Chapter 4 Genius and Mental Illness
That’s why!
That’s why everyone started distancing themselves from him and saw him as odd.
“You think we didn’t know? We know you went to the mental health clinic every week. You think we are all crazy like you?!”
“Shut up!” Ling yelled, cutting off Zhuang from saying more. “School bus, follow order, stop!”
The bus pulled over with a creak.
Ling nudged the three guys to get off the car, leaving Dugu with his words.
“You’re wrong. A neurological disorder is not the same as a mental disorder.”
“A neurological disorder is a kind of neuropathy, but mental illness is a breakdown, when the brain is not working correctly.”
“I’m mentally ill, not crazy. Remember not to get it confused next time.”
“What the hell . . . ?” Zhuang seemed angry.
“Don’t!” Ling shouted, nodding at Du. “Sorry.” Then she dragged them away.
Under the rising sun, shadows of the three young men and one young woman stretched on the ground, resembling a goodbye.
Ling’s shadow blurred in Dugu’s eyes until it was a black and white photo, no different from others.
He wiped away a tear. So this was heartbreak; even the mentally ill could feel pain.
He immediately began to think. Did the tear come from instinct or something the brain controlled?
This was a problem he liked to ponder.
At the back of the bus, a girl in glasses watched Du with sympathy.
****
“Listen, we can’t let you fill out the college major preferences this way.”
The teacher adjusted his glasses while looking at Dugu. In his hand was the form every high school student had to fill out before taking the college entrance exams.
“Why not? Going to which college is our decision, right? Why does the school want to stop me?”
“But every major is a specialty. Since junior year of high school we have made some students science majors and some liberal arts, and you’ve always been a science major. You’ve never studied political science or any foreign languages, so you can’t apply to the liberal arts college. Listen, Du, I know you have—”
The teacher’s words were stopped by Du. “You know I’m mentally ill and do things weirdly?”
“Yes, oh. I mean, no . . .” The older man started to sweat.
“Wouldn’t that be great though? Everyone says philosophers are either crazy or mentally ill, so I’d be perfect.” Du turned to look at the other students in the class.
“I know there are some unflattering rumors about you, but you really shouldn’t obsess about them . . .”
“Fermeboite! J'enassaz, tes betisent!” Dugu blurted the words, stopping his teacher.
The older man was shocked, but unable to reply. He knew it was some kind of language, but didn’t understand.
“Shut up, I’m tired of your nonsense. It’s French,” a shy voice solved the confusion, which further mortified the teacher.
Dugu looked at the girl in the glasses with surprise. “Danke!”
“Nichts danken! He was thanking me, and I said ‘You’re welcome.’ It’s German.” The girl was skinny and short, and rather geekish. She wasn’t one of the pretty girls, nor did she have the best grades.
“Usted tienegran talento!” Dugu continued.
“I don’t speak Spanish, but I understood you. Thanks.” The girl blushed, but didn’t translate the words. Du said, “You’re talented.”
Dugu seemed on a roll, however, as he kept talking. “Zoon vaijfje! Figlioun femmina! Filho cadela! できそこない! Mierda! Какое бесстыжее лицо! Бесстыжие глаза! Бесстыдник! Cho may Ma-Cao! You think you know so much? What else do you want to know? I’ll tell you!”
The girl in glasses ran out of the class, crying.
She didn’t understand every word, but knew enough to know they were curses.
Dugu turned back to the teacher. “What else do you want to know? Should I recite the poli-sci textbook from front to back, or from back to front?”
“Report reading a write. Period. Materials philosophical and cultural related collected, comma, experiences personal with combined. Period. Both between relationship the discussing essay an write to . . .”
A few students realized he was reciting the political science textbook word for word, in reverse order.
If some people had watched him as if he was crazy before, now their gaze was more like watching a genius.
He knew a dozen languages, remembered everything he read, recited textbooks from front to back . . .
If he wasn’t a genius, then what was genius?
There really was a thin line between genius and crazy.
Some of their looks almost held admiration.
But the admiration was quickly turning to awkwardness, as Dugu watched them with apathy.
“Now you know I was seen as crazy because I’d rather be with a bunch of morons than be treated as a genius."
“Now I know it’s better to be among your own kind. Genius with genius, moron with moron. I should have picked a better circle.”
"See you for never!"
“It made me unhappy to know all of you. I hope I never have to see any of you again! See you for never!” Du left the classroom.
He couldn’t feel happy, but this was the first time he felt vindicated for his illness.
