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墨書 Inktalez
During our elementary school years, although there was no subject called "Writing," writing was the main assignment in Chinese language classes and the most challenging task we faced throughout our entire elementary education.
The primary obstacle to completing writing assignments stemmed from the tools we used. Unlike today's children who can use various colors and sizes of pencils and markers for their writing practice, the first writing tool we encountered was the brush, which had been in use for thousands of years, and it was often of the lowest quality. The ink we used varied widely; those from better-off families could even make their own ink boxes by finding a used plastic container and purchasing one or two blocks of foul-smelling ink. They would fill the container halfway with water and grind the ink block to produce ink, finally placing a ball of cotton on top. Those with poorer conditions had to collect soot from oil lamps in a bowl to substitute for ink blocks, dissolving it in water to dip their brushes, managing to leave faint black marks on yellowed paper. Only a couple of students in the class could afford bottled ink.
Thanks to my parents, I inherited a large copper ink box they had used, filled with ink made from cotton and ink blocks just like my peers. Due to family constraints, the brushes I used were those sold at consignment stores for three cents each. When I needed them to be stiff, they would leave behind clumps of black marks; when I wanted them soft, they wouldn't absorb the ink properly, often fraying and shedding hairs. I used that same brush for years, as my parents showed no intention of buying me a new one.
After preparing the tools, the teacher faced more than twenty students who were writing for the first time. There were no gentle words of guidance, nor did she teach us how to hold the pen or move it properly; instead, she simply instructed everyone to write "Long Live Chairman Mao" as taught in the first lesson.
As a result, after the first class, all of our notebooks were filled with smudged black marks. In this natural and chaotic state of learning, everyone hoped to own a fountain pen. However, even the cheapest fountain pen cost six jiao and five fen, which was nearly equivalent to half a semester's tuition. Most parents did not buy their children new supplies throughout elementary school. Before I could realize my own Fountain Pen Dream, I continued to use a brush like my classmates, and my homework was basically just sloppy scribbling.
Under the dual pressure of inadequate tools and guidance, most students produced messy handwriting and dirty pages. Every time my father came home and saw my homework, he would sigh and clap his hands in frustration, offering criticism and corrections. Yet I was like a dog that couldn't change its ways; even after I finally bought a fountain pen, my writing still resembled a stampede of wild bulls—only faint and chaotic traces remained visible.
What was even more troublesome was that we had neither correction fluid nor correction tape. Once a mistake was made, the only option was to cover it with a black blob and then draw a line underneath as neatly as possible, patching it up with the correct word. Given the frequent chances for errors, the small sheet of paper became a chaotic canvas filled with various lines crisscrossing each other, resembling a haphazard drawing.
My habit of sloppy scribbling came to an end one morning in fourth grade when I was appointed by my teacher to represent the Commune in a writing competition. I had participated in similar competitions before and had managed to secure a place each time, so my teacher trusted me, and my classmates envied me. This time felt particularly important; before I left, the principal called me into his small office and spoke at length about the significance of representing the entire school and grade level in the competition.
I had no habit of drafting my essays, even for competitions. When I received a blank sheet of A4 paper and heard the topic announced by the teacher, I immediately began to think. In less than ten minutes, I picked up my newly bought fountain pen and started writing swiftly. It felt as if divine inspiration was guiding me; my thoughts flowed smoothly, and the words I wrote gave me a sense of satisfaction. With plenty of time left before the two-hour limit, I completed my essay entirely.
Because there was still plenty of time, and because this was an important competition, I began to check the entire piece. During this check, I found some issues. First, I discovered a few subtle errors, and quickly made corrections by patching and adding connecting lines at the edges of the paper. Then, I suddenly felt that the beginning was not clear, the ending was not strong, and there was a part in the middle that I had forgotten to write. What to do? Impatiently, I didn't think much and started a major surgery on my composition: the space for the school name and name at the top of the paper was still blank, so I replaced it with a new beginning; the content and patches had already filled the paper, but that didn't stop me. I marked "continue on the next page" in the middle with a pen, and even emphasized the font, then quickly added a paragraph on the back of the paper. Finally, I crossed out the original ending and added a new one on the back. After the surgery was finally completed, I carefully checked and realized that the part added on the back and the ending were not directly connected, so I had to add an explanation between them. Hurriedly, I finally completed this competition before the final exam bell rang, and returned to school full of confidence.
A few days later, my Chinese teacher called me aside to share the results of the competition. Many of the teachers who graded the papers believed that, based on the content of my essay, I could have easily secured first place in the entire commune. However, due to my messy handwriting, it was nearly impossible for unfamiliar teachers to decipher what I had written. In fact, there were parts of my essay that required our Chinese teacher to "translate" for the other teachers to understand. As a result, my final score was—my first experience of missing out on a ranking!
After this competition, my approach to assignments underwent two significant changes. First, when writing essays, although I still wasn't accustomed to drafting outlines, I began to spend more time thinking things through. At the very least, I would carefully consider the structure and main language of the piece two or three times before putting pen to paper. The most notable change was in my handwriting; I no longer prioritized speed but instead focused on writing each character with precision, adhering to the basic requirements of "horizontal and vertical lines straight, and strokes clear." Whether it was doing homework or taking notes, and even later when jotting down content from meetings or speeches, I consistently upheld this principle.
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