, was popular—”Holding Hands” [2024 note: It was sung by Su Rui, not Qi Qin’s sister Qi Yu. The link to the song is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJNHRweW5WE]. The more I listened to it, the more I regretted, and every time I heard that song, I would think of that moment.

During summer vacation, I moved back and while sorting through things, I happened to find New Year’s cards from seventh grade. Back in seventh grade, I was afraid my parents would discover them, so I hid all these things in my school bag. But one day they found them anyway and grilled me for a long time. I wouldn’t say a word, just stared at them. They later hid these things somewhere, but must have forgotten about them. It wasn’t until this summer that I finally unearthed them. Reading your subtle writing again, I remembered so many things. Whether speaking or writing letters, you never said things like “I like you,” which worried me a lot back then. Remember you started calling me “little brother” since elementary school? So I was always worried something like those TV dramas would happen: when both kids grew up, A confesses to B, but B refuses saying, “I only see you as a younger/older sibling.” I don’t know if I thought too much or was too afraid of losing you. Remember when I got second place in our grade in eighth grade and stepped onto what had always been your territory? You said in front of your classmates, “Everyone in our class suddenly knows who you are now!” Your face was beaming with smiles, as if showing off to your classmates. At that moment, I felt happiness—truly. The happiness of making people around you proud of you. But the day before my parents were fighting over who would attend the parent-teacher meeting, tragedy struck. You already know this. Mom tried hard not to let this cast a shadow on my heart, so she wanted to give me double the love to make up for the missing father’s love. Actually, my mind was blank at the time, but unexpectedly, the comfort from relatives and friends and the way people looked at me made me feel different from my peers, and inferiority took root in my heart. From then on, I always felt inferior to others yet wanted to be better than them. So I never trusted anyone and was always suspicious, afraid someone would get ahead of me. In short, I became like a hedgehog, constantly guarding against others, not letting anyone get close, closing myself off. In ninth grade, you and I were assigned to the same class and became desk-mates again. Remember on the first day of school, not afraid of being laughed at, you found me at the classroom door and said we should help each other and work hard together? Though I agreed verbally, I didn’t take it seriously because I wanted to be better than you, and with my withdrawn personality developed from inferiority, I didn’t trust anyone, including you. Maybe it was the pressure from my father’s death and my mother’s love, maybe I was too inferior, maybe too selfish—maybe all of these. Anyway, I used the wrong method to convert pressure into motivation. Honestly, in ninth grade I really hated you, hated you with every fiber of my being. Because I thought your existence was affecting my studies. But looking back now, I was so immature, and your counterattack was completely justified. After all, I struck first, and people’s patience has limits—your necessary retaliation when needed was instinctive self-defense. Now I really think I was so foolish back then. Did closing myself off and trying to affect others really bring me good grades? Can one’s happiness only be built on others’ suffering? Of course not—my failure in the high school entrance exam proved that this mindset and behavior had serious fundamental flaws. Looking at the blessing on the card you gave me, I really wanted to cry. Being desk-mates in fifth grade brought our hearts together, while being desk-mates this time forcefully pulled two hearts apart, even farther than two strangers’ hearts.

Even in tenth grade, I still couldn’t break free from this vicious cycle of thinking. Though I entered the honors class with good grades, that flawed thinking pattern could still exert its effect, plunging me into life’s lowest point. That way of thinking always seemed to create conflicts in my mind, which really troubled me. As if to escape the troubles, I started giving up on studying because I thought studying brought me pain. At noon, in the evening, and even after evening self-study, you could see me running on the basketball court. Actually my basketball skills were terrible; I just didn’t want to study and chose this way to escape. But escape only gave the pain more room to grow. Terrible grades and the accompanying social pressure made it hard for me to breathe. In both exams of tenth grade’s first semester, I ranked below 40th. When Mom saw her only hope about to be shattered, she was heartbroken. From her eyes, I read helplessness. She wanted to scold me but was afraid I couldn’t take any more pressure. Seeing Mom sad made me sad too. But sadness aside, I still blamed my failure on external circumstances. So Mom’s sadness and my failure were like a sharp blade cutting fiercely across water. In the mid-term exam of tenth grade’s second semester, I got a record-breaking 72nd place. Out of 74 students in the class, third from last—for someone as self-respecting as me, you can probably imagine what that meant. After a long period of calming down, I resolved to study hard. Whenever I wanted to slack off, I would remind myself: I am third from last. Mom also hired our physics teacher at the time to tutor me, 30 yuan per hour. Yes, Mom never cut corners when it came to spending money on me. I really didn’t want to go, but my terrible grades took away my right to choose. During that half semester, I didn’t play a single game of basketball, didn’t even attend Physical Education class. After a period of effort, I finally ranked 19th.

