Category: everything else

Jan 18, 11:40am.

The wedding was survived by me.

In the hours leading up to it, sensing the anxiety in me drumming up, I suddenly thought of Fleabag and decided to anchor my wedding presence strategy around her character – someone that could check out of a realistic situation every time she felt overwhelmed/underwhelmed by it and blurt out some unfiltered truth to an imagined camera. In reality, I wasn’t even half as unbothered as she was. Too meek to completely ditch the hell of endless small-talks and too cowardly to drink or smoke my way out of it. A heightened awareness of the uncomfortable in-between-ness.

And yet there’s another part of me that did enjoy some precious moments throughout the evening. The gorgeous sunset and golden hour at the deck. The lovely band and the singer that makes every song passing through her lips so effortlessly sweet. The laughs on the dancing floor. The breezy air throughout dinner by the beach. The edging lightness from the two puffs stolen from a public joint. The fragmentary exchanges where I spoke from my real self briefly…

On top of all these, there’s an extra layer of sustaining some persistent male attentions, harmless but enough to generate an uneasiness in me. The photographer that couldn’t keep his camera off me for more than five minutes – a fixation too public for my liking. And there’s this tall attractive-looking mixed guy who seemed also quite out of place and cast frequent and evident glances at me during cocktail. That was when it didn’t even occur to me he was only there as a plus one. An idling husband of someone.

After dinner, during that chaotic time when the party was slowly drifting off, he came to sit at my table, at the seat where my original neighbor had left empty. I only noticed that when I stepped off the dancing floor for a break. For a split second, I hesitated if I should return to my seat, which felt more risky a move than an embarrassing one. I sat down anyways. He didn’t wait any longer before striking a conversation. His name is Adam. His wife is one of the prettiest ones, whom I liked instantly during small-talks and was standing just across the table as we talked. He asked me intentional and personal questions: what’s my status, how’s dating in hong kong like, do I only date white guys or Asians, would I consider living somewhere else, such as Singapore (where they live), etc. Another husband sitting next to him was listening in, with a constant ambiguous smile on his plump face. I wondered what that smile was directed at – Adam’s unfiltered illicit interest in me, or my clumsy attempt to conceal mine.

I threw back questions about his marriage, to challenge him a fact he was clearly aware but didn’t mind much. He didn’t even pretend to be more implicit, just threw one poor question after another, with a hurried desperation to cover as much ground as possible in whatever time there was left. The conversation was flat, uninspiring, and frequently interrupted by people coming to say goodbye. I couldn’t fully engage, embarrassed for the possibility that what felt so obvious between us would look indeed so obvious from outside.

Soon enough, the wife came into interference. Adam told her we were talking about dating scene in Hong Kong. “We met on tinder”, she said, while touching the back of his neck. “Oh, I thought it was in Greece.” “Yes, in Greece, on tinder.” She was sleepy and ready to hit the bed, she said. Adam didn’t agree or disagree. Later, when she told people they’re not coming to the after party, apparently it was Adam who wanted to leave.

I was half relieved they were leaving. I don’t think I could put up with that embarrassment any longer. The attraction was hardly worth it. I was more admiring how elegantly she handled it without betraying any emotion underneath. I wouldn’t be able to mask myself so well, or at all, I thought. It was then a painful thought crept in, that K would be an Adam in a comparable situation.

What a curious pain. A fierce jealousy that was almost still alive, yet I have no chance to experience anymore. An emotional stillborn.

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Jan 17, 11am.

In many ways, this “trip” and this island share a striking similarity with the trip I made to Bali in late November to meet K. We had no plan but to spend time together. Where it happened, how it happened, all just seemed unimportant context. This time, I also only have one sole purpose, to attend a friend’s wedding. Everything else is just irrelevant context.

But having nothing to do can feel so different from having nothing to do. Instead of the sheer content and gentleness last time, I was engulfed by a sense of dislocation since my arrival last night. I don’t know what to do here, and more importantly, I don’t know what to do with myself.

