First Day Back to Work

The Spring Festival holiday is officially over for me. For me—and probably every single Chinese—the essence of the Spring Festival holiday is to enjoy the happiness of doing nothing. By saying “nothing” I am referring not to its literal meaning; in Chinese, an action has to be meaningful and rightful to be called something, otherwise it ends up being nothing. Things I have done during this dragon-to-snake Spring Festival include wandering alongside the seashore in Qingdao, holding up the camera lens to take a shot of Siberian seagulls, drinking freshly-made beer when walking down the streets, trying skating (for the first time in my life) on real ice while holding my girlfriend’s hand, enjoying the handmade dumplings by my girlfriend’s parents, saying hello to my grandfather at his grave, finishing endless feasts every night, taking a joyride with my parents to my old secondary school, and as usual, playing video games whenever I wish. Everything listed above cannot suffice to be something, according to what traditional Chinese culture teaches us, yet their existence is justified by the Spring Festival. Once a year, we Chinese steal a fleeting moment to remember what life’s melody could be; after that, eternal, ceaseless, and neverending struggle (sometimes pain or even agony) stands again in front of us, in the name of fate. That is why I showed off to my second-elder senior fellow this morning that I “honored the very definition of holiday” when I was out of town for the Spring Festival. Both the Chinese and the PhD culture tends to regard pure hedonism as a symbol of depravity or sin, but again, the Spring Festival serves as a silver bullet to justify my escape from my research projects.

What really was unforgettable was my reunion with some of my high school classmates (second only to the trade between Lakers and Mavericks about the Luka Dončić - Anthony Davis swap). It was in 2020 when last time I met some of them. By that time we were just graduating from our own undergraduate studies, knowing nothing about what was going to happen in the future—I mean, the Covid-19 quarantine measures were not yet terminated, of course we knew nothing about the future, just as everyone in this world. I recalled that we shared a lot about each of our own experience being an undergraduate in different universities, and everyone sounded like a student. Five years later, everything changed. A girl was not invited because she had been married and was probably not in our hometown. A boy, a real social butterfly, was gathering data for his PhD research in the Antarctic and would not make it back to China until months later. Others, including newly-invited, have already changed the perspective we look upon the society and life. Humor—sharpened into absurdity and sometimes even pure execration—became our most favored weapon against a world grown weary, cold, and unfair. Life has forced us into 100% realists, destroying even the slightest piece of idealism in our heart. I used to think that taking the trajectory of PhD training and marching towards academia might be a way to maintain being a idealist, but now it seems to be nothing but a futile delay of slipping into the “real world”. What can I say? Maybe what Monica said to the then-naive Rachel was correct: “Welcome to the real world! It sucks, you’re gonna love it.”

I showed up on my superisor’s class this morning, with my second-elder senior fellow, as the teaching assistant, in front of a whole bunch of young philosophers. In the afternoon I went back to the Research Seminar class, and found out 3 times more PhD students enrolled it compared to last year. Professor Stone Sweet must be feeling happy, for summoning so many young talents that are willing to take his class. The only feelings I have now are, however, exhausted and hungry. Due to only two hours of sleep last night (bacause of the excitement/nervousness for my first TA class, as well as the Real Madrid’s last minute winning header against Leganés at Copa del Rey), I took a three-hour nap in between two classes on the couch of our office, but it clealy was not enough. I plan to call it a week and spend tomorrow inside my room, just like what a snake would do in face of a cold winter.

Happy Year of the Snake!

Xiaoyu ZHOU

February 6, 2025