自由 (zìyóu) / kelani river, sri lanka

When work or life gets me down, I close my eyes and remember the Kelani River in Sri Lanka.

I remember a river tinged brown from churning sediment below, teeming with energy swelled by the rain. I remember the steady consistency of a forceful current that could wash you away if you did not dig deep into the river bed, or grasped tightly to the rocks along shore.

Rafting down this river in 2013, an Asian girl traveling solo in the Sri Lanka wilderness, I tried to close a turbulent chapter of my life with an adventure.

What have you gotten yourself into, Yina? I remember wondering at the beginning of this white water rafting excursion, my knuckles white from clenching so tightly onto the raft. I was terrified and questioning my judgement. Such a thin piece of inflated rubber between me and the angry water below.

Until one of the days, I fell from our raft into the water amidst a sudden turn.

My head immediately submerged in the water.

Waving my arms frantically, unable to see through the sediment, I remember literally feeling the current against my body. It felt as if someone had gripped a fist around me, containing me, forcing me underneath the water. Where was the raft?

Amidst the sound of rushing water and splashes, I fought to climb to the surface.

Finally, my head broke through. I tilted my head back trying to gulp down air — precious oxygen — kicking against the water as hard as I could to keep myself afloat, my trusty life jacket doing the rest of the work. As my heart rate and the river both stilled, the sheer adrenaline from the experience made me laugh out loud.

And suddenly, the river no longer felt like something holding me down.

It felt like it was lifting me up. I’m not religious by any means of the word; but I’ve often wondered if I experienced nature’s baptism. 

Romantically, that’s what it felt like. 

Logically, I know the river and its current must have carried me down to a gentler section of its waters.

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I remember panicked yells in broken English and worried expressions as the guides tried to haul me back on board.

And me, a young Asian girl alone by herself in this foreign country and wilderness, stubbornly waving them away as she laughed at the juxtaposition of emotions on their faces — her of pure joy and childlike wonder, theirs of panic and concern.

There was no way I could go back onto the raft now, not after I’d experienced what happens when you leave it. It was unexplainable, but I needed to stay in the river.

Through a combination of gestures and English phrases, and gesticulating fervently for them to continue rafting down, I floated the rest of the way on my back down this teeming river.

Rain pounded overhead — so forceful on my face I could hardly open my eyes as I listened to the symphony of falling rain in a maniacal river intricately woven into the mountain itself. And I'm sure at some point I couldn't tell if it was raindrops or tears that were wetting my face.

What I was feeling, I realize now, was freedom.

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In Chinese, the characters for freedom are 自由 (zìyóu).
自 (zì): Self
由 (yóu): Depend on

These two characters are beautiful when you see them side-by-side. You see both have a little something that extends outward, both in the “自”  and the “由.” There’s a little something that suggests defiance of symmetry in both characters.

As if by extending outward, you extend beyond the borders constraining you.

By extending past the raft, I had freed myself.

One of my favorite components of this phrase is how “由 (yóu)” relates to freedom.

The root radical is 田 which means “field,” most likely meaning the rice paddy fields that so many of my Chinese ancestors toiled under, ankle deep in water with blazing sun on their back. The character itself is reminiscent of the literal grids of the rice paddy fields, a literal yet visually beautiful character in its symmetry.

On its own, 由 means “depend on;” yet I love that by subtly extending past the field, when paired with the character 自 for “self”, 由 becomes the meaning of “freedom.”

As if by leaving the rice paddy fields of toil and responsibility, you become free. 

By depending on your own self, you become free.

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In a more authoritarian nation that emphasizes your impact on the people around you and your society, freedom is a tricky concept. It’s often discussed with a sigh from older generations, as they look at us free-spirited young ones, wondering ‘what this generation has come to’. Chinese society is so focused on the collective good – you sacrifice at the expense of personal freedom for the betterment of the nation. So how do I reckon this tension I feel toward personal freedom?

To reckon with that feeling of inner peace as my center — that stillness — despite the turbulence of a river that stopped for no one. The weightlessness of an unshackled soul, hungry for adventure. To remember “Love keeps us kind¹,” the understanding that everyone around us fights hidden battles.

These days, I feel less and less free. Maybe it’s the adulting and the hectic responsibilities we carry on our shoulders. Or maybe it’s how rushed we are, always, in our day-to-day life. When is there ever time to float down a river? 

I’m starting to forget the exact color of the water, the temperature and the force of the current, and the raindrops on my face. As I try to keep pace with a city that rejects calm like a failing organ transplant, I tell myself to remember what it felt like for a river to carry me.

1. Linkin Park, The Messenger