So I tried to turn my attention outside this self of mine. There isn’t much happening in this little fishing village where the hotel is located at. It’s in the far south of Samui, quiet and unpopular. The hotel is called The Beach, funnily enough, it’s not really facing a swimming area, but a boating dock. The shoreline is raw and limited, but enough for a 5-minute walk to damp my feet and stare into the nearby pig island. The owner of the hotel, Brian, is an aged British (pure guess) man who appears instantly friendly seeing my HK passport. He has been living in Samui on and off for the last 10 years while building this hotel, and still has his wife and kids living in Discovery Bay. He seemed genuinely unfazed when casually mentioning this. I was too tired to inquire into this curious arrangement and have to assume that’s for the best of everyone involved. But it did linger in my mind, I realize, as to how this come about. Our brain tend to automatically wanna fill up the missing information. And in this case, I wonder the condition of their marriage, the happiness of his wife, and the topic his children will bring up about their childhood in social situations or therapies years later into their future adult lives. At this moment, Brian himself seems happy. “Have a look at our Cannabis counter – it’s legal here, you know.” One of that kind, I reckoned.

On the plane here, my mind was captivated by a specific notion: the last trip of last year and the first trip of this year both happened in the name of love. The only difference is, last time I was the protagonist, this time I am the bystander. But love is love, as long as it happens, does it make that much of a difference whom to?

5月2日，晚：

拖着箱子打开airbnb房门的那一刻，是熟悉的味道和熟悉的空间，有种“到家了”的感觉。到的时候已经是傍晚，整理了一会儿，出门觅食，马路上空空如也，只听得到田里的牛群发出的低鸣，和风。那一刻我清楚地回过神，这就是我念念不忘的——一种高纯度的孤独自由。最近愈发觉得， 孤独是一种嗨，一旦从根本上接受了它，便只能不断升级，不断追求更高程度的孤独。孤独的时候，我才能感到最完整的自己，和一种再次与自己合体的，无声的兴奋。

5月5日，早：

今天7点把自己揪起来，打算趁太阳还温柔的时候，跋涉去附近不远处的咸田沙滩探个究竟。一路上心情很美，毕竟走没走过的路，总是更令人兴奋。在一天的不同时段走路，会自然搭配不同的情绪。清晨的行走，总会自带一种“瞧瞧，我和这世界可是在同一阵营呢”的骄傲的归合感。虽然从外表上看，我不过是一个不动声色独自走着的普通路人，然而在心里，我是跟遇见的每一头牛，每一只狗，每一个牵着狗的佣人姐姐都热情地打了招呼的。去沙滩的路上需要穿过咸田村，走过每家每户，仔细浏览了这村里的各种户型，有最简朴的村屋，有稍微高档一点带花园的洋房，也有不少独栋的多层别墅。乡村里的人家对我是有种格外强烈的吸引的，走过的时候，内心总会突然燃起一种熟悉的憧憬，感觉瞥见了一种受到召唤的另一种生活的可能。

咸田沙滩并不惊艳，往回走前，坐在礁石上看了会儿书，听着海浪的声音翻了几页《To the lighthouse》，清晨的风比想象中更凉。回程路上我突然想起来了昨晚做的梦：得知一个我不喜欢的男人和我不喜欢的女人在一起了，梦里，那让我心烦不已。回想起来，我感到羞愧的是，一个三十岁中段的人还在用“我不喜欢”来形容别人，未免也太小家子气。

5月6日，早：

今天一早就坐巴士来梅窝，计划换个节奏，在清早开始写作，下午提早开始放松，傍晚去沙滩跑步。因为我并没有规律写作的习惯（日记不算），所以到底还没有摸清，一天中的什么时候是最适合我的写作时段。不过出门得还是比预期晚，因为在airbnb里拍了些片段。（这次packing时正是熬夜做video的状态，所以根本没用脑子，带了重重的脚架却既没带额外电池也没带相机和脚架之间的连接片……于是前几天都不敢开相机）

