Oct. 31 - October.

October. Period.

The falling leaves reminded me of the trick or treat that we went on last year. Matt(s), Hannah, Abbie, Brett, Janet, Laura, Michael--remember the Siberian Communist coat last year? And of course the dog-beating stick, which was later turned into a flag by Matt James with his overbought underwears. We did compare the different level of generosity between Obama supporters and McCain supporters. This is the fun part of being in a split area. Yeah, October, and the Presidential Debates too. Winks!

One of my very good friends used to keep an annual blog entry named "October". Now she has given up this habit, due to changes in life I guess. This is the source of my inspiration for the title of this blog entry. Reggie you know about all these.

October is the time when new people walk into your life, and some others walk out of it. It has always been following this pattern. Now it's been a year, three years, five years, since they came or left. Life never ceases to surprise you, or to bring you Pandoras. Again I started to read those stuff from past years: personal journals, photos, chat history. Reading primary sources of my own life is the greatest delight of being a historian.

Yesterday evening I had a long chat with a high school friend now studying in Oxford. She is one year senior than me, and used to be the head of the literary club when I worked under her. That's how we met. Yesterday evening we said, isn't it miraculous, that we are both here in Oxford five years after we got to know each other? Five years ago if either of us had said to the other, "let's meet in Oxford five years from now", the other would definitely consider this person crazy. But now it is so. She said to me, it is really remarkable that you have achieved this far with such a humble origin and background. I don't mean to praise myself here but this was what she said. It reminds me of my happy dad, who couldn't fall asleep at all for the whole night when he heard about my being admitted to this Pembroke program. He promised to buy a big sack of firecrackers at lunar new year next year and light up all of them, as a celebration for the entire Ren family. My dad took the College Entrance Examination three times, three years in a row, failing one after another. Finally he succeeded in going to a two-year college for an associate degree. That was the only way that he could change his life from staying in the village forever. If he had failed the third time, he would be still either working in the fields every day, or picking up bricks in the construction sites in the cities as a migrant peasant worker.

Also, it is very nice to get connected again with a rarely-contacted friend in the final hours of October. Every friend has behind him or her so much story, just like every book, or every cup of drink, says my friend Liu Hong.

Two days ago, after another all-nighter writing about Hindu and Muslim concepts of Indian nationhood, I lifted the curtain, and saw a worker on the tree several yards away outside of my window. It was early in the morning, and he had already cut most of the branches of the tree, holding only to the trunk. I smiled, and waved to him. And he waived back. The next time I looked out, it was a pile of well-cut log. I guess it is time for something to rest in peace and memory, and for other to sprout anew.