Reading Notes: The Middle School Second-Year Disease That Sophisticated Children Can't Have

Reprinted from

《Perspective》 2019 09 MAY / 24 P38 《A Group of Cynical Children Who Cannot Feel the Middle School Second-Year Syndrome》 / The 00s Generation Who Want to Enter Peking University

In my personal observation, Chinese children rarely show open rebellion, but more often engage in silent grumbling.

There is a 60s-generation father who is always in tune with the times, and he often discusses with me why Chinese teenagers behave this way or that. I feel like he is treating me as a specimen for study.

One day, he suddenly asked me, "Why do Chinese teenagers like Japanese anime?" It seemed he had been stimulated somewhere. I briefly answered him, but he insisted that I write a short article, as if also trying to answer the confusion of other parents.

Chinese Teenagers Are Not Allowed to See Anything

Why do Chinese teenagers like watching Japanese anime? Naturally, because there are things in Japanese anime that are not available in China. There are no things for Chinese teenagers to see, whether songs, anime, or books. They are either too childish or too adult. At my current high school age, things are slightly better, but at thirteen or fourteen, I couldn't sing children's songs or romantic songs; I couldn't watch "The Sheep" or "The 甄嬛传" (The Chrysanthemum and the Sword). In summary, Chinese teenagers are in a very awkward position.

The things in Japanese anime are simple: they are the essential elements in every teenager's growth. Seeing the darkness of the world, examining different people's appearances, and focusing on self-identity. In short, Chinese teenagers need to see more, and by seeing more, we will find our place. But that place is not on TV, not in classic literature, and certainly not in anti-Japanese war dramas.

Feeling that you are "seen," and discovering that many people in the world are like you, or even more extreme, but you like that feeling - I know it very well. You can play a text-based chat game for several hours, waiting for a greeting from a virtual girl on the other side of the screen; you can write thousands of characters in the gaps between heavy studies, moved by even a single comment from someone who just passed by your QQ group or Bilibili community; you can secretly save every penny, just to give a gift, flowers, or coins to someone you don't even know, who might be a net novel author, a game streamer, an independent singer, or a commentary YouTuber... just to express that tiny bit of liking and gratitude. There are also those who wear earphones and are introverted, who silently save all their favorite character images on their phones, and those who write fan fiction with average writing skills... These people include academically weak students, otaku girls, star chasers, and pseudo-literati. Sometimes they seem childish and reckless, sometimes cynical, sometimes pretentious. But without exception, they are all lonely.

Chinese Teenagers Are Not the Main Characters of This Society

My father didn't say anything for a while after hearing me talk like that. Then he asked me, "What is 'Chūnībyō'?" Another Japanese term. I had to explain it: Chūnībyō refers to the mental state of middle school second-year students who are self-centered, think they are special, see the adult world as dark, and call themselves princesses or saviors. It's a state of avoiding reality while desperately trying to show off, which is an unavoidable psychological state during adolescence.

Then I told my father that Chinese children don't really have Chūnībyō; they are mostly worldly and practical.

Chūnībyō is a disease of thinking you're the main character, but Chinese teenagers are not the main characters of this country. Unlike Japan or the United States, everyone must understand teenagers' thoughts, and teenagers are the trend.

We, dear as the "flowers of the motherland," have never been the mainstream of this country. Most of the time, we are indulged and pampered, yet live with impoverished minds; we are idolized by everyone, yet "ungrateful" enough to feel the universe is cold and indifferent; we feel we are being taken care of and valued, but our words seem to never be truly heard. It's said that Chinese children are like emperors in their families, right? They are well-fed and well-clothed, living in comfort, but they are just puppets. Who would really listen to their ideas? Why should they even care about their good fortune?

Chinese children are not without Chūnībyō. They also boast about their superiority, and occasionally show bursts of heroism. But Chūnībyō is a "luxury" disease, one that costs a lot in terms of "treatment fees." A group that lacks confidence to speak up has no capital for unrestrained expression. In my personal observation, Chinese children rarely show open rebellion, but more often engage in silent grumbling.