昨晚做了很多乱七八糟天马行空的梦，不知道为什么，住在贝澳的这几天，梦特别杂乱。比如，昨天我就梦到一个初中同学——一个我根本不熟，也没什么兴趣的女生。实在费解，她是怎么冲破我这34年层层叠叠的记忆的蜘蛛网，进入昨晚的梦境的呢？

5月7日，早：

昨天贝澳热闹起来了，周末将近，海边的beach club开门做生意了，傍晚6点不到走到贝澳沙滩的时候，人比平日多了好几倍，club里传来电子音乐的敲打声，假日装扮的男男女女们开怀地消耗着酒精，整个douche vibe（痞里痞气的氛围）一下子就支棱起来了。对我——一个既想要独处又热衷观察人类，不时也会内心不安份的，女人——而言，这样的场景总是令人矛盾。我难免反感他们带来的噪音和嘈杂，却也觊觎那种轻松社交的愉悦感。好在沙滩够大，往边上走走，宁静还是唾手可得。坐下来一边看书，一边等待太阳缓缓下沉，完成一天最后的几公分。我在内心筹划着，等太阳落下西边的第一个山头，我就开始执行这美好傍晚里我唯一真正需要做的事：跑，步。

昨晚的第二摊，我回到村吧Tap Tap吃“最后的晚餐”，顺便跟我这个假期中交的唯一一个“朋友”——Paul——告别。Paul是个10句话里有9句半都不是正经话的怪趣英国老头——他身形干瘦，茂密的头发白了一半，面貌么，是看得出鼎盛时期对异性的杀伤力的。在我心里，Paul就像是我的朋友Jorge和《shameless》里的无耻老爸Frank的合体：他和Jorge一样（甚至长相气质都很相似），习惯做人群中的小丑，以逗乐周围每一个人为人生最高准则活着；同时又和Frank一样，粗犷无耻，在行为举止上比较自我放弃。他开完一个自认为粗俗的玩笑，总会俯下身跟我“解释”：I’m 58 , I can get away with it. Also, this is called, sense of humor. 这解释，在我看来，总是比他的“笑话”本身更好笑。

和海边beach club的喧闹相比，周五的tap tap并没有什么不同，甚至比上次来更“安静”了，除了我，只有一桌4个来东涌爬山的香港女生（每一道菜上来都是一阵惊叫，每一个paul的粗俗笑话她们都会愣住几秒再尴尬羞赧地开始笑），和一个像一尊佛像般坐在另一端沙发上的本地胖子——每次路过，都会看到他坐在同一个位置。（后来得知Sean是法国人，做成人辅导的项目经理。）

9点半，Paul跟我说，“我今晚要去梅窝参加一个leaving party，等我把在场的每一桌都安顿好，每个人都心满意足了，10点我就过去。对了，你也可以来。” （这可能是他整晚说的最正经的一句话了，虽然并没有实现。）

像tap tap这样的主要做本地居民常客生意的村吧，虽然乍一看不起眼，永远不会有过于热闹的场面，过于吸睛的顾客，却是有它自己的魔力的。这个夜晚，在我以为就快进入尾声，回到家还可以看一集美剧的时候，走向了一个意料以外的方向。10点，一个大大咧咧的年轻香港女人走来，在法国佛像旁坐下。Paul一下子来了精神。“Angle！”他大喊。（我纳闷，怎么会有人叫“角度”？）与此同时，Angel一包烟已经向他掷来。Paul小声跟我说：这女人，可凶了，我好怕她。她男朋友，是个疯子，但她，啧啧啧，是个很棒的女人。我大概感受到了，这不大的村子里，基本任何人之间都是熟人。

就这样，随着Angel的到来，我被邀请到和他们坐在一起，原本快喝光的酒杯又被倒满了。不一会儿，过了打烊的点，taptap的主厨（Mary，一个中国北方出生旧金山长大的大嗓门纹身女人）和帮厨（Alex，一个倒腾葡萄酒的法国人）也正式收工出来，加入了这场即兴酒局。附近又零零星星一两个老外走过，问paul讨酒喝，他也没法拒绝。我忍不住问Paul：你不是要去梅窝的吗？他说：是啊，我们都要去的。我问Sean：你们一会儿都去梅窝吗？他说：没人要去梅窝。

