I have a student whose great-grandfather had 10 wives.

When one considers that he was a wealthy timber merchant living in a time when having many wives was a benchmark of success for men in China, the figure “10” becomes less shocking. Still, it is something of a wonder how he came to accumulate such a multitude. Chances are he enjoyed the honeymoon phase the most; to experience it anew after he had grown tired of the latest wife, he had to marry again. With each wife, he had several children. It was therefore likely that he stopped at 10 not because he had grown tired of the excitement of young love, but because his body simply gave out.

I think of my student’s great-grandfather every time I walk past the unopened packages piling up in my doorway, three or four at any given time, all online purchases I haven’t yet bothered to open. As in the case of my student’s great-grandfather, the thrill of consumption is at its most intense when I’m browsing products online. Once I click “Confirm Order,” the only way to get enthused all over again is to hunt for another bargain.

While there is no denying that there is joy in shopping, it is when I compare it to the joy of writing that I know for sure that retail therapy doesn’t bring true satisfaction. Whereas in shopping, happiness comes first and then vanishes almost completely once my credit card is swiped, in writing, misery – the pain of overcoming the terror of the blank screen –  comes first, peaking around midway through the composition process. Once I reach that crucial inflection point where the piece begins to write itself and words pour out effortlessly, contentment finally takes hold. For a few fleeting moments after the final edit, there may be even a flash of euphoria.

I would like to think of myself as someone who writes more than she shops, but my monthly credit card statement declares me otherwise.

Michelle Ng

英國牛津大學畢業，前《蘋果日報》和《眾新聞》專欄作家，現在身在楓葉國，心繫中國大陸和香港。

聯絡方式： michelleng.coach@proton.me
個人網站： https://michellengwritings.com