James Poy Wong 黃培正

"I discovered that everything is just a “semblance”: study, graduation, diploma, ceremony, ritual, ceremonial gown, are all just appearances. I feel a little dizzy for such a great deception."

"Graduation" - 1944

毕业

“毕业就是失业!” 我永远不能忘记这句六年前何君告诉我的话。

何君毕业后的一夕，也正是我去国的前夜，他跑来向我告别。没有言语，没有痛苦， 我们互相了解地点一点头。感情笼罩着我们， 但是盖不了我们的理智。 我们都明了以后各人的前途和工作， 虽然自己尽力想欺骗自己，但是心却已承认这次离别或许是永别了。 他迅速地在我的纪念册上写了几句： “无论去的是什么地方，只要记得为了什么而去； 无论做的是什么事情， 不可忘记祖国。 我祝你前途光明， 为人类播种的， 断不会是沙漠的孤独者。” 这几年来我还收到何君的来信，他在祖国的深怀里，和许多像他一样的青年们，正在努力着扑灭那燃起了七年的烽火。 他们虽然失了各人的职业， 但是却共同干着人类的伟大事业。 我羡慕着他们， 觉得自己的堕落和惭愧。 住在这个‘安乐土’ 里， 我是一个真正失业的人。

在礼堂呆坐着，听那惹人睡眠的无聊演讲，我望着四围的男女同学，头戴着方帽子，穿着阔大的长袍，望望自己， 使我联想起送葬的道士， 不停在我的眼前晃动， 摇摇摆摆。 我们是被称为高贵的学者， 但是这是值得羡慕的吗？

我们简直只是一条蛀书虫。 到底给社会贡献过什么呢？ 为文明而增加过什么呢？ 过去，我痛恨着，忏悔着。 悲哀渐渐地侵进我的心来。 突然有人呼唤我的名字。 我惊醒了， 机械地走去领取我的毕业文凭。 没有掌声，我听不清楚任何的响声，我完全被另一个思想掩盖着。 我知道在千几的听众中，没有一个是我的朋友。 他们都张尽眼皮来望我这个异国别种的人，我觉得自己受了一个大侮辱。我像个受伤的争斗者，垂头走向自己的座位去。

握着那张文凭—— 四年来浪费光阴的唯一证据—— 我觉得自己是受骗了， 受了“外表” 的欺骗。 我发现了一切只是‘外表’。 读书， 毕业， 文凭， 典礼， 仪式， 礼服， 一切一切只是‘外表’ 罢了。 为了这样大的欺骗， 我觉得有点昏晕了。

大礼完后， 同学们喜悦地接受亲戚朋友的恭祝， 我知道自己没有在此逗留的资格。 我的心被 “外表” 两个字剧烈地咬着。 我挤开了众人向门外走出， 在广场上吸了一口新鲜空气。 室内的喧嘈声传不到这里， 大地沈静得像死了一般。 我仰头望着西天的繁星，想从那里找出几句话来。 遥远的地方， 我看见何君和无数的青年， 向我不绝地摇手。 空中传来雄壮的劳动歌：“为人类而播种的， 断不会是沙漠的独孤者。” 这句话在我的心坎中响着。下意识地我的手慢慢举起， 眼睛也闪亮了。

“毕业就是失业？”

Graduation

“Graduation is unemployment!” I will never forget this statement Brother He told me six years ago.

The night after Brother He’s graduation was the night before I went abroad. He came to say farewell. There were no words exchanged and no pain felt. We nodded with mutual understanding and we were immersed in emotions, but it did not overwhelm our intellects. We understand our own future and work hereafter; although we try our best to fool ourselves, in our hearts we have recognized this farewell may be our parting forever. He quickly wrote down in my yearbook: “Remember for what purpose wherever you go, and no matter what you do don’t forget your motherland. I wish you a bright future. Those who plant seeds for humanity would never be lonely in the desert.”

I have received letters from Brother He in the last few years. He and many young people like him are exerting their efforts in ending the war that has been on for seven years. Although each of them had lost their own occupation, they are working together in a great enterprise for humanity. I admire them, and feel my own deficiency and shame. Living in this “paradise” I am truly the unemployed one.

Sitting idly in the auditorium and listening to these meaningless speeches that put people to sleep, I look around at my classmates, who are wearing square hats and long loose gowns, and I look at myself and think of the Daoist monks swinging around in a funeral. We are called the noble scholars, but is it worth admiring?

We are really just book worms. What have we contributed to society? What have we offered to civilization? I have deeply regretted and repented in the past, and sorrow has gradually occupied my heart. Suddenly someone calls my name, and I am awoken; Mechanically I go to receive my diploma. There is no applause, and I don’t hear any clear sounds. I am completely overwhelmed by another thought, as I know over a thousand people in the audience, none is my friend. They are widening their eyes, staring at this person from a different country and of a different race. I feel insulted, and like a wounded fighter, I drop my head returning to my seat.

Holding that diploma — the only evidence of a wasted four years — I feel I have been cheated, cheated by some “semblance.” I discovered that everything is just a “semblance”: study, graduation, diploma, ceremony, ritual, ceremonial gown, are all just appearances. I feel a little dizzy for such a great deception.

All the students are happily greeted by their kin and friends after the ceremony. I know I am not qualified to linger around here, while my heart is fiercely gnawing at the word “semblance.” I push past the crowd and go out the door, sucking a breath of fresh air. The boisterous sound in the building does not reach here. The great earth is so quiet as if it is dead. I look up to see the stars in the sky, wanting to find a few words there. In far, far away I see Brother He and many young men waving at me ceaselessly. The heroic song of labor comes through the air: “For those who plant seeds for humanity would never be alone in the desert.” This statement rang in my heart, and subconsciously my hands slowly raised. My eyes are also twinkling.

“Graduation is unemployment?”