Loving anime, but few truly get addicted; occasionally passionate, but a few math problems can cool them down; arguing with parents at night, throwing their youthful pride to the ground, thinking everything is unforgivable, but the next day, still getting up early for school. After doing this multiple times, they learn not to waste energy on meaningless rebellion, and to not interrupt when their mothers talk, and to lower their heads and pretend to repent when teachers scold them. Worldliness can save them from many troubles and protect themselves. The snacks tucked into their mouths during class, the extracurricular novels hidden in their desks, the earphone wires curled in their sleeves - these are the last little bits of happiness they cling to when compromising with this harsh world.

Children Are Hugging a Secret That Parents Don't Know

Actually, I might have exaggerated a bit. Chinese teenagers are not as bad as that. For example, now I can finally see more and more domestic anime targeting teenagers on the screen, and I have the fortune to follow many talented people: independent musicians who are both singers and composers, pseudo-voiced male vocalists, and "ghost 畜" editing masters who are experts in editing and rhyming. I feel that a young, vibrant force is emerging in this country, although it stumbles, it can still reveal the boundless possibilities of a more inclusive and open cultural growth.

But China is still China. Undercurrents can only flow beneath the mainstream. If you look closely, you'll find this phenomenon is so incredible: things that are well-known among the 90s and 00s generations are unknown to their parents. It's as if we live in two worlds, not only in age but also in understanding, separated by a huge gap.

In the same country, same city, even same roof, people can manage to be completely unrelated and uncomprehending. Using a popular internet phrase, it's "chilling to think about it." It's as if Chinese children are all hugging a secret together. At a certain age, they start to embrace online novels, games, and social media, gaining slang, obscure knowledge, hidden rules, and sex education (haha, Chinese teenagers' sex education is all self-taught, either by reading novels or watching videos). They do it unspoken, understood without needing to speak. You can just check the Bilibili, QQ, Weibo, and NetEase Cloud Music communities, and you'll find these people are everywhere online.

Looking back, I realize that no matter how different we are, we all grew up with a sense of solitary courage, resisting stubbornly. Unfortunately, these stories have no one to tell. Those who survived childhood's trials either become polished gems shining on higher platforms or become rounded-off individuals who are no different from most adults. It seems everyone thinks: "It's all the same, so what's the point of talking about it? Let China just keep growing generation after generation."

But why do we all know it, yet never speak? I no longer see those looks. The looks my family members give when they see bed scenes in TV dramas; the looks others give when I'm the only one who can't solve a problem in the Olympiad math class; the looks of those who know the gossip in the class when I don't have WeChat. Tell me, why do you all know, yet never tell me? What did I do wrong? Hmph, even if you know, I might not care.

Sometimes, not knowing isn't the worst. The worst is that those who don't know don't want to listen, and those who know don't want to speak. Honestly, if one day Chinese parents can only receive this look from their children: a look of detachment with a hint of superiority, and Chinese children can only receive this look from their parents: a look of indifference due to lack of interest, or a look of condemnation based on assumptions, I think that would be truly pitiful. The observer is pitiful, and the observed is also pitiful, making this country seem somehow pitiful.

One Day, the Roaring Undercurrents Will Break the Surface

To be honest, the first time I joined a Bilibili community in sixth grade and the first time I used a mobile phone in high school was indeed a night of sudden growth. For instance, when I first clicked on a link to enter a game, and eventually saw a ghost face, I would always check the comments first from then on. I survived pranks, saw all sorts of trolls, haters, and water army members, and accidentally clicked on many horrifying micro-novels, gradually understanding the world adults would never speak to me about. I became more sharp and tough, knowing to observe before judging, knowing what words would earn me a cold stare, and being calm when hearing ghost stories, not flinching at a little yellow text. I also learned the art of 套路 (tactics), 反讽 (irony), and 政治正确 (political correctness), and learned to entertain myself in the uneventful growth, to resist boredom, and to find warmth in a world full of adults.

This is what I found in the adults' serious criticism of "wasting time on trivial matters," "not being serious about their studies," and "crying over nothing." This is what I can speak about. I speak it to my parents' peers and younger parents, to those who still feel misunderstood by their peers. I dedicate this to the roaring undercurrents that will one day break the surface, and to my imagined age of sentimental excess.