I started grazing cattle when I was twelve or younger. In those days I was still an elementary school student. I went to a small-sized school not too far from my house every morning. But when school was over in the afternoon, I returned home and naturally turned to be a "cowboy."
I would graze an old cow and a newly bought young one by leading them down the hillside, so they could eat the green grass along the banks of a brook. Usually, with these animals browsing freely over there, I would enjoy myself watching the beautiful sunset; meanwhile, I would hear lots of birds singing loudly, or amazingly, in the woods near the hill. It sounded as if the birds were in a hurry to return home, or as though they were arguing about their nests or something.
From that resounding "orchestra" presented by them at sunset, I could tell what kinds of birds they were. I recognized such birds as crows, sparrows, baitouwong (white-headed bird), wuqiu (black bird with a distinct Y-shaped tail), banjiu (turtledoves), etc. Among these flying creatures, I loved wuqiu the most, for they were supposedly friendly with farmers. As for banjiu, I also like them very much, because they looked like the doves my neighbor Uncle Jiang had had.
Sometimes I would come across Uncle Jiang's nephew Minghui while he and I were grazing our own cattle. Brother Minghui had moved from a distant town to live with his uncle here in the mountain village. Very soon he became my best friend, leading his ox to the sides of the brook more and more often. We chatted and laughed together; we sang together the songs "Cuckoos," "Sweet Family," "Little Lambs Are Going Home," etc. But the most exciting thing for us to do was to look for birds in the woods.
When we were tired from playing, we would both lie still on the grass, watching the colorful clouds in the sky and, particularly, the setting sun that was being swallowed up by the mountains in the west.
"How marvelous it would be," I once said excitedly to Minghui, "if only I were a dove!"
"Oh, no!" His reply impressed me, "A dove is just nothing. I wish I were a seagull, instead. A seagull isn't confined to these mountains; it can fly a long way, playing between the sea and heaven!"
My goodness! What did a seagull look like? I was very confused at once.
And time flew! I graduated from the elementary school and started going to junior high. The junior-high school was several kilometers away from my house. I had to spend more time commuting to school. And I needed much more time for studies. My father no longer wanted me to graze our cows; such a job had become my younger brother's duty. However, during the long summer vacation for students, I felt like grazing cattle again. I felt it most enjoyable to graze our cows along the small stream as I had usually done before. But now Brother Minghui had gone somewhere far away as a seaman.
When I was in the second year of junior high, one of my favorite elementary-school teachers Mr. Zhang moved to Pingdong, in southern Taiwan. I missed him so much that I sent him a Christmas card made by myself. A few days later, I received a surprisingly beautiful card from him: It was a picture of the ocean, with a fiery sunset as the background, with two ships moving in different directions on the colored waves, and with quite a number of seabirds flying . . . Well, are they so-called "seagulls"? I asked myself.
I was too excited to sleep soundly that night. Closing my eyes, I couldn't help murmuring to myself: If only I would become a great sailor when growing up! Yes, I really wished to sail across the biggest oceans in the world someday.
Then, time flying fast, I graduated from junior high. I passed a particular exam and was therefore admitted to Provincial Teachers' Junior College. For the first time in my life I left my "cozy nest" in the mountains, where I had lived for sixteen years. And, with many new dreams in my heart, I flew to the "Green Garden" in Jiayi City.
By the way, Jiayi City is located in the middle of the Jia-Nan Plain. Though there are no mountains blocking your view, it's impossible for you to see any sea or ocean from there.
In Green Garden, I enjoyed watching beautiful sunsets as much as before. Frequently I looked through the tall baiyang (poplar) and dawang-yezi (palm trees) on campus for a sight of the setting sun. The big setting sun looked much bigger here (and more fiery red?) than in my home village. Seeing such a splendid burning ball made me homesick, though.
Two years passed in the twinkling of an eye. As I studied and learned more, my original "motive" for pursuing a dreamy seagull became less strong. I told myself that it was unlikely to see seagulls in Taiwan and that they were rare species! Even when (once in a long while) I heard the caws of seagulls on the radio, I would rather believe that they were just sound effects. How could they be true?
During my third year in Green Garden, I was given a very interesting storybook by my xue-jie (a female schoolmate senior to me) named Yuchan. It was a Chinese version of Richard Bach's "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" -- Ah, how similar the seagulls and the human beings are! In either group there are many different members, some being more active and admirable than others. And Jonathan Livingston, unlike his food-oriented companions, was an idealistic seagull, always trying his best to improve his skills in flight.
"Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect." I was most impressed by this definition of "heaven" in the book. Actually, the phrase "being perfect" had been put into Chinese as "wanmei de zhuangtai" (perfect state). I loved this translation, with zhuangtai meaning "state" as in "state of mind" "state of affairs" etc. (Anyway, I wish to express my gratitude to Sister Yuchan again, for such a significant story.)
Now I had been studying in Green Garden for three years. When the fourth year came, I was elected chairman of the Youth Writing Association, one of the organizations for extracurricular activities in my college. I tried to decline the position, thinking that I was not good at writing at all.
"I used to be a cowboy," I said. "And, as you can see, it is extremely difficult for a cowboy to become a good writer."
"That's no problem!" The nominator replied, "If you don't write any longer, you can put all your attention into administration."
My goodness! Being rather introverted in those days, I was afraid of administrative work.
However, I became the chairman and started to do such things as organizing a formal or informal meeting, inviting professors or guest speakers to us, soliciting contributions for the school magazine, editing and proofreading the collected pieces of writing which were good enough to be published, and even keeping in touch with our publisher! Sometimes I got into difficulties. Yet, most of the time, I just had to solve the problems that I was faced with. So I did my best to improve my "problem solving" skills, like Jonathan the seagull.
Now I had learned more about administration, and I made quite a few new friends. The vice-chairperson of the Writing Association was one of my favorite schoolmates and helpers. She was a beautiful girl, very intelligent, and always kind and helpful to others. Her smiling face, I believed, was the most attractive one in the world. Though one year younger than I, she was my idol, with too many merits and virtues to number.
She and I often did our "official duties" in the school library. I was very pleased about that. But I dared not ask for a personal date. It was no easy job for me to do so in those days. Nevertheless, I must confess that there was a strange power that made me able to notice her in the midst of a crowd 100 meters away. And my heart began beating fast every time I caught sight of her.
One day, I stayed alone in the school library reading the essays and poems submitted for the school magazine. Among the piles of papers I found an article beautifully written under the pseudonym of Hai Ou, literally meaning "seagull." I was interested in reading it; to my surprise, it was written by my vice-chairperson.
And time kept flying! It came to the end of the first semester of my fourth year in Green Garden. Just before the winter vacation, my classmates** and I had a farewell party in the evening. We had a good time. After having some cookies and soft drinks, my classmates started to share their love stories. Some expressed their desire to take a course in "Romance" the next semester, while others said they had to repeat the course. I said nothing. As a cowboy growing up in the mountains, I told myself, "You'll be back there sooner or later. Why not forget about her right now? A cowboy cannot really get hold of any seagull."
Notes:
* This story is a slightly modified version of its original, Chinese version with the same title (海鷗與我), which I wrote 30 years ago and published in the literary supplement (台灣副刊) of Taiwan Daily on February 1st, 1974, under the pseudonym of Fan Ying (帆影), implying that I was just like a small sailing boat in the ocean.
** In those days all the students in any of eight Provincial Teachers' Junior Colleges had to live in the school dormitories except summer or winter vacations. Basically, men students were not mixed with women students in the same classes; only when attending a school ceremony or taking a selective course could we get together with the opposite sex in the same hall or classroom.
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