Many times I asked myself if it is worthwhile to devote my limited life to history studies. It's like you prepay your future to the past, while generating no wealth directly. Dozens of scholars, so called, just speak rubbish and pretend to be stars, or sth famous. Quoted from More, scholars seem scums of the society, despising the public, but making no good. That is what the ivory tower's made of. And that's why I had the idea of quitting. Yet I have not. One night I had a discussion with David. "Hey, you cannot be a right and post modernist at the same time," David grunted from his crouching sleeping bag, "let Said and Foucault go to hell." You will not surprise at that word from so moderate a guy like him if you know he is a left. "I values merely the equality and common sense knowledge," and "Modern is good no matter how you dislike it." Maybe he is right. I have to admit it. Modern seems to fit China, at least nowdays. That recalls me of another discussion with Guo Yang, who has a belief, years ago.  According to him, it seems hopeless for one who chooses the road of academic, or the milieu changes him or her, or (s)he changes the self. I hope I am not changed. For I am the changer, that is the destiny of historians. It is tough when you see into the history that is inconsistent with Chinese common sense. But you will be moved if you notice the scratchs that history left on people's mind, and some lost generations. As David was moved by himself at the end of his presentation. Burdens always have some shoulders. Buddha versed, "Anyone should not go to the infernos except me." Historians should have that enlightenment.

当新年的第一缕阳光透过蓝色花布窗帘，照在燕园21楼3层某个小房间的床上时，我在熟睡中表达了自己对新事物一贯稳重而又诚挚的欢迎。我还是我，燕园也还是燕园，但熟悉的陌生表明时间酵母发生了作用，我像是马达加斯加里的Alex回到了故乡，可是此间的少年却已经一去不返了。北京出奇的冷，冷得太阳像是个涩生生的孩子，把红扑扑的脸躲在晕彩后面，天空中投放了人工防雪剂，雾蒙蒙的在寒枝掩映下像是童话，我也这童话中度过一周的新年假期。