Sun, Sep 19, 2021 page6

• Learning to write again at any age

  • By Peng Ming-min 彭明敏
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  As I wrIte articles in my old age, a thought comes to mind: Will this be the last one? The older I am, the more persistent the thought, but I have still written quite a few short pieces and published them in Juebiji (Collection of Final Writings, 絕筆集). The plural form of “writings” and “final” might seem contradictory, but at my age, every time I pick up a pen, it feels as if it is the last time.

  During the second half of my life, I was thrust into the Chinese world, utterly unprepared. I had to learn to speak, listen and write anew.

  As it was too late to learn from the ground up, I had to resort to using English-Chinese, French-Japanese and Japanese-English dictionaries, listening to other people, radio, television and movies, and reading every publication, magazine and book I could lay my hands on. Whether I understood or not, I devoured it all.

  As for Mandarin, I was barely able to speak “Taiwanese-style Mandarin” in its variety of accents from all over China — it all depended on who I was learning from — and I could manage a so-so understanding of Mainlanders speaking in their local accents.

  Writing was different: No matter what I did, I could not free myself from Japanese grammar and phrasing.

  After World War II, the faculty at National Taiwan University’s College of Law was in constant flux, and people were frequently replaced. It was not until Sa Meng-wu (薩孟武) became dean that the situation stabilized. It was the first time anyone had heard of Sa, and we knew nothing of his background or where he came from. He had studied in Japan and had a good understanding of which schools were Japan’s best.

  When he heard that Liu Ching-jui (劉慶瑞) and I had graduated from Japan’s third-best school and had been accepted to Tokyo Imperial University, he sighed and said: “The Japanese educational system is the only system capable of nurturing such talent.”

  He was protective of us, and expressed this by encouraging — almost demanding — that our theses were included in the law college’s collection.

  He told us to just write in our Japanese-influenced Chinese, and he would help us edit it: grammar, chapter arrangements, wording, characters. We then rewrote it, discovering along the way that this was the best way to improve our writing skills.

  That I can write fluently in Chinese is entirely thanks to Sa’s instruction, and with the gratitude of someone who is almost 100 years old, I dedicated the book to him.

  Strictly speaking, this piece, which is also the foreword to the book, is my final writing.

  During the Olympic Games — regardless of what name Taiwanese compete under — the nation’s athletes strengthen the identification of all Taiwanese with Taiwan as they compete openly, equally and fairly with athletes from around the world.

  The governments and peoples of China and the rest of the world have shown that regardless of the name, they have accepted the first sentence of “A Declaration of Formosan Self-salvation,” which would also be the final sentence in my final piece of writing: “‘One China, one Taiwan’ has long been a solid truth.”

  Peng Ming-min is a former Presidential Office adviser.

  Translated by Perry Svensson
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