Imagining the (Un)imaginable

The cover is a screenshot of my first slide taken by my course mate Jimmy.

Imagine that nature can remember the historical events. Imagine that nature can evoke one’s memory of the past. These are the themes of the paper— ‘Rain Falling on the Garden: Overcoming Trauma in Tan Twan Eng’s The Gift of Rain’— which I delivered at the MA Student Conference 2020 on 17 July 2020. Although the conference was carried out online due to the lock-down, it still attracted quite a large group of students and staff members. The conference was chaired by Dr Denis Flannery and Dr Jay Prosser. There were seven presenters who covered a diverse range of topics, for example, postcolonial literature, modern and contemporary literature, and Victorian literature.

I was very excited when Dr Flannery notified me that I was selected to be a presenter. Apart from bubbling over with excitement, a strong sense of disbelief also welled up within my heart when I was preparing the slides. It was quite hard to believe that my argument could be accepted by quite a number of parties. I shall also be delivering a modified version of this paper, which focuses on Tan Twan Eng’s The Garden of Evening Mists, at the ASLE-UKI Postgraduate Conference. I argue for the role of political ecology in overcoming trauma that has resulted from the Japanese Occupation of Malaya (1941-1945). The model of political ecology I adopt is conceptualised by Jane Bennett. Put simply, it refers to a human-nonhuman confederation, in which the members are able to impact upon one another. I contend that Tan’s writing imagines nature—water and the garden—as having the ability to influence the characters’ minds, which is important in helping them overcome trauma.

I am a nature lover, but I did not have the courage to direct my dissertation towards an area which believes that nature possesses the agency to influence humans. I experienced a paradigm shift when I attended the seminars of a module taught by Professor Graham Huggan—Postcolonialism, Animals and the Environment. The module opened up an avenue for me to examine the potential of nature in initiating changes that will be felt by humans. It allowed me to view the world from a less anthropocentric manner and attribute agency to nature—a belief which resonates with the power of coronavirus that has taken away so many lives. It was also in that module that I got to know about Jane Bennett’s eye-opening book—Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things—which cogently argues for a political ecology in which nonhumans can initiate changes that will impact upon humans.

I would also like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to my MA dissertation supervisor—Professor John McLeod. I first contacted Prof McLeod not long after I came to Leeds in 2019. I sent him an email to get the questions of a postcolonial quiz held in the School of English. Little did I know that he would become my supervisor, which was quite a surprise for me. As a postcolonialist with a wealth of experience, Prof McLeod’s academic rigour allows me to understand my weaknesses and discover the potential of my project. Besides expressing confidence in me, he also assures me of the originality and value of my research. I like the academic rigour he demonstrated when marking my drafts, which helps me engage with the arguments more critically. He always asks me to be more patient with myself in achieving advances along the academic journey. It will be a long and arduous journey, and delivering papers at conferences is definitely a milestone which represents my development as a person who aspires to be a committed scholar.

I remember the sensation when I spoke in front of my screen. What I spoke were ideas that have always been vibrating in my brain. I have been reading or listening to stories about the Japanese Occupation of Malaya since I was young. The conference was the first formal occasion in which I talked about my views about the war based on Tan’s novel. I have not experienced any horror as intense as war brutalities, but that does not make me any less capable of talking about ways to overcome trauma. I truly believe that trauma could encompass a wide range of instances which produce an injurious impact on our souls, which means anyone is eligible to talk about trauma as long as he is willing to cut his critical teeth into the amorphous emotional pain.

Most importantly, I talked about the magic of water and the garden. During the Q and A session, a student asked me about the source of my inspiration. My father comes from a farmer/rubber tapper family; my mother comes from a fisherman family. The backgrounds suggest that the images of water and plants have always been flowing in my veins. This was a question that I had not thought about. Perhaps it has always been integral to my life, to the extent that it could imperceptibly direct my thoughts when choosing my dissertation topic.

Dr Prosser said I have a story in me. Yes, this is a story which has shaped who I am. I remember the days when people did not believe, or could not imagine, that I could get into Leeds. The fact that I could come to England has exceeded my wildest imagination, for none of my parents attended university. It is difficult for people to believe that someone who hails from a Mandarin-speaking family like me can pursue an MA in English literature at Leeds. I will not forget the day I landed at London Heathrow Airport: an ordinary Chinese amidst a big group of white men. None of my family members has been this far away from home. I will soon return to London Heathrow. I am not sure whether that will be the last time I will be there. The future is imbued with uncertainties.

The belief that water and the garden can impact on humans’ thoughts, as expounded in my conference paper, is quite unimaginable. The imagination of this unimaginable concept started with my bold attempt to imagine that I could come to England, which exposes me to so many thought-provoking theories. My conference paper has gradually been developing into a dissertation. The unimaginable will remain unimaginable if no imagination is made. Perhaps the prefix ‘-un’ symbolises not the impediments in reality, but our volition, our courage to imagine the (un)imaginable, our perseverance to pursue something that seems to keep receding from us.

I have an aspiration since I was in primary school. I know the persistent endeavours made and countless failures experienced will make me a stronger person to realise the dream. An unimaginable dream is certainly not a dream which is impossible to imagine. A dream may seem unimaginable, but some imagination is worth imagining. We will never be able to envision what kind of people we can be or how far we can go if we do not imagine. It is August 2020, the once unimaginable dream of mine is slowly reified into memories. I am not sure what the future has in hold for me, but I am imagining the infinite possibilities sparkling like stars in the sky—shimmering in darkness and emanating incessant streams of mystery. I am now imagining the next (un)imaginable dream, what about you?