Search for the writer "Bù Xiǔ" and a string of glowing labels surfaces: "prodigy", "the new generation's literary darling", "an Instagram following hundreds of thousands strong".
Bù Xiǔ looks back on all that acclaim plainly: her earliest writing was simply a private record of how life felt and what she had lived through. Only later, as more and more people began to take notice, did she arrive at the thought of "wanting to give the world a little good through my own fragile strength". Three bestsellers on, that thought remains unchanged — the first book commemorates the self who lived with depression, the second commemorates the self at every stage along the way, and the third commemorates the stories that unfolded across her youth.
Gentle words, a comfort to the heart
In Bù Xiǔ's press interviews, the word "gentle" turns up without fail, and for most readers it is the way they first come to know her. "Gentle" is an abstract word, and we suspect plenty of people, like us, picture only a fragment or an image at the mention of it — a parent patiently stroking a child's back. Bù Xiǔ reads it a little differently: gentleness, for her, is "handling everything with a soft touch, looking after yourself well, and then going out to love the world".
This is not a lofty label, not a self-satisfied title — it is simply a word she uses to remind herself. The bio on her own Instagram reads "Forever in love, forever yielding to gentleness", reminding her of two attitudes to life: however hard or sorrowful life may be, meet it with longing and hope; toward gentle people, things and moments, offer no resistance — only acceptance, only being moved.
In one interview around the release of her first book, Bù Xiǔ said that thanking others is, in the end, the easy part — moving yourself is the hardest of all. To touch others, we can write about things that have nothing to do with us, we can pile up our craft, we can study, we can practise. But writing words that brim your own eyes with tears, writing words you yourself love — that cannot be practised, and yet Bù Xiǔ counts it the single most important thing. The pen in her hand will keep moving, bringing readers different stories, finding for herself reasons for her heart to beat, adding a shade of gentleness to the world.
Pulling back the curtain on those gentle words
Some might imagine that Bù Xiǔ, cradled tenderly by reality, is the reason she can keep writing those gentle lines. In truth, it is not so — she is simply unsparing in talking about the years she spent living with depression.
Bù Xiǔ admits that at first she could not accept that she had fallen ill: "I used to be such a spirited person — why have I deteriorated into this?" Later, she pressed pause on everything, neither studying nor working, and spent quite some time putting her own life back in order. Looking back, more than sorrowful, she was a withered flower — without a breath of life in her — all because she had lost, at the time, the very reasons that once made her heart beat.
Bù Xiǔ does not dwell much on the blood and tears of her stand-off with depression back then; I imagine those were her distant yet vivid moments, the ones that let her thank her past illness so calmly, reclaim the gentleness that is now hers alone, and embrace her present life with love. The Bù Xiǔ of today no longer sees depression as something to be ashamed of: an emotional ailment is like a cold or a fever — it needs to be taken seriously, it needs a doctor, it needs treatment, and there is nothing strange or alarming about that. Society still holds many misconceptions about mental illness, and she hopes to use her own small measure of influence to speak up about what depression truly looks like.
Recovering from depression has not meant that hard times never trouble Bù Xiǔ again. She still moves through different emotions each day — there is happiness and contentment, and there is sorrow and unease. Having come through depression, Bù Xiǔ has learned no longer to hide her grief behind the brightness and brave face she shows the world, but instead to embrace every emotion. "Once I let myself feel sad to the very depths, the sorrow gradually dries away on its own."
When negative emotions come crashing in, Bù Xiǔ will, most of the time, immerse herself fully in them. Forcing herself to keep them at a distance only makes it harder to feel the joys and angers and sorrows inside the emotion. If you're sad, then be sad — who never feels sad? Only by walking right up to a negative emotion can you face it, talk with it, and make peace.
In her stand-off with negative emotions, Bù Xiǔ does not force herself to do anything; she does only what she enjoys — singing, keeping a journal, watching a play. These are her ways, not necessarily mine or yours. "The way to lay your own sorrows to rest still has to be sought through your own effort, and the searching itself is, in truth, a beautiful thing."
To the self who once battled depression, and to readers struggling now, what is the one thing she most wants to say? There is no long sermon, only a single line: "Don't be afraid — all sorrow is only a passage of life."
Reporter: Tess Wong
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