I always seek to reconcile the paradoxes in my life. Growing up, a stark difference existing between how I am perceived as a high-school student sitting in the classroom and as a junior scientist wandering in the primitive forests has always accompanied me. This feeling was intensified with a trip to a natural reserve in southwest China, where I saw the fauna and flora of the subtropical region. Walking in the forest, I could feel the forest breathing. Some trees are very old. They must have a lot of stories to tell. The vines, creeping upward, may have their own tales too. I was stunned in ecstasy at the multitude of birds, their songs spilling from open beaks and their feathers coming in a surprising diversity of colors and forms. Standing on a mountain slope, I was amazed to see an eagle gliding in circles in front of us, with its wings fully stretched outward. Through the lens of my binoculars, I could see the subtle, golden gleam reflected from its contour feathers. That was a moment I felt genuine exhilaration. 

I wondered if I could uncover the hidden laws dominating these angels living in nature. Apart from the captivating stories like King Solomon and the birds, my parents, both educators, encouraged my inquisitiveness by enriching my life with bunches of books related to biology. In high school, I headed a student club aimed at organizing natural observations, writing reports, and promoting environmental awareness through activities both on campus and on social media. In the school lab, I was enthralled to discover that the calamus extends into a central shaft and branches into barbs, and then into barbules with tiny, interlocked hooks.

The magnificence of feathers and elegance in their motions are not the only thing that prompted me to probe further into nature’s mysteries. Worries and doubts emerged after the initial thrill faded. In the territory where human activities collide with nature’s realm, I witnessed the birds entangled in straps of plastic bags, migratory birds trapped in tight-knotted nets, and finches with part of their beaks or claws missing. Such scenes were saddening and evoked a deep empathy in me toward these creatures, and strengthened my determination to solve the contradictions between humankind and nature. I am now getting involved with local conservation programs, activities including protecting newborn crested ibis (labeled as ‘endangered’ in the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species), leg-flagging the migratory birds in order to track their extraordinary journey, and helping with the treatment of injured falcons and eagles at Beijing Conservation Centre.

The paradox in balancing socio-economic development and environmental conservation was further detected when I stepped on the underdeveloped area in Hainan as a volunteer English tutor at a local primary school. The magnificence of nature was not the only thing exposed in front of me: pupils in the mountains were in the oblivion of educational resources. Witnessed people with little access to education in this serene and beautiful place, the feeling of compassion gradually transformed into another form: a commitment to improving the quality of living for people, especially those in remote areas, with what the study of life science enlightened and empowered me.

In years of learning, I found paradoxes not only in individuals but on a much broader scale. They exist between the concerns of development and environment, between the needs of humans and nature. Someday I hope I will join the effort in finding a dynamic equilibrium that could reconcile the paradoxical relationship existing between humans and nature. And someday, I hope I can solve the unsolvable.