生活顺遂也好，烦扰也好，心里的那个洞都会在。在下了班走回家的路上冒出来，在和朋友聚会聊天的当中冒出来，在甜蜜约会的时候冒出来，在和父母看着电视的时候冒出来。闷闷的。只好任由它去。
Aloneness, Fear, and the Dearness of Being.
I walked to the public clinic in my neighborhood after breakfast that day to have the gauze on my right arm (which was balling-up already as it had stayed there for 5 goddamn days) taken off forever. As I was on my way, the expected unpleasant feeling of finally meeting the ugly scars out of 8 stitches was offset by my excitement about finally being able to have a proper bath in half a month. I felt calm, and alone. The aloneness, definitely not in a pathetic way, refers me to the aloneness I felt the moment I fell off that motorbike, lying in my own blood. I shall call it the “ultimate aloneness”. I realized people were piling around me asking whether I was okay, but knowing that I was getting help from warm-hearted strangers didn’t to the slightest degree lighten that aloneness I was feeling – the kind one would never had any idea of until one went through the sheer moment in peril of ceasing to live.
The aloneness, as I tried to reason it, was because the intense emotion, the tremble of soul after visiting the edge between being and not-being is in no way to be shared with anyone else, not even your closest ones. You may try with all the words you know and all the languages available , but you gathered it would be a doomed failure. You would never be satisfied enough with what you could possibly deliver, nor could you stop suspecting others when they claimed they understood. You had it all to yourself. It became a locked secret that you never intended to keep.
I insist that it has to be after I get rid of the last piece of bandage that I’ll start to put things down in words. Otherwise I can’t be chilled enough to look back and think over the whole incident, knowing that the leftover of the self-sympathy in my body would always come in the way to keep me from a neutral confession.
However, as I’m finally determined to give it a try now, when I close my eyes, retrieve my memory and replay that scene, the sense of alienation I spent so long to build up become flooded by the same old fear in an eye blink. So I just said it, fear. It was fear that swallowed me at that moment, so huge a fear that made me forget to pull the brake at my left hand, forget to let go of the accelerator at my right hand, forget to turn the vehicle around, forget everything I was supposed to do. I was completely absorbed in that dark-hole alike fear that I gave up doing anything but simply waited for it to happen — letting it be whatever it ought to be. (If I was gonna die, I would die. If I was gonna be a disabled ever after, I would have to live with that.) It happened, the “Bang!”, the crash. The process was very quick, but not quick enough. I waited for a while, confirmed with myself that I was still alive, then there started the unbearable pain.
Today as I revisited the scene, months after it, just as every single time I revisited it ever since it happened, I couldn’t help gasping at it with my heart rate going straight up as I had no choice but to go over that dreadful fear. It seems to not decrease at all as time goes by. I doubt if fears of this kind will ever fade away after all.
People say I was strong to bear with the whole thing. It wasn’t true. I was at my weakest, body and mind. I cried frequently, sometimes due to the pain, while other times I simply just wanted to.
But you see, I was actually unbelievably lucky, underneath all. My body got to retain its full function with no bones broken, and my face was miraculously unmarred. No, “lucky” is too superficial a word for my luckiness. I hold no intention to overrate or underestimate my luckiness, just as I’m not inclined to exaggerate or understate my unluckiness. Whatever it puts me through, to endure is the only fair solution I’m left with.
I have no answer for what alteration this incident exerted on me in specific terms. For all I can say, if there was one occurrence that revealed my earnestness for life I tried so hard to defy, this is it.
