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| 'Lost Youth' by Deng Chengwen |
“And now, before I
slip back into the convention of calling this young man ‘I,’ let me consider
him as a separate being, a stranger almost, setting out on this adventure in a
taxi to the docks. For, of course, he is almost a stranger to me. I have
revised his opinions, changed his accent and his mannerisms, unlearned or exaggerated
his prejudices and his habits. We still share the same skeleton, but its outer
covering has altered so much I doubt if he would recognize me on the street. We
have in common the label of our name, and a continuity of consciousness that I
am I. But what I am has refashioned
itself throughout the days and years, until now almost all that remains
constant is the mere awareness of being conscious. And that awareness belongs
to everybody; it isn’t a particular person.
“The Christopher
who sat in that taxi is, practically speaking, dead; he only remains reflected
in the fading memories of us who knew him. I can’t revitalize him now. I can
only reconstruct him from his remembered acts and words and from the writings
he has left us. He embarrasses me often, and so I’m tempted to sneer at him,
but I will try not to. I’ll try not to apologize for him, either. After all, I
owe him some respect. In a sense he is my father, and in another sense my son.”
— Christopher
Isherwood, whose close observation of the man in the mirror evokes for me a
Buddhist sense of the ephemerality of self.
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