November 2000

I met Xiao Lung in the first English class I ever taught in China. It was 1995 and native English teachers were not so common even in the universities. English language TV was only to be found in 5-star hotels. Joint ventures were hiring like mad and English fluency was the ticket to the fast track. Fresh out of the police academy in Beijing, Xiao Lung had only begun his career of catching criminals. If college graduates in the civil sector couldn’t speak good English, in the gong an (the Police Force), it was doubly rare.

Professionals in their own fields by day, these students would mimic my every “th” and “ee” sounds by night. They learned English and western culture and I learned a little of the local perspectives of life, love and on changes. Xiao Lung was freshly returned from the university and still carried inside him the thirst to question every tradition. I, still fresh on these soils, would provoke him with my directness about his views. I prodded him on to be “different” in a culture that pride itself on uniformity. I challenged him to be a different kind of policeman in a culture that idolized power.

Shouting over Bob Marley in corners of an early raggae bar, we scrutinized the Chinese Way of looking at family, obedience, friendship, conflict and back to family, obedience and so on again. He quested after the Truth, determined to find himself in the process. The term ended and we still managed to stay in touch. Then I left teaching to start a restaurant while he became busy with his work. Weekly rendezvous dribbled down to once a month and then even less.

Infrequent as they were, I noticed subtle changes in Xiao Lung over the next two year. Gone was the wirely hair cut and casual tees. In its place a crew cut, dress shirts with still dressier polyester pants. His fluid dance moves were replaced by a dawdle, languid steps that couldn’t be hurried. He blew smoke non-stop and had a negative comment on discussing any subject at hand. No longer questioning the future, he seemed content to follow the path so well trod by millions. The Xiao Lung I had known seemed to have disappeared, his place ceded to a clone of a forty-something old guard. He began to disappear from my life as well.

So it was a surprise when I got a call from him last year. He had signed up for a special yearlong English refresher course and was given 10 months off to do nothing but go to class. He was back at in school, away from his office cronies, and he had time to think. Long forgotten questions he had put aside came charging back as if in hibernation, waiting for the right season to flower anew.

Once again we picked up our conversations, but this time with a twist. There was no urgency to his question, only a knowing that all answers come to those who asks. He remembered who he wanted to be, but this time he knew who he had been. Through sporadic emails and occasional long distance calls, a new Xiao Lung began to emerge. This one was wiser, knew himself better and surer of his direction. Then came a group email last month.

“As many of you may know, I will be deployed in East Timor as an UNCIVPOL (United Nations Civilian Police) of China, for 1 year. I have never thought that someday I could be the one who goes on behalf of China, like the athletes at the Olympic Games did.

Well, it is hard to say something to describe my feeling at this moment. Somebody may think that this will be a great adventure. Some may think as one who has already had a decent life in modern China, I should not take such a risk. One that would probably encounter the challenge of life or death. But I think the meaning of living is the journey of experience, the exploration of myself as well as death. To be or not to be is an attitude of life, better or not, as long as you choose it, it definitely wouldn't let you down.”

Then came another email.

“My dear Klau,
I remember several years ago, you said we Chinese people are so inactive that they will not change a thing: you can find them decades later at the same phone number and address. Your words really make an impression on me. I couldn’t find a word to fight back. That forced me to think if we really can live a life as you did. Actions are louder than words. Wanting something new is the basic instinct of all human beings, especially in this digital age. . . Not that Chinese people don’t like excitement, they just want to pursue it in a milder way. They are shouldering more responsibilities than western people – this is the way of living we were taught to. And this brand of culture cannot be erased will go a long way with your life.

I really have no idea of my future, what is it gonna be? Will I stay in the gong an or not, live in Beijing or anywhere else? But there is at least one thing for sure, get to know myself in the exploration of the unexperience field and be true to myself, follow the direction of my heart. The uncertainty of the upcoming day may be the best part of my life . . .”

The Ringling Brothers Circus claims to have “The Greatest Show on Earth.” My friend Pat claims that watching his favorite football team score the touchdown at the 1990 Superbowl was one of the best moments of his life.

But it is I who have privilege of a ringside seat at the most ancient struggle of all time – the quest of the human soul to know itself. Not many stop life’s pace to ask the question of Who Am I? Of those who claim to be on this quest, not many can wander far from the ego’s sheltering nest.

But when living in change has become the standard – as anyone in Shanghai can attest – it is comforting to know that life’s One True Thing is carried inside. We but only have to listen. Ask Xiao Lung, he knows.