But after achieving this small success, I seemed to be trapped in that vicious cycle again. My thinking was full of contradictions; I was indecisive in everything, and that feeling was extremely painful. During that time, my relationship with Mom was very bad. She always wanted to help me, but back then I always thought she was restricting me, and in inappropriate ways. My favorite phrase for complaining about Mom then was “good intentions with bad outcomes.” I remember shortly before the mid-term exam, I went to find you once because I knew you no longer trusted me and was worried you wouldn’t pay attention to me. But I finally mustered the courage to find you. My legs kept shaking after the first sentence I said to you. When I was confused, lost, and full of doubt about the world, I chose you as the person to confide in. I had only one thought at the time: perhaps only you could pull me out of the abyss of my thinking. I can’t remember what we talked about anymore; I only remember feeling like a weight had been lifted. After going home, I dialed 5222199 many times just wanting to say “thank you.” But no one ever answered. Honestly, after we talked, I was still the same. So the enlightenment was false; the happiness from talking with you was real. Before the exam, you stood at the classroom door holding a stack of books and said to me, “Good luck to you.” But luck isn’t everything—I bombed the exam again.

It was from this fall that I truly realized my failure in school was due to myself, not due to other circumstances.

TODO: updated until here

Before the New Year, I moved to an apartment close to our high school—it was Mom’s idea. This move did save me a lot of time. We lived on the 2nd floor, and the window of my sleeping room faced a balcony with many trees outside. I don’t know when it started, but I developed a habit: when studying late into the night and feeling tired, I would climb out to the balcony to clear my mind and think. I didn’t use the door because I was afraid Mom would discover me. Maybe it was the tranquil environment that nurtured me. My heart could always return to peace before climbing back in. On the balcony, I always liked to think about psychological issues and was sure my ups and downs were caused by my mentality and personality. So I gradually learned to counsel myself. Thinking about how to face setbacks and difficulties, how to defeat inner demons, how to become a complete person. Making study plans for the future, sometimes secretly making resolutions. The balcony was small, but my thinking space was infinitely vast. Once by chance, I saw an article in Reader magazine called “Unleashing the Potential of the Mind.” Actually, the whole article just wanted to say: believe in yourself, constantly give yourself psychological suggestions: I will definitely succeed. Whenever I felt confused and wanted to relax, I would take out this article and read it, then close my eyes and think, and motivation would return to my body. Tenth grade might have been the awakening of my psychological awareness, but I think my mentality really matured in twelfth grade. Through continuous practice and thinking, I also gradually recognized the article’s limitations. During my constant thinking and exploration, I summarized my own motto: Fate wants to toy with me; effort is the only way to defeat fate. Whenever I faced setbacks, failure, or temptation, this sentence would always help me step out of the shadows toward the light.

In twelfth grade, I often promised myself: no matter what happened, I couldn’t be distracted, must never forget these years of humiliation. After evening self-study ended, I habitually wrote for a while before leaving. But one day when I went out, I saw you walking with a boy wearing glasses—obviously not just ordinary friends. My always-sensitive self immediately had my heart racing, but that was all because I really couldn’t forget my promise. After that, I saw you together with him more and more, even seeing him by your side almost every time I saw you. Honestly, I really wished that person was me. But the promise was like the headband in A Chinese Odyssey [a famous Hong Kong movie], forcing me to spend every minute on studying, not allowing me to let my mind wander. The first few times felt uncomfortable, but after seeing it so much, I wasn’t as nervous anymore, and my mind would still review the vocabulary, phrases, and problem-solving techniques I’d learned that day.

My grades in twelfth grade had stabilized but weren’t outstanding, so whenever Chen Cailin [the grade director at the time] talked about excellent students, my name was never mentioned. When he named people from your class, it was always “Gao Xiaohong, Yi Chang’an, Gan Pingping.” At those moments, I had a subtle feeling that I couldn’t quite describe. Because under the headband’s strong pressure, it didn’t linger in my mind for long. When you asked me to write in your yearbook, I really wanted to write a long paragraph and attach a photo of myself. Maybe because I saw that Yi Chang’an had written on the first page, or maybe because I didn’t want to spend too much time, I didn’t do any of that. And when I saw you and Yi Chang’an walking together as a couple, I really wanted to find a girlfriend to accompany me and let you see, just like in many TV dramas. Just to prove: I can be fine without you. But these beautiful temptations ultimately couldn’t overcome my promise.