Chapter 4 Genius and Mental Illness
That’s why!
That’s why everyone started distancing themselves from him and saw him as odd.
“You think we didn’t know? We know you went to the mental health clinic every week. You think we are all crazy like you?!”
“Shut up!” Ling yelled, cutting off Zhuang from saying more. “School bus, follow order, stop!”
The bus pulled over with a creak.
Ling nudged the three guys to get off the car, leaving Dugu with his words.
“You’re wrong. A neurological disorder is not the same as a mental disorder.”
“A neurological disorder is a kind of neuropathy, but mental illness is a breakdown, when the brain is not working correctly.”
“I’m mentally ill, not crazy. Remember not to get it confused next time.”
“What the hell . . . ?” Zhuang seemed angry.
“Don’t!” Ling shouted, nodding at Du. “Sorry.” Then she dragged them away.
Under the rising sun, shadows of the three young men and one young woman stretched on the ground, resembling a goodbye.
Ling’s shadow blurred in Dugu’s eyes until it was a black and white photo, no different from others.
He wiped away a tear. So this was heartbreak; even the mentally ill could feel pain.
He immediately began to think. Did the tear come from instinct or something the brain controlled?
This was a problem he liked to ponder.
At the back of the bus, a girl in glasses watched Du with sympathy.
****
“Listen, we can’t let you fill out the college major preferences this way.”
The teacher adjusted his glasses while looking at Dugu. In his hand was the form every high school student had to fill out before taking the college entrance exams.
“Why not? Going to which college is our decision, right? Why does the school want to stop me?”
“But every major is a specialty. Since junior year of high school we have made some students science majors and some liberal arts, and you’ve always been a science major. You’ve never studied political science or any foreign languages, so you can’t apply to the liberal arts college. Listen, Du, I know you have—”
The teacher’s words were stopped by Du. “You know I’m mentally ill and do things weirdly?”
“Yes, oh. I mean, no . . .” The older man started to sweat.
“Wouldn’t that be great though? Everyone says philosophers are either crazy or mentally ill, so I’d be perfect.” Du turned to look at the other students in the class.
“I know there are some unflattering rumors about you, but you really shouldn’t obsess about them . . .”
“Fermeboite! J'enassaz, tes betisent!” Dugu blurted the words, stopping his teacher.
The older man was shocked, but unable to reply. He knew it was some kind of language, but didn’t understand.
“Shut up, I’m tired of your nonsense. It’s French,” a shy voice solved the confusion, which further mortified the teacher.
Dugu looked at the girl in the glasses with surprise. “Danke!”
“Nichts danken! He was thanking me, and I said ‘You’re welcome.’ It’s German.” The girl was skinny and short, and rather geekish. She wasn’t one of the pretty girls, nor did she have the best grades.
“Usted tienegran talento!” Dugu continued.
“I don’t speak Spanish, but I understood you. Thanks.” The girl blushed, but didn’t translate the words. Du said, “You’re talented.”
Dugu seemed on a roll, however, as he kept talking. “Zoon vaijfje! Figlioun femmina! Filho cadela! できそこない! Mierda! Какое бесстыжее лицо! Бесстыжие глаза! Бесстыдник! Cho may Ma-Cao! You think you know so much? What else do you want to know? I’ll tell you!”
The girl in glasses ran out of the class, crying.
She didn’t understand every word, but knew enough to know they were curses.
Dugu turned back to the teacher. “What else do you want to know? Should I recite the poli-sci textbook from front to back, or from back to front?”
“Report reading a write. Period. Materials philosophical and cultural related collected, comma, experiences personal with combined. Period. Both between relationship the discussing essay an write to . . .”
A few students realized he was reciting the political science textbook word for word, in reverse order.
If some people had watched him as if he was crazy before, now their gaze was more like watching a genius.
He knew a dozen languages, remembered everything he read, recited textbooks from front to back . . .
If he wasn’t a genius, then what was genius?
There really was a thin line between genius and crazy.
Some of their looks almost held admiration.
But the admiration was quickly turning to awkwardness, as Dugu watched them with apathy.
“Now you know I was seen as crazy because I’d rather be with a bunch of morons than be treated as a genius."
“Now I know it’s better to be among your own kind. Genius with genius, moron with moron. I should have picked a better circle.”
"See you for never!"
“It made me unhappy to know all of you. I hope I never have to see any of you again! See you for never!” Du left the classroom.
He couldn’t feel happy, but this was the first time he felt vindicated for his illness.
