About

Tim, Xiaotian Fan, is a writer, guitarist, audio engineer, table tennis and tennis player, and essentially a student, hitherto. He was born in Beijing, China, in 2004 and lived mostly in his mother town until his parents shifted their focus from Beijing to Shanghai. He spent his kindergarten time in both public and Montessori systems, resonating with his later education experience: graduated from a public middle school, although through an unusual path, and entered an International Baccalaureate member school. He is a high school senior seeking further undergraduate education to start in 2024 fall.

 

In recounting the reasons behind his commencement of creative writing, rebellion stands at the forefront. He once resorted to writing as a means to overwrite the pre-existing persona of a stereotypical STEM enthusiast, a label earned after achieving a global ranking in the T70s during the World Robot Olympiad's junior regular group competition in the 8th grade. However, over time, it transformed into a form of personal expression.

 

The act of expression itself demands significant courage. Still, the inherent ambiguity found in poetry allows him to weave his essence into a myriad of images, offering a faint opportunity to be fully understood. He never undermined the joy derived from this process, yet his self-awareness compelled him to confront a symptom that manifested as he immersed himself further in poetry.

 

As he delved deeper into his writing, an addiction began to take root. The more he became entangled in his creative work, the more a sense of resentment grew alongside the pleasure it brought. The question of whether these words could genuinely represent his inner self became an ever-present shadow, casting doubt upon his art and voice.

 

However, since he found sheer delight in the language of music, he discovered that the complexities of language, akin to poetry, presented his own haunting challenges. His fingers danced on steel strings, not merely producing pitches but attempting to converse with others through music. He found himself confronting questions he had once escaped by immersing himself in melodies – questions about his own place, the message he wished to convey, and the adequacy of that conveyance.

 

Suddenly, two of his most profound sources of pleasure became jointly terrifying, challenging deeply held beliefs and his sense of relief. Yet, amidst this inner turmoil, certain musical anecdotes emerged into his world. For example, when Chopin removed the subtitle "At The Cemetery," originally suggesting that his Nocturne in G Minor, Op. 15 No. 3 was inspired by Hamlet, the piece transcended the boundaries of program music. It granted the freedom to name it anything – Hamlet, Titanic, or Barbie. The realization that the right and freedom to interpret music, and, of course, poetry, had long been overshadowed by an obsession with the "author's intention" left an indelible impression.

 

One of his cherished musicians, John Mayer, once sang, "Moving on and getting over are not the same." He couldn't claim to have fully gotten over his inner struggles, but the process of moving forward held significance in his very essence. The fear of being definitively defined by a "final draft" had, for too long, caused him to overlook the excitement of rediscovering himself during the creative process. In a sense, everything represented him: the motivation to write, the verses, the guitar strums, the codebase, and, equally, the interpretations of others – yet none of these suffice.

 

In the past, he had lamented Oscar Wilde's assertion, "To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim." However, from his current perspective, above all and beyond "self," the art and the artist were not adversaries but companions, guiding him through life. Being misunderstood did not signify the end of the world; it became a driving force, compelling him to strive for better conveyance and, ultimately, to embrace the wonderfulness of chance.