亚伊《我本是个舞者》

I must confess that I am a dancer, not a writer. At best, I can claim to be an amateur literary enthusiast with a few modestly published prose pieces. However, when Mr. Cirenluobu called and requested that I write an essay on creative writing, I was taken aback. Upon reflection, I realised that this rare attention was due to the scarcity of writers from our Luoba ethnic group, and I am deeply grateful for this recognition. I want to take this opportunity to express my profound gratitude to the teachers who have supported and encouraged our Luoba culture for many years. Without their encouragement, my literary pursuits would have been even more improbable.

I grew up in an ethnic group without a written language, but fortunately, our country has granted us ample freedom and respect. From the moment I learned to write diaries in Chinese, I endeavoured to record every story and legend of our Luoba people. Unwittingly, I fell deeply in love with literature. Initially, those diaries were written for me, but years later, I nervously submitted them to Teachers Zhaxidawa and Maliuhua and was heartened by their recognition and encouragement.

Back then, as a newcomer from the Luoba mountains, I felt overwhelmed by the world's vastness, struggling to communicate fluently in either Tibetan or mature Chinese. Dance became my profession; first, as a dancer and then as a choreographer, I sought to find a spiritual language for the Luoba people through bodily expression and written words. Perhaps I overestimated myself.

I hope to remain as I was initially—awkwardly writing Chinese characters, always clutching a Chinese dictionary, and loving to write diaries. I want to document the oral culture of the Luoba bit by bit, acutely aware of the fate of an ethnic group that relies solely on oral tradition in today's era. The Luoba culture is vibrant, and I do not want it to vanish prematurely.

Whenever I return home, I long to hear the Luoba elders tell stories in our native language. Sadly, the relentless passage of time has obscured many of these tales, and fewer elders can recount them. Some children cannot even understand or speak their ethnic language, leaving me in a state of confusion and despair. The passing of each elder takes away a part of our culture, and I wonder who will continue to document the oral literature, folk culture, and historical evolution of our Luoba people.

The Luoba elders tirelessly advocate that "all things have a spirit." They teach that nature is close to us and that we can communicate through our words and actions. They also emphasise that the reverence for nature and the compilation of so many beautiful legends reveal the humility and universal love inherent in Luoba's primitive religion. Inspired by these elders, I have attempted to write prose and novels.

I aim to use the folk stories, myths, and legends of the Luoba, along with vague historical facts, to subtly portray the images of our deceased elders and their beliefs about life and death.

I also wish to convey emotional experiences and rational reflections through the remaining oral literature and myths, hoping to awaken the new generation of Luoba people to the importance of preserving and inheriting their own ethnic culture.

After circling the lake a few times and returning to their starting point, Yang Dafa asked the fishmonger to separate the fish and shrimp into large plastic bags, paid the money, and took them away. On the road, Yang Dafa told Tu Yang, "Let's stay at the Dafa Hotel in the county town."

"I don’t need to stay in a hotel if I’m going home," replied Tu Yang, lost in thought, pondering how to help Deng Larui improve production.

As they arrived at the peak of Longteng Mountain, the Daying River emerged from the mountains in the distance to the east, gradually gaining momentum. Its downstream was blocked by the Hutiaoxia Gorge, converging into a vast river between Mangyun and Nongzhang. The sun's afterglow reflected on the Daying River from Maokong Mountain, making the water shimmer with a golden light.