Remember when several of our ninth-grade classmates went to Teacher Xia’s place? We didn’t meet him, so we went skating. That day I held your hand for the first time, but I didn’t hold it tight. So when someone suddenly skated in front of us, I let go and never had the courage to hold your hand again. It wasn’t that I didn’t like you—I just felt that after ninth grade, you had started to dislike me. Of course, this was my fault for not cherishing what we had. I didn’t have the courage to get close to you, maybe because of lack of confidence, but more likely because of self-awareness. When listening to love songs, I always like to replace the female protagonist with you, and I become the male protagonist. Because I feel that almost every song has at least a line or two that could express our relationship or some of my thoughts. Actually, since we became desk-mates in elementary school, I’ve really liked you. What does liking someone for so long mean? That might be love. Actually, I don’t understand what love is either; I just feel happy being with you. When I first quoted that classic line from A Chinese Odyssey—”Once upon a time…”—it was just for fun. But now that line seems to have become my story. If you have time, listen to Zheng Jun’s song “Cinderella.” I really want to sing that song just for you. Regarding this love, I don’t necessarily need you to respond; I just want you to know. Because I’ve been holding these words in my heart for so long. I also know you and Yi Chang’an get along well. I don’t want to appear as an unsavory character between you two. You have your own choices to make. But as long as you’re happy, I’ll be satisfied.

Thinking back to those days before the college entrance exam, I controlled myself, basically didn’t get distracted, and spent almost all my time on studying. Those days were really tedious and boring, truly bitter. But looking back now, all I taste is sweetness. I really have to thank my mom. Whether I succeeded or failed, she always stood behind me despite her pain, supporting me, encouraging me. She guided me step by step onto the right track.

Actually, I’m quite grateful for ninth grade now. Though we developed a rift and my grades went downhill, that time was like the stagnant pool Wen Yiduo described—thoroughly rotten. But precisely because of that time, my problems were exposed, giving me a more complete understanding of myself, which provided a good reference system for later “turning over a new leaf.” It was also during that time that I had to find a factor to replace interest to continue studying hard. I found it—self-discipline. If the motivation for studying in ninth grade came from interest, then after tenth grade, the motivation came from self-discipline. Self-discipline freed me from demanding too much of external circumstances; studying became an automatic behavior.

We all live in new dormitories now. All freshmen live in Yunyuan Apartments on the East Campus, four people per room. Computer desk below, bed above. The food here suits my taste pretty well. Military training is tiring, so I can eat 3 liang [150g] of rice per meal. Military training is hard—we have to get up at 6 AM with only a bit over an hour of rest at noon. After dinner, there’s only about 10 minutes before the evening activities start. Things like freshman orientation, welcome parties, academician lectures, psychological counseling, watching movies. We can’t get back to our dorm until nearly 10 PM, but lights out is at 10:30. After lights out, we can only use desk lamps, and there are no holidays for 20 consecutive days (from the 10th to the 29th). The 29th is a day off; we report back on the 4th. Because of the university anniversary celebration, freshmen must attend, so I won’t come home for National Day—I’ll come back during Chinese New Year instead.

Starting over, the pressure must be considerable, but I believe you’re strong enough to turn pressure into motivation. Please don’t be self-doubting like I used to be. It’s never too late to mend. I also hope you won’t be sad anymore because fate won’t stop toying with you just because you’re sad. Only effort is an effective counterattack against fate. I know you won’t forgive yourself just because everyone acknowledges you didn’t do well on the exam, but don’t put too much pressure on yourself either. I hope you can use this failure as an opportunity for growth, working hard to become stronger. I sincerely hope you can achieve your dream of getting into Renmin University of China. Or perhaps you’ve set even higher goals—I hope you can achieve those too.

I know you’re very busy. Even if you don’t write back, I won’t blame you. I originally wanted to call you—5999158, I haven’t remembered wrong, have I? But I was afraid that once the call connected, I wouldn’t be able to say anything. Some of what I’ve said, just knowing is enough—don’t think too much about it. If this letter affects your studies, I would feel very guilty.

Our dorm has a phone installed: 027-87433512. My UC [instant messaging] is 41937936. QQ is 83978599. Both UC and QQ nicknames are “Star Trek One.” Oh right, I also have email: niecheng12@yahoo.com.cn. Mailing address: 430074, Yunyuan Apartments, Building 22, Room 503, Huazhong University of Science and Technology. If you write back, please include your contact information too!

Cheng

September 25, 2003, evening