Voyage, Quest, Inspired

• ONE: Inspiration comes out of tranquility. 
• TWO: Inspiration is omnipresent.

How do we get inspired? Is there a general pattern? Seeking an answer to this question, I observed my own case.

Oxford Revisited

A radiant day inspired the City of Dreaming Spires. With the awakening of the reborn sunshine, Oxford does not fail to empower me with its breadth of knowledge. Over the summer, my vision was intensely broadened with diverse approaches to learning and new perspectives. This time, my heart is not only full of dreams - but is preoccupied with goals - concrete goals, that will assist me in transforming dreams into reality.   

When I was little, I hardly knew of Oxford. (Of course, I was not to blame.) It is so bewildering to imagine during the space of fifteen years, the ignorant infant has absorbed a remarkable amount of knowledge. Metaphorically, the world is a stage, with men and women merely players. Indeed, the world and its civilizations are waiting for people to explore them: we have always been seeking the truth, for truth is strength. However, truth can be deceiving and cunning as it transforms itself into the shapes of illusions.

A number of unbelievable discoveries may influence us. Our interests may change as a result. In my opinion, life is about finding people with similar interests as ourselves, though over a certain period of time, our hobbies alter. But do we change? This question is extremely controversial. Shakespeare thought that ‘true love never alters’ in Sonnet 116, and it may be inferred that ‘true hate never alters’, which might be true to some extent. Does the inner mind really change? It is hard to decide.    

My interests have been changing over time indeed. I have always loved reading, and traveling; my hobbies have included reading English fiction and fantasy from Grade Three to Seven, observing volcanoes back in 2007 - 2009, and literature from 2009 until now (Grade Twelve), politics since I joined the MUN last year, law and economics after the LSE (London School of Economics and Political Sciences) Open Day; I am interested in linguistics and classics at the moment due to several spheres of influence, such as participating in the High School Drama Production ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. 

As a bookworm, I have been intoxicated by seeing so many Oxonian bibliophiles. I have visited the Central Library of Oxford, the Bodleian Libraries, Blackwell and Oxford University Press. 

His name? I do not know. But his facial expression and body movements immediately caught my attention. To some extent, I was looking at the reflection of my own spirit as a bibliophile. Yes, he gazed at the books. Yes, his glance showed that he was wildly in love - with the books. And, he was kneeling down - he was touching them, gently, the way that one would invite their lovers to an elegant dance full of adoration. Yes, he lifted the books up, as if they were dancing together swiftly and gracefully. His eyes, joyful and loving, confirmed the relationship, and we all knew what was going to happen. Yes, he would engage himself with the books, which were written in Ancient Greek and translated into English. The original author is Aristotle, no doubt. He went to the counter and paid. Could he be a student of the University of Oxford? Possibly, and I would guess that he studies the Classics. But maybe not - Oxonians are naturally bibliophiles, I assume, who would read broadly with intense enjoyment. Books are alive, and are happy to unite with him, for the rest of his lifetime.

They wedded. No, without the wedding gown, without the crowds, but with the fragrance of the books. And they tied the knot with vows. I imagine their happy life together, which may be greatly different from a human-to-human marriage, where there is monogamy and divorce. Indeed, it is certain that he will marry - many times more, with books or even with a real person - but according to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116, true love never alters.

A smile lit up my face. Despite the fact that I did not propose to the classics (the ancient Greek, I had to confess, was extremely fascinating though confusing; our roads crossed again in bookstores in London and Cambridge, but I was advised by my parents that my ambition would turn into helpless greed, if I did not become more selective in my reading; I will have more time for books related to philosophy at University), I tied the knot with five books that day, and three the next day, and two the next...  They will inspire and empower me with words of wisdom.

But not all books were accessible for me. On Saturday, I could not resist the temptation of entering the Bodleian Library - probably the most attractive spot on my agenda this time! After visiting the lovely exhibition, where a number of rare manuscripts were presented to visitors two days before I arrived, and buying bookmarks (my new hobby, seeing that they are useful) and a Shakespeare-branded notepad (where quotes related to the word ‘note(s)’ are neatly inscribed at the bottom of each page), I attended a guided tour.

Years ago, books were kept in chains because of their rarity. Even at this moment in time, books cannot be checked out, and several other strict rules aim to protect them. I do admire this conservation of books, and the sight of their heavy bodies attracted me deeply. They are not that inviting, though, not just yet. So much do I wish to feel their rough skin, to smell their unique scent, and to hear the bookworms’ casual conversation in the yellowish pages, though I realized that this is a ‘forbidden marriage’ case, as if the books are Cardinal de Bricassarts of the Australian family saga, the ‘Thorn Birds’. I felt depressed mentally and physically. This feeling further motivates and inspires me to enroll at this University, so that I can actually go inside the reading rooms and read.

