Speaking Honestly About Life (Part 1): Being Praised Feels So Good

Deiform Buddha

When I was about five or six years old, my grandmother, parents, and the adults around me often praised me, saying, "This kid has a bright future!" From that moment, a subconscious aspiration to "have a bright future" was born within me. If I was destined for greatness, then I had to stand out from others. Even at a young age, I tried to show the demeanor of a philosopher. When playing with my peers, I was often the one in charge: I wasn’t afraid of what others feared, dared to do what others wouldn’t, and once I made a decision, no one could change it.

In terms of academics, I naturally aimed to be at the top. From a private preschool to elementary school, middle school, technical school, college, and university, I wasn’t the best in every subject, but I was almost always among the top students in my class. After all, I had a "bright future."

At the private school I attended, there were more than 60 students. The school focused on literacy, so some classmates were more than ten years older than me. Yet, I held the position of class monitor. During elementary school, which coincided with the Cultural Revolution, every school formed its own Red Guards company. Naturally, the highest position, company commander, was mine. Other students carried long spears or bayonets, but I carried a pistol. Whenever there was a chance to stand out, whether it was shouting slogans or giving speeches, it was always me in the spotlight.

In middle school, however, my reputation took a hit when a secret romance of mine was exposed, earning me some infamy. For a few years, I had to let others take the position of class monitor, but I still often served as vice monitor. When I entered technical school, college, and university, where my peers and teachers were unaware of my past, I easily reclaimed the "throne" of class monitor, as I was, after all, "destined for greatness."

"The Phoenix in the Sky" When I was in the fourth grade, my homeroom teacher, Teacher Yang, once pointed to me in front of nearly 60 classmates and said, "He’s a phoenix in the sky!" Then, pointing to the rest of the class, she said, "You are all hens on the ground!" My joy and pride soared. From that moment on, I secretly regarded myself as a "phoenix in the sky."

Since I was "destined for greatness" and was a "phoenix in the sky," I felt I needed to behave more "maturely" than others. But how could I show maturity? That’s right—by falling in love. By the fifth grade, I was already twelve years old, practically an adult, and it was time to think about "getting a wife."

There was a girl in my class named Yang Xiulan, who had transferred from the big city of Lanzhou. She was lively, cheerful, and beautiful—the most stunning girl in the class. As a "phoenix in the sky," it seemed only natural that the most beautiful classmate should belong to me.

"Everything originates in the mind, and all phenomena are created by consciousness." With her in my heart, my attitude and behavior toward her naturally changed. I can’t recall exactly how we "dated" back then (I swear to Chairman Mao, I never kissed her or held her hand). I only remember the affair causing quite a stir, becoming a hot topic of gossip wherever I went.

Even my parents found out. My father scrutinized me a few times but didn’t punish me harshly, while my kind-hearted mother didn’t scold me much either. I vividly remember confidently telling her, "You don’t need to worry about me finding a wife!" As it turned out, I really didn’t let my parents worry about that.

Chasing the "Heavenly Fairy" In middle school, when Xiulan’s parents disapproved of me marrying their precious daughter, I quickly moved on—after all, I had to keep my word to my parents. Soon, I set my sights on another classmate who was later nicknamed the "Seventh Fairy." She was breathtakingly beautiful—like a goddess. A match between a heavenly fairy and a phoenix seemed like destiny. And so, I pursued her.

This pursuit lasted ten years. Those ten years became some of the most cherished memories of my life. Struggles of a "Phoenix" in the Fields After graduating high school in 1975, at the age of 18, I returned to the countryside to farm. The feeling of being "destined for greatness" and being a "phoenix in the sky" tormented me. Had I lost my future? Was I no longer a phoenix? I couldn’t be like everyone else; otherwise, I’d have disappointed my family, teachers, and those who had praised me!

I visited a Xinhua Bookstore in Linxia City and bought several books on radio technology, determined to research it and build my own radio. But I soon realized this "great plan" was impractical—I couldn’t afford the components! Desperate times called for desperate measures (note that "desperate" here isn’t just about poverty). I decided to switch to something more feasible—becoming a doctor. I bought several medical books, especially on traditional Chinese medicine, and began studying "eight principles of diagnosis," "pathogenesis," "24 pulses," and pharmacology.

Just as I was preparing to test my skills, the senior secretary of the village came to me and said, "You’re not an ordinary young man. How about becoming the secretary of the Youth League Branch and the village’s clerk?"

A "Not-So-Ordinary Young Man" Beautiful! I was "destined for greatness," "a phoenix in the sky," and "not an ordinary young man." Some say, "A lie repeated a thousand times becomes the truth." Since everyone said so, I began to believe I wasn’t ordinary.

Even my wife, who cherished me like a treasure, often praised me, saying I was a "real man!" She would imply that I was a man of great fortune, almost someone who never needed to lift a finger. Honestly, she worried I might "elope" someday, so she treated me with extraordinary care. My children also flattered me, exclaiming, "Dad is amazing!"

Along the way, colleagues and acquaintances showered me with endless praise. Today, in Lifechanyuan, both male and female Celestials praise me daily, making me feel, once again, like a "phoenix in the sky."

This is how confidence grows. Ambitions swell. Factory director or company manager? Not interested. Provincial governor or minister? Boring. Sometimes I wonder, "What if I became a national president?" But after some thought, it doesn’t seem worth striving for. If I were to aim for anything, it would be to become the president of the world, unifying all under one faith.

A Touch of Madness? Perhaps I’ve lost my mind?

Hold on, even being the president of the world no longer appeals to me. The green mountains endure, but life is fleeting. What’s worth pursuing in this ephemeral existence? If I must seek something, it should be supreme enlightenment. I must first understand my origins and destiny—I cannot drift through life in ignorance, unsure of what to do when death comes tomorrow.

I must "be someone," because I’m "not an ordinary young man." I’m a "phoenix in the sky," and phoenixes don’t belong on the ground—they should soar in the heavens.

(To be continued)