Note: The image on the left shows the original Chinese text written by the speaker; the speaker’s full name has been covered for privacy. The text on the right shows the English translation.
My name is Wu Xiuying, and I’ve been doing hand knitting for nearly twenty years. Once, my hands were really dexterous—I could knit any complex pattern. I always had a group of good friends around me; we’d set up stalls together and teach the neighbors knitting skills, living a lively, bustling life. But then I got rheumatoid arthritis. My fingers turned red, swollen, and stiff; I couldn’t even hold a needle right, and the things I knitted were all crooked and twisted. Slowly, the friends who used to set up stalls with me stopped asking me along, and the neighbors who came to learn the craft stopped showing up. Once, I forced myself to knit a small wallet, wanting to ask my friend to give it to her granddaughter. But she politely said, “Focus on getting better; don’t trouble yourself.” That distant tone—I still remember it clearly. I knew in my heart it wasn’t that they were cruel; it was that I’d changed. Before, I could earn money with them and join in the fun, but now I’ve become a burden who needs to be taken care of. During that time, I locked away all my knitting supplies, sat by the window in a daze every day, and felt like the world had abandoned me.
Later, while tidying up the cabinet at home, I found some cashmere yarn that those friends and I had picked out while sourcing goods. A little thought came to me: I can’t knit complex things anymore, but maybe a simple coaster is still doable? That coaster took me a full three days to knit, and it was all lopsided. I took a photo of it, posted it my neighborhood's chat group, and said I wanted to give it away for free. To my surprise, people responded quickly—some wanted coasters, others wanted to learn basic knitting from me. The first young girl who came to pick up a coaster even told me that handcrafted items are especially precious nowadays and encouraged me to keep going. She also said that a friend of hers ran a women’s organization nearby and invited me to give a simple knitting workshop there. I hesitated for a long time, worried that my hands wouldn’t be up to it and that no one would come. That lovely girl assured me that it was just for everyone to find something to do, to chat with me, and help me pass the time. I finally agreed.
The small workshop went smoothly, and more people came than I’d expected. I taught everyone to knit the simplest coasters and keychains. When my fingers hurt, I’d take a break—no one rushed me, and they'd even take the initiative to pass me yarn or help me cut thread ends. Slowly, I felt useful again. Later, we even set up a small group and gave all the small knitted items to elderly people in the community who had no one to take care of them.
Now I’ve finally come to see that life is just like knitting. When the old thread breaks, you tie on a new one, and you can still knit new patterns. It’s not scary to be distanced from your old social circle after getting sick; the scariest thing is closing yourself off and not talking to others. Reconnecting with the world doesn’t mean you have to hold onto the people from before. As long as you show a little kindness in the way you’re best at, new warmth will come to you on its own.