The Library’s grandeur stunned me. It was so quiet that the only audible sound were the deep exhalations of father time. So, you want me to use a word to describe it? Sacred. I have seen Chinese book collectors’ love for their books in Zhejiang Province - the buildings and gardens at Tianyige (天一阁) were sacred places for books - the posterity of the original custodian guarded the books with their lives, until a merciless fire greedily devoured this wonderland of bibliophiles. 

Sunday in Oxbridge

Hear us indeed the Sunday echoes of church bells,

    Remit all agitation. Dream lilts

    Which doth shed lights on the morning tales

-Edited version of ‘City of Dreaming Spires’, a sonnet by April Xiaoyi Xu

Churches. The study of religion in Tudor England invaded my mind. This is Oxford, a typical English city. And indeed, the Sunday church bells struck several times, right there. Where? Several places: St. Aldate’s Church, Christ Church Chapel, University Church of St. Mary’s, and others that I have shamefully failed to name.

Peace encompassed the city. At ten ’o clock in the morning, most shops were still soundly asleep, and so was the University Church of St. Mary’s. My desire of visiting it to get a view of the dreaming spires seemed to be rejected, for the ambitious ‘dawning tales’, or ‘morning fantasies’ would long be dissolved into a quiet ‘afternoon fable’. This situation, however, enabled me to get an authentic flavor of English churches on Sundays. 

I have never been to a Sunday service before. So solemn and sacred are the churches. The clear echoes of the church bells have survived through history. Does history repeat itself? Yes, in numerous occasions. The World Wars, the Chinese Dynastic Cycle, and so on... Memories and thoughts carried me away, into another world. But reality requested my existence in the concrete world. The chorus, the prayers, the dedication... Everything was holy.

Strolling on a peaceful Sunday in two of the most prestigious English cities was yet a brand new experience, especially on a day so refreshingly fair, the sun so generously bright, and the weather so invitingly lovely. Well, such a beautiful day is not uncommon in Oxford - in fact, my summer was wonderfully spent in the City of Dreaming Spires. But it was rather extraordinary yesterday, for I spent the day wandering in four Churches in Oxford and Cambridge. Plus, it was the day when new students from both Universities excitedly embarked upon their new voyages.

With pillows around their arms, the new undergraduates cheerfully rushed into their dormitories. Accompanying them were their parents: proud and delighted. I understand the transition between attending Secondary School and University. Even if the students have studied at boarding schools that developed their independence, entering into a university, especially such a world-leading university, is completely different. Challenges and freedom would embrace them, along with the vast learning resources such as the brilliant Bodleian Libraries. How much do I long to place myself into a situation like that? Motivated, I could not help but to add some new tasks on my iCal back in the hotel.

Tourism is brought into this city, which is renowned for its university. I was fascinated by the variety of souvenirs, but my interest lies with my nature. A bookmark that I purchased reads, ‘the more I learn, the more I know; the more I know, the more I forget; the more I forget, the less I know. Why I study’? It appeals to me. Actually, it is like philosophy, the paradox and contradiction. In ‘1984’, for instance, the slogan is full of contradictions, ‘war is peace’, ‘freedom is slavery’, and ‘ignorance is strength’; in ‘Brave New World’, a central theme is ‘appearance versus reality’, where the society is dystopian though it appears as utopian with an ironic slogan of ‘community, identity, stability’; in Ancient Greece, the philosopher Socrates suggested that ‘the cleverest man is the most ignorant’ - I agree with him to some extent. According to Shakespeare, ‘life is but a walking shadow - a stage, with men and women merely players’. Then, what is the true meaning of life? It is full of happiness and miseries, and, surely, explorations. This voyage to England has inspired me to think deeper and more critically on the issues that we regularly encounter.

By late afternoon, we arrived in Cambridge. Autumn had arrived earlier than us, with its light pavements bringing the reunion between Mother Earth and the leaves. Not only did they savor the sensation of gladly rejoining, but I also indulged myself in returning to this fantastical city.  But it appears that I have hardly wondered what it is like to live in fantasy, for no one in this world may be able to answer the question. However, imagination has no restriction.

There is an English idiom called ‘towns and gowns’. From the moment this Sunday slipped away from me, gowns ceased to exist only in history textbooks, or the ‘His Dark Materials’ and ‘Harry Potter’ series’ for me. Students in Oxford and Cambridge were in their gowns: the shops proudly presented gowns from undergraduates, graduates scholars, and masters students, with different designs for each college. A girl, not much older than myself, had asked a shop assistant if they had a special scholarship gown for her. It already requires academic brilliance to become enrolled at Oxbridge, and being awarded a scholarship is definitely a greater honor.

The withered leaves collect at my feet. Autumn is beautiful here, yes, absolutely. I gazed, aimlessly and still, at the meadows, the buildings, the river, and the bridge. Time flies, and I was to leave this fantastical world. But London, a city of blended modernity and classical elements, was waving to me with enthusiasm and passion.