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那天早上早饭后我一个人走去最近的公立诊所，打算把右肩上由于已经帖了5天而变得毛乎乎的纱布拆掉。我知道将要见到缝了8针后丑陋的伤疤必然会让心情变得糟糕，但半个月以来终于可以洗一个痛快的澡，仍让我对此迫不及待。我走在路上，心情平静，除了一种奇异的孤独感。奇异之处，在于它并不像人们通常在提起孤独时带有一种淡淡的感伤意味。这仅仅是纯粹的孤独（我找不到更好的词来替代）——我只有自己，也只能有自己——这和我从摩托车上摔下来躺在血泊里的那一刻所感到的孤独是同一种，或许可以称之为最高形式的孤独。那个时候，我知道周围开始有人围拢过来，人们七嘴八舌地用有限的英文问着诸如“你还好吗，小姐？”这样热心却并无实际意义的问题，我知道他们正在想办法帮我⋯⋯但所有这些都无济于事。那一刻，我只感觉到“孤独”。如果一个人没有经历过“生命也许将止于此刻”这样的危急情境，绝不可能想象得到那是一种什么样的孤独。
我试图却剖析这孤独形成的原因。我想是因为，如此接近过生与死的界限（或者仅仅是以为自己如此接近过）所产生的那种剧烈的情绪、灵魂的颤抖，是无论如何也无法诉诸语言、向他人倾诉的一种感受。你尽可以努力去搜索世间一切可用的词汇，使用一切存在的语言，但这注定是失败的尝试。你再怎么使劲，只会为自己愚笨的词不达意感到懊恼。而假如对方试图以同理心对你给予安慰，表示你的感受ta能了解，你也总会对此表示怀疑。它只属于你，也止于你。因为释放的途径的缺失，你只好守着这样一个莫名其妙的“秘密”。
我坚持必须等到身上最后一块纱布彻底地揭掉，才能将一切诉诸文字。因为我太清楚，假如体内才还残存着任何一丝由于伤痛所滋生的“自怜”，那么我所写的，都极有可能只是一点不具客观价值的呻吟。就像一个化疗着的癌症病人写的日记，无论如何强装乐观，都注定是痛苦的。
而这一刻，当我终于决心坐在电脑前，打算将这一切写下来，当我闭上眼睛，搜索着记忆，在脑中一帧一帧地回放事故的过程时，我在那么长时间里构筑起来的疏离感，顷刻便被溢出的恐惧所淹没。是的，无论我如何不愿承认，或者不敢提及，是恐惧。我被黑洞一样的恐惧吞没了，是恐惧令我在那一刻忘记按左手的刹车，忘记松掉右手的油门，忘记扭转车身的方向，忘记在那个境况中我本应该采取的一切行动，我被恐惧绑架着，放弃了挣扎，仅仅是等待着将要发生的一切。在那段时间里，我迅速地说服（其实是强迫）自己去接受一切可能的后果（如果我会死，那我就死好了，如果我会断手断脚，那世界上也只好多一个残废了）。我将一切决定权交了出去，保证自己必须服从于命运，然后，“砰！” 该发生的发生了。这个过程只有短短的几秒，却让人觉得拖得太长了。我等了一会儿，向自己确认了“我还活着”这件事，其后才轮到去感受一阵排山倒海的疼。
事情已经过去快两个月了，今天我再次强迫自己回想当时的情境，正如此前的每一次，我仍旧倒吸一口冷气，心跳直逼每分钟200下——当我试图还原现场，我也别无选择地还原了当时的恐惧。时间似乎并没有令那份恐惧有所减轻。我怀疑它能否像生命里很多其他的感觉那样，最终消逝。
我听到不少人说我经历这些的感觉是很“坚强”的，但这并不属实。事实上，我从来没有感觉自己那么脆弱过。不仅仅是身体上，更是精神上。那之后的较长时间我都在频繁地掉眼泪。有时候是因为疼，有时候就是想哭。
然而，在所有表象的深处，你可以想象我算是极其幸运的。我的四肢仍然健全，连筋骨都没有伤到，并且，在以脸朝下的姿势摔向地面的情况下，我基本没有破相。事实上，“幸运”这个词在这里都显得太轻佻了。我无意高估或低估这其中的“幸”，正如我并不希望夸大或淡化这其中的“不幸”。无论它置我于何地，承受都是我唯一能做的。
我无法确切地说出这次事故对我施与了什么样的变化。我只可以确定，这是唯一一次，我不得不向自己承认，活着之珍贵，是不可儿戏的。
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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。
summer is fading.
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。
Lucky Enough
In the subway, on streets or in restaurants, one can quite often witness people hurting their loved ones in a stupid way without knowing it: mother gave a cold shoulder to her children after spitting out unneccesary dirty words; adolescent kid putting an impatient face in front of the elderly; wife could’t stop grumbling in a voice loud enough to reach everyone around, only because her husband got her bubbled fanta instead of the orange juice that she asked for.
It could be just out of the uncontrollable impulses at those particular moments (I’m sure it was), but the instant disgust flashed upon people’s face, together with their ill-mannered words, made me feel ashamed and unbearable even just as an irrelevant passer-by.
I couldn’t help wondering how badly people would wish they had never done what they did, how they gonna be eaten up by their own regrets when they lose their loved ones at the end of the day. They would wish they’d behaved nicer when they had the chance to, other than aggressively venting their temper, getting unreasonably tetchy to test how generous love could be.
We frequently observe others blundered where we used to blunder. I doubt there’re anyone born with the gift of knowing how to treasure something good as it was happening. And for those who do cherish things, you never know how much she’s lost.
