When commitment is what it takes to get you through

As August draws to a close, how is your story coming along?

With the September 16 deadline for the Chinese Writing Contest 2026 fast approaching, it is worth reminding every aspiring writer of a fundamental truth: sooner or later, writing simply requires you to sit there and struggle.

The first time I heard that phrase, it was from a musician describing his songwriting process. I remember thinking: no one could be more committed than that. It is a visceral, unfiltered way of saying "never give up"—a level of dedication that is just as vital for those of us who build with words.

Today, sitting with your thoughts feels harder than ever. Compared to the endless stream of instant gratification on our screens, almost everything else feels like an overwhelming commitment. Wherever we go, our attention is tethered to the devices in our hands, drowning us in easily digestible entertainment. In a world designed to erode our focus, simple acts that require self-discipline have become rare.

Even reading, an activity capable of giving us profound joy and intellectual stimulation, has been reframed as a chore requiring artificial motivation. For instance, a parent boasted online about “tricking” his son into reading by paying him a dollar per book. “I’ve spent twelve dollars so far this year—best investment I’ve ever made,” he claimed.

It is a depressing realisation. Children are clever; soon enough, that boy will demand a raise to keep up with inflation. What happens when the payments stop? Will the joy of reading remain? Highly doubtful. External financial incentives build fragile habits.

Unfortunately, this flawed logic extends far beyond parenting; it has compromised language learning as well.

Around a decade ago, a global wave of enthusiasm swept through Mandarin education. Political leaders called for massive increases in Chinese language programs, and students rushed to enroll. As a Chinese teacher, I welcomed the enthusiasm—but the underlying motive concerned me.

According to various media outlets, an international survey at the time revealed that the overwhelmingly dominant reason people studied Chinese was to boost their employment prospects, riding the coattails of China’s rapid economic expansion. But relying solely on economic incentives is a gamble. World affairs shift, and when economic growth cools or geopolitical tensions rise, that transactional motivation evaporates.

Those who studied Chinese purely for a resume line may now feel their effort was misplaced. A 2025 report confirms that global enrollment in Chinese programs has dropped alongside rising international friction. The connection is undeniable: when you tie learning to short-term market trends, interest vanishes the moment the trend turns.

We need to fundamentally rethink why we learn. Monetary incentives are short-lived, but the intrinsic reward of learning endures.

This is precisely the alternative narrative the Chinese Writing Contest aims to build. It offers a different kind of motivation—one grounded in the inherent beauty of reading and writing Chinese characters.

Reading and writing are both the means and the end of true learning. Reading invites us to spend quiet hours engaging deeply with text, while writing asks us to sit patiently with blank pages. In doing so, we step away from the noise of social media feeds and give ourselves a rare, transformative opportunity: the space to reach deep into our souls and find our own creative spark.

Deep reading and meaningful writing can no longer be taken for granted. They demand discipline, focus, and quiet courage. And sometimes, that courage is as simple as sitting there, facing the blank page, and embracing the struggle.