Angel对我出乎意料的热情（通常直女都不会对我这么热情），不断地邀请我去下长沙她工作的餐厅找她，说长沙沙滩那边帅哥特别多。我当笑话听着。她问：你来这干嘛。我说staycation。她没听明白这个词，我说，来住几天。她问：一个人？开心吗？我迟疑了一下，她说：不开心？！哦，我懂了，那你来这里也不会开心的。这时我突然发现，在她的理解中，我是来“疗伤”的，我在taptap混着，是在找汉子。我赶紧说，不不不，真的是单纯地来放个假，没什么特殊原因。她又立刻说：哦，我懂，me-time嘛！我们都需要me-time的。最后她硬要把whatsapp给我，不管出于何种原因，我都感到很难拒绝这么一种粗犷的真诚。

和这么一帮互相之间非常熟悉的本地村民坐在一起，我既是有点格格不入，也难免感到自己打扰到了一个本可以更亲密的氛围。我尽量不多说什么，只顾喝酒，抽烟，嗤笑，一边贪婪地观察着，一边期待没有人发现我的“尴尬”。而Angel和Mary不同，她们属于暂且将其称之为「村里的女人」的一类，她们可以非常放松地和这么一堆喝着酒的无所事事的男人们各种瞎扯淡，张弛有度地开一些表面粗俗，但到底无伤大雅的玩笑，她们的本能是一种良性的“调情”，这与她们本身的姿色，姿态，都毫无关系，而更像是生活在一个村子里的人之间天然形成的相处之道。

这时我会明白，无论生活在多小的地方，无论我离想象中的“乡村生活”多么近了，我都是融不进这样的“群体”的。我也不应硬要改变自己去融入什么。我的快乐——倘如可以形容为「旅人的快乐」——向来都来自于经过某处，和某一种未知的存在擦肩而过，窥探一下个中究竟，再意犹未尽地离开，缓慢地回归一种，无需伪装的孤独。

Feel a bit sad tonight as I was criticized by someone as “being too smart to take my future serious.” I felt embarrassed at this argument, a bit irritated even, but couldn’t come up with anything to return the favor. After all, it’s a lot to take on when you receive accusation and flattery at the same time in one sentence.

In this world, one can be artless or sophisticated, idealistic or realistic. It’s all plainly a personal choice.

Of course I know my own shit. And as reluctant as I want to admit that, most of the time I feel helpless tired of my slothfulness and negativity. And I gradually grow tired of preaching to people my pessimism theory, for nothing is remotely convincing when it needs to be preached.

I guess I will leave nothing behind me eventually. Everything about me, my absurdity and anger, my affection and ambition, my happiness and obsessiveness…will all be washed away by the relentless time, except for some limited trace of struggles.

 

今晚有些难过。言谈中毫无预兆的被人冠以＂因为太聪明而对自己的前途马马虎虎＂的罪名。我感到尴尬，些许恼怒，一时之间竟反应不出任何回击的可能。毕竟flattery和accusation在一个句子里同时出现，确实是叫人有些应接不暇。

天真还是世故，理想还是现实，都不过是一种选择。若非极端幸运，大抵很难兼而有之。

我自然不是毫无自知之明的。大多数时候，对于自身附带的悲观和懒惰，都感到束手无策。甚至厌倦了对他人解释自己的那套并不怎么convincing的悲观论调。因为那并不受欢迎，所以干脆拒绝一切礼貌性的好奇。

我想我最终不会在这个世界留下什么，一切和自己有关的荒谬和愤怒、爱情和理想、快乐和执念⋯⋯最终都会被时间被冲刷得干干净净。除了这样一些有限的，挣扎过的痕迹。

你的天赋，是你从不沉湎。

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如果说这么多次的”逃离”教会了我什么，就是逃离终究是毫无帮助。你获得短暂的快感，然后再将每一个所至之处变成下一个等待被逃离的标矢。或许也有人像我一样，在年纪轻轻的时候受到milan kundera的蛊惑，将life is elsewhere看作教条来信奉。事实上昆德拉没有错，只是句子的后一半远不如前一半那样如雷贯耳。life is elsewhere, and there’s nowhere else. （生活在别处，而别处并不存在。）

