I was reading Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham in my little study this afternoon, when my friend dropped in and tucked me a self-made card. On it there was a stinkbug on a blackberry plant, by the bug there was a dark-purple blackberry. The idea, which made me chuckle, was that I was sometimes complaining the trace of stink bugs in the blackberry fields. In the card, there were his words: C, Lots of love on your birthday.
But is it my birthday indeed tomorrow? I am confused. Long time before while chatting with my mother she told me that my birthday should be August 4th on the lunar calendar. But then she added that she was not very sure, as she was too occupied with house chores to remember it clearly. So it is probably nearer to the truth to say that my birthday is vaguely around August 4th.
In my friend’s family no one is used to the lunar calendar. So my friend’s mother deemed that my birthday must be tomorrow. For that she bought me a birthday cake and asked me earlier on if I wanted to have it later today, as I have to go out all day tomorrow. My parents at home must be surprised if I tell them I am forced to have my birthday today now.
But having said so much about it, it is probably time for me to mention that I don’t really care about it. Ever since I was ten or eleven I had left home, either boarding in school or being in other cities to study. So, often than not, I passed my birthday without any celebration. And occasionally I passed it even without knowing it myself.
But it doesn’t matter much to me. I never get overjoyed with birthday presents. That I never expect to celebrate for my birthday makes disappointment impossible and the life easier to get along. Nor do I ever expect to celebrate for occasions such as weddings, wedding anniversary, etc. The other day on BBC there was a drama about a girl, who went hectic about her wedding preparation before she even found a husband. I was over shocked to see the appearance of the program on TV. Is that really the trend of the day? If so, I must be so out of the place then.
When I accepted BBC learning website to write blogs for them, I was also a bit worried that probably my life currently isn’t interesting enough to write and share with other people. Hearing this, my friend’s mother proposed that I should ask my friend to take me on holidays. But why will going on holidays make any difference? I only feel I didn’t achieve much yet, which made me apprehend and worried. An interesting life, in my definition, is one full of self-esteem and achievement, and with it you always strive to progress further and avid for self-improvement. Apparently my definition of “an interesting life” and that of my friend’s mother are vastly varied.
But all this doesn’t trouble me these days as before. I don’t really want to go for conformity. In Of Human Bondage, Maugham wrote “Although everyone becomes equally conscious of his body as a separate and complete organism, everyone does not become equally conscious of himself as a complete and separate personality. “ He likened average men’s life to that of the bee in a hive: The activities of a bee shared by all of the same kind, and their pleasures are only pleasures because they are enjoyed in common.
I was struck with the idea well expressed by the writer when I read the book the first time. Now reading it the second time, I am convinced that I myself am not strange after all. What I thought “strange” about myself are not strange but only partly what define me. I am glad that finally I have made it out. But I believe that lots of people in this world must, at one time or another, have run through the same problem as mine: Identity. How could you tell yourself from other people?
You can either compromise not to find it out and live the life of an average person, or you can strive and never give up until you can satisfyingly define yourself and then, ignoring all others, live the life the way you want it to be. For me compromise is never an option, and I don’t see why that should be one for anyone. Well, that’s probably also why I am me, while other people are other people. But I am glad that Maugham agreed with me, or at least he saw through the world to express the idea to my satisfaction.
