My name is Zhong Wenyu. I am 100 years old and live in Shanghai. On winter afternoons, I sit by the window, basking in the sun. A cup of hot milk tea rests on the coffee table, and my fingers glide across the screen of my tablet — I’m nearly finished with this level of match-three game.

My youngest daughter likes to tease me, calling me a “playful old child.” But I feel there is still a little girl inside me, curious about the world.

I love food and enjoy trying new things.

When it comes to eating, I like to keep up with young people. Knowing my fondness for good food, my children often bring home novel treats — burgers, fried chicken, all kinds of desserts. I taste whatever they hand me. If it’s good, my eyes light up: “This is nice, let’s get more next time.” If it doesn’t suit my palate, I simply say nothing more.

I especially love crabs. Dipped in ginger and vinegar sauce, they are incredibly fresh. Although I have almost no teeth left and my gums are shallow — doctors advise against dentures for me — none of this stops me from enjoying good food.

Recently, my granddaughter set up a social media account for me called Baisui Zhongjie, which means centenarian sister Zhong, and filmed a short video: I sit at the dining table, fully focused on eating a marinated crab, slowly turning the shell in my hands and picking it clean, savoring every bit of meat. After the video was posted online, it received many warm messages from young people I had never met.

My daughter often says that I don’t watch what I eat and don’t quite live up to their ideas of healthy eating. But the truth is, at my age, being able to indulge a little within reason and savor such simple pleasures feels like a gift — a small blessing from life itself.

As one grows older and less mobile, it becomes all the more important to find small joys — life cannot be too dull.

I love reading. In the past, my favorites were Chinese novelist Jin Yong’s martial arts novels, which I would read page by page with a magnifying glass, utterly absorbed. As heavy books became difficult to hold, my daughter replaced them with a tablet.

At first, I watched TV dramas on it. My daughter joked that drama producers couldn’t keep up with my speed of viewing them. Later, my granddaughter taught me how to play games — solitaire, match-three games. Sliding my fingers across the screen and watching colorful blocks disappear is quite entertaining.

During pleasant spring and autumn days, my children wheel me outdoors. I prefer supermarkets and wet markets over parks. When I spot snacks or household items I’ve never seen before, I point them out, and my children put them into the shopping cart. This joy of “discovery” makes me feel closely connected to the world.

With an open mind, everything looks agreeable.

Though I enjoy new foods, my daily rhythm is unwavering: I rise at 8 a.m., sleep before midnight, eat three meals punctually, and rest eight full hours. This routine has endured for decades.

When asked about longevity, I reflect that it comes down to “not holding on too tightly” — to opinions, grievances, or rigid ways. Among neighbors, I’ve never seen discord; in decades, we’ve never quarreled. With my children, I highlight their mutual virtues, encouraging the family to view each other’s struggles and strengths with kindness.

I follow the news closely. Last year’s September 3rd military parade — I watched every moment. Seeing my country getting strong, the soldiers marching in perfect formation, and the formidable new equipment brought profound reassurance. When the Global Leaders’ Meeting on Women was held in Beijing, I followed the live broadcast intently. Over these 100 years, Chinese women’s status has undergone a seismic transformation.

My daughter once asked, “Mom, do you really understand all this?”

Of course I do. I’ve lived through much.

Born in Chongqing in 1925 during the Chinese People’s War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression, I carried wounded soldiers on stretchers with classmates. Later, I met my husband, moving from Hangzhou to Shanghai, where we settled. Only those who’ve heard the thunder of war truly cherish peace.

That’s why I seek the bright side. Late-night neighbor noises? Perhaps a child needs care. Community renovation racket? It’s for better living. Whether neighborhood matters or national affairs, I tell my children: “Life is hard for all — we should be more understanding.”Life remains this vibrant at 100. Each dawn brings anticipation — what new wonders will today hold? That warm afternoon milk tea awaits. Such a rich, flavorful life is never quite enough.

By Zhong Wenyu

Source: People’s Daily