离开是伪装的果敢，是最轻佻的姿态。而留下来，留在这里，才是可以被称之为决然和坚韧的。

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近来持续地在耳朵里听到奇怪的声音；头发像果子熟了一般大把大把地自然脱落；看着镜子，会在0.1秒内refer到“面如菜色”这个词。有时候是我去记忆中摸索着找你，有时候你顺着记忆的脉络来找我。既然在某一方面如此绝望地缺乏天赋，那么一再为之心碎也是预期之中的事了。如果拒绝使用任何cheesy的字眼，痛苦便只得是痛苦，无可名状。孤独从来都是最固执的陪伴。生活的温度是如此一个毫无新意的循环，冷了又暖，热了又凉。只得耐着性子疏导自己：你已得偿所愿，必然若有所失。

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并非夏去 秋才至。

有一天突然收到一个朋友的信息，说她觉得很空虚。我看着手机，突然心里打了一个激灵，骤然清醒了。担心的事情真的发生了。

她没有过多考虑地跳进了一段毫无基础的婚姻，一边是北漂生活的艰辛，另一边是唾手可得不费吹灰之力的物质丰厚的稳定生活，出乎意料地，她选择了后者。我的确暗暗责怪她来着，但更多的还是心疼。有时候脆弱就是那么强大，将一切信念和坚持毁于一旦，尤其当我们大多数时候都忘记了自己在坚持的是什么。

另一天，一个杳无音信将近一年的朋友打电话来，说她收到我从云南寄去的明信片。聊起她的生活，还是一样地徘徊于若干性伴之中，不谈感情，只求最浅显的欢愉。

曾经是她告诉我：I don’t do ONS。也是她告诉我，love like you’ve never been hurt. 看着她几次在感情里受伤，也像痛在自己身上。我问她，真的不想再有稳定的感情关系吗，她反问，结局会有什么不同么。

这两个人，这两个故事，就像针一样深深刺在心上。不仅是因为我在乎我的朋友，更是让我看到人们是如何可以无所不用其极地去逃避那个关于自己的真相。

可是孤独和空虚，是那么的空泛，空泛得让人都不好意思时时挂在嘴边。但这也是最有存在感的现实。比一把把的钞票更确实，比床第之欢更确实，比两厢厮守更确实，比任何形式的快乐都更确实地存在于每一次的呼吸里——当你坐在上班的火车上，下班的小巴上，试图思考一点什么手中却不自觉拿出iPhone胡乱打开几个app什么都没干又退出去，当你回到家中对着满屋的狼藉然后张了张嘴却没人听你说话，当你在茶餐厅坐下盯着千篇一律的餐单感到食欲全无然后招手跟服务生说“A餐、冻奶茶”，当你抽着一根烟心想真他妈恶心哎要不戒了吧可是下次经过便利店又买了一包，当你觉得很累很倦很想尖叫或者大哭一场，却憋着，像个成年人一样去洗脸刷牙睡觉天亮起床一切循环往复——这就是真相。

真相就是没有真相。一切“存在”，都可能在某一刻，以“不存在”的形式给你致命一击。

我相信苦难是有腐蚀性的。情绪的狡猾之处，在于你无法逃脱它，你每一次逃离的结果都是无功而返，直到某一刻，你最终放弃抵抗，缴械投降，任其摆布。你或许只是想歇一下，却来不及意识到，一旦软下去，你再也硬不起来。

谈本质可以说是最不知所谓的，千万种活法，其实也都只是同一种活法。不接地气儿，谈什么都是扯淡。可是那种时刻如鲠在喉的感觉，让我恼火，也让我觉得踏实——不妨乐观地揣测，你还没被它摆平，只是暂时把它吞进了身体里。

 

/ I’m a sucker for happiness.
/ I’m a collector of pain.