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经常可以在地铁，大街，餐厅里，旁观到陌生的人们以最愚蠢的姿态伤害身边亲近的人——母亲冷漠地辱骂自己的小孩；青春期的孩子对长辈充满了不耐烦和不屑；妻子当着众人对丈夫喋喋不休地抱怨，只因为套餐中的橙汁买成了芬达而大发雷霆⋯⋯可能只是言语上脱口而出，但那些一瞬间厌恶的神情，和其态度之恶劣，让我都感到不堪。这样的时刻，我总会难以自禁地想，倘若有天他们失去这些人，失去这些爱的时候，该是如何地悔恨自责。他们会希望自己从来没有那样做过，从来没有那样肆无忌惮地伤害对自己真正重要的人。
我们总是可以从别人身上看到很多自己犯过的错。大概没有人生来就懂得珍惜。而那些已经学会珍惜的人，你不知道她经历过多少次失去。
Spring has Sprung
Not a single moment will ever reoccur, and to seize those that matter is probably the sole meaning of taking photos and the cause of that incurable love for it. The fact that a low-priced second-hand “Instamatic” film camera works unexpectedly great makes me the happiest in a really long time. Regardless of the nonstop rain and the disagreeable dampness floating in the air these days, the spring has already sprung in me.
Swallow the hollowness.
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。
A city trapped by itself.
那天下了场不大不小的雨。城市中散发出一种黏糊糊的春意。每一次去油麻地都被一种奇异的混合感笼罩着——好奇又充满不安。你可以用最市侩的眼神对它报以鄙夷：街区治安差，胡子拉碴的异国人似乎总在结伙盘算着什么不良勾当，警察当街铐问妓女⋯⋯；但也可以用最文艺的心态身临其境，随即发现每一个角度都充满了电影式的镜头感。总之，我是很享受在油麻地瞎晃荡的，因为可以同时看到香港的可爱和可悲之处，但要我住在那里，自然是一万个不愿意。
第一张相片是租的房子里的厕所。住了大半年，竟还是会不时地感慨于它的逼仄。
Translation.
The other day I helped a friend translate some paragraphs of Wang Xiaobo’s work. I used to think translating as the most tedious job on earth and I would never have the patience to do that. But now I realized translating the works that you really admire for is a great pleasure, a bliss, also a very efficient way to learn and improve the translator’s own writing.
I’m thinking about doing it from time to time in the future. : ) Below is what I’ve done.
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One day I went to help my friend moving. I dressed shabby on purpose for I knew I would be doing heavy works. As expected, I came back with some dirt on my forehead, a stained shirt, and some extra clumsiness for lifting refrigerator the whole day. Along with my innately dark face, I looked perfectly like an “extra-provincial man who just arrived in Beijing”. Wearing this image as I took a bus home, both the bus conductor and passengers glanced at me in a way that they didn’t even bother to hide their disapproval of my presence. Dejectedly distracted by those unfriendly gazes, I bumped into someone as I walked back home. Before my apology could slip out of the lips, I was yelled into the face that “Haven’t you got your eyes?!” The language got even more offensive then, I guess I’d better leave out the worst part here. I quickly sloped off getting too afraid to say a word.
I would be fooling you if I said I got so resentful that the next day I rode a tricycle onto the street to sell breakfast carrying a honeycomb stove and a bucket of dirty water. But I do feel it, the causation that if others show no respect to me, I am unable to respect them either. If everyone else kept looking and yelling at me that way, I would literally be doing however awful things.
What I’m saying is, if one is able to feel the dignity of being an individual in both living condition and interpersonal relations, one would act decently in accord with the standard of a dignified man; otherwise, it would be ineluctable for one to behave in an undignified way, which eventually will turn one into a villain.
王小波原文【摘自杂文集《沉默的大多数》】：
有一天， 我出門去幫朋友搬家。出去時穿得比較破，因為要做粗活；回來時頭上有些土，衣服上有點污漬，抬了一天冰箱，累得手腳有點笨；至於臉色，天生就黑。總而言之，像個“外地來京人員”，就這個樣子乘車回來，從售票員到乘客，對我都不大客氣，看我的眼神都不對。我因此有些憋氣，走到離家不遠，一不小心碰到了一個人。還沒等把道歉的話說出口，對方已經吼道：沒帶眼睛嗎？底下還有些話，實在不雅，不便在此陳述。我連話都不敢說，趕緊溜走了。
假如我說，我因此憋了一口氣，第二天就蹬輛三輪車，帶一個蜂窩煤爐子、一桶髒水到街上練早點，那是我在編故事。但我確實感覺到了，假如別人都不尊重我，我也沒法尊重別人。假如所有的人都一直斜眼看我，粗聲粗氣地說我，那我的確什麽事都幹得出來。
假如一個人在生活條件和人際關係上都能感到做人的尊嚴，他就按一個有尊嚴的人的標準來行事，像個君子。假如相反，他難免按無尊嚴人的方式行事，做出些小人的行徑。
Smoking kills; Non-smoking kills too.
/ I’m a sucker for happiness.
/ I’m a collector of pain.
A clean, well-lighted place. 