It has been six years since I moved from the countryside to Beijing. During that time, I have seen and heard many things related to national interests, but none of them seemed important to me. If you force me to state how much influence these things have had on my daily life, I would say that the only effect I have had from these so-called national interests is depression where I feel more and more hatred for the people around me.
But there was one small incident: so small, yet it managed to pull me out of the pit of anger, a memory that still lingers in my memory to this day.
It was the winter of 1917 the sixth year since the founding of our Republic and a strong northerly wind was blowing across the city. Every morning, as soon as the sun rose, I left my house and went to work to make ends meet. I walked through the nearly deserted streets of Beijing, hailed a rickshaw driver (not an easy task at that time of the day) and asked him to take me to Gate S . That morning, not long after the rickshaw I was riding in started moving, the wind began to weaken, leaving behind a stretch of city streets that had been swept clean of dirt. So the rickshaw driver ran as hard as he could, increasing his speed. Just as we were about to reach our destination, someone accidentally brushed against the rickshaw’s pull handle and slowly fell to the ground. A gray-haired woman in tattered clothes suddenly cut us off from the side of the road. Although the rickshaw driver tried to dodge, the woman’s torn vest (unbuttoned) was blown away by the wind and caught on the rickshaw’s pull handle. Fortunately, the pedicab driver quickly slowed down when he saw the woman, because otherwise the woman would have been thrown onto the pedicab and hit her head.
Now the woman was lying helplessly on the ground, with her head down. The pedicab driver stopped and parked his pedicab near the victim. After making sure that the woman was not injured, and that no one saw the incident, I felt incredibly annoyed to find the pedicab driver busy taking care of the victim. He would only make things difficult for himself, and also make me late even though he didn't need to do that.
"She's fine," I said to the pedicab driver. "Come on, hurry up and walk!"
The pedicab driver didn’t care or maybe he didn’t hear me and instead left the pedicab I was riding in and helped the woman stand on her feet, his hands gripping her arms tightly.
“How are you?” the pedicab driver asked.
“I think I’m hurt,” the woman replied.
What a liar, I grumbled to myself. I saw what happened clearly, how could she be hurt just from falling slowly? But since the pedicab driver had already volunteered, I wouldn’t help her. Let her find her own way out.
Without hesitation, the pedicab driver began to help the woman walk slowly. His hands were still holding the victim’s arms tightly. Surprised, I saw that not far away was a police station the front of it looked neglected because of the strong gusts of wind earlier. The pedicab driver helped the woman walk towards the front door of the police station.
In that brief moment, I felt a sensation that made me curious: the dusty back of the rickshaw driver suddenly approached, the further he walked, the taller and bigger his figure became in my eyes. I had to pull my neck back to see his figure as a whole. He seemed to be squeezing me, suffocating the selfishness hidden behind the fur coat I was wearing.
"You should find another rickshaw," he said as he approached me. "This one is not in use."
Without thinking, I took a handful of coins from my coat pocket. "Make sure the rickshaw driver accepts this money," I said to the police officer as I thrust the coins into his hand.
Now the wind that had been blowing lightly had stopped completely. The road that stretched out before me seemed to lie dead in silence. I decided to walk, and in the middle of my journey, I thought and suddenly my thoughts turned against my own consciousness. The incident had nothing to do with me, so why did I give him that handful of coins? Was that a reward? Do I have the right to judge the pedicab driver? I can't even answer my own question.
Until now, I still often remember the moment that morning. The memory makes me uncomfortable, because I feel like I am forced to see my own figure. I don't remember any of the political and military achievements of this country, just as I never remembered the readings in Elementary School about the principles of life and the state. The only thing I still remember clearly is the incident, so clear in my imagination that it seems more real than my daily reality, making me ashamed, pushing me to change, and igniting a spirit of courage and hope within me.