A place to hide myself...
Again spent the afternoon in McDonald. A cup of black tea and books. It was warm there, but not as quiet as I had hoped it would be. Not many people around, but some annoying beings making loud phone calls. Never mind. I finished what I had planned to do anyway, though miserably. Time passes by in a way you can't even notice. Within the blinking of an eye, the sky darkened. But the rain didn't stop. It feels sad and chilly to walk in the winter rain.
Thinking about this, "Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories. We've already miss the spring..." No wonder so many people love the movie "An Affair to Remember". I love it too. A perfect fairy tale.
This is a quiet afternoon. I wish I could write something in English everyday, but I don't think I can hold on. Following is something I saw and thought about yesterday.
As I was waiting for my friend in front of McDonald around noon, I decided to sit beside Uncle McDonald on that little wooden bench. The sun was warm. People were walking in and out of McDonald. Just two or three meters away from me was this little man sitting on the step in the corner, a broom and a dustpan lying on the ground. He was, I guess, in his fifties or sixties, as some white beard around his mouth was vaguely visible. He was wearing a blue cap and a uniform with orange and blue streaks, a typical uniform indicating that his job is to clean the street. His skin on his face and hands, worn by weather, hard work, malnutrition, and maybe endless worries, was brown, I mean dark brown, like the color of soil.
We were sitting along the sidewalk and facing the busy street. In front of us were lines of bicycles and motorcycles and cars. I began to wonder what he was thinking about. Maybe he was just tired and taking a small break. Or he could be observing the vehicles before him and thinking when he could have one of his own. Or he could be wondering how other people became rich so soon, leaving people like himself still so poor.
As I sat there waiting, I observed him from the corner of my eye. Something prevented me from looking at him directly. I could tell, from his size, this man was not tall. When he sat down, he became even smaller. That was the moment when I thought of George Orwell, of his description of the invisible Moroccan woman. This man in front of me just fit that description, small, dark, hiding in a corner, obscure. I looked up and stared at the people passing by. Nobody even looked in our direction. This man was completely invisible.
Then I began to wonder why he didn't sit in my place before I came. The seat beside Uncle McDonald was perfectly empty and comfortable. Why did he choose to sit on the floor, in the corner? Perhaps he knew he was invisible. He knew too well that he wasn't supposed to sit next to the icon of modern civilization. He knew he belongs to the lowest class and plays the role of soil.
I was planning in my mind that, if he was still there when I left, I would ask him to sit in my place. But my friend didn't show up before he set his eyes on something and got to his feet and took his broom and dustpan and walked toward a spot on the floor. Someone obviously threw out a used tissue and he swept it into his dustpan.
As he kept on examining the floor for litter and walked away, I realized why I didn't dare to look at him directly in the face. The longer I sat there with him, the more ashamed I became of myself. I was useless. The only thing I do is boasting in front of a bunch of kids and daydreaming. But he, the most obscure being, was doing this specific meaningful job of sweeping the floor of the street. He was serving the people in its real sense, yet he was invisible. Exactly like the soil, he was dark, soft, kind and hard-working, contributing nutrition to the top branches and leaves. However, people on the top have no idea of his existence. They're only capable of honking and cursing.
Sometimes I think it's not so bad a thing to stay poor and not become too rich. Because money slows your mind and dulls your percpetion. I feel more at east with poor but honest people. Without saying a word, they show me the world in its true color.
I've had this idea of writing something about this boy for years. Something, not much. Yet I didn't dare to get started, 'cause I am powerless in words and am afraid it will deviate from my intention and change into something silly and sentimental.
Last night the idea came to me again and I was tossing and turning trying to figure out what exactly he has meant to me. He was the first boy I really loved. We were young then, maybe too young to love, but youth and passion were all the beauty of puppy love that was innocent and pure and full of imagination and void of all practical realities. But of course that is not what I meant to write about.
This is about my appreciation and gratefulness to him for showing me and leading me into the world of music. We shared together pop, R&B, rap and some rock. From him I learned that the world of music could be so diversified. "Rock with Stone" was our favorite music program in those days. There was and will be nothing ever more exciting than hiding my radio in bed and listening to the music in the lowest volumn in the darkness of the night and knowing that there was another soul out there sharing the same rhythm and the same heartbeat.
Then at some crossroad, our interest diverged as we parted. He went on and dived into his world of rock'n roll, whereas I explored all by myself and marched bravely into the music world of jazz, opera, classics, Russian folk songs, French chanson, Portuguese fado, so on and so forth. But wherever I go, as long as there is music, he remains in my heart. One cannot enter the room without passing through the door, and he is and will always be at the gate of the world of music. Every time I think of him, I know that is a world where I can stay calm, stay cool and stay well.
To him, and to all that love music, I post here one of my favorite jazz songs by Nat King Cole, one of my favorite jazz singers.
Too Young ----Nat King Cole
They try to tell us
We’re too young
Too young to really be in love
They say that love’s a word
A word we’ve only heard
But can’t begin to know the meaning of
And yet, we’re not too young to know
This love will last tho’ years may go
And then, some day
They may recall
We were not too young at all
This love will last tho’ years may go
And then, some day
They may recall
We were not too young at all
Before going to bed, I'd like to write something here. Sometimes I really can't believe learning English, the language, for more than ten years. It's really a waste of time. Language should be lived, not learned.
Looking back, I think it would be much wiser to choose a second foreign language as a major. German or French maybe. Because after learning English for six years we are really not likely to forget it, and spending another four new years learning a new language would be much more useful than just being bilingual.
But we can never go back. The only hope is lying ahead.
By the way, I'm talking to my students so much about "future" and "career" and "the meaning of life"... Wondering if they can see my point or just get bored... Also how long can I myself hold on to my dreams?
Watched “Leaving Las Vegas” after
The heat of summer has lasted so long that I almost forget what it is like in winter. Now the rain comes and the air cools down in a way I don’t seem able to bare. A year in The only pleasant thing about the coming of winter, as far as I conceive, is the changing colors of the leaves. Yesterday afternoon, when I was taking a bus home after classes, sleepy and tired, patches of leaves with different colors outside the window caught my eyes. Dark green, light green, yellow, gold, orange, pink and red, all the colors one can possibly think of that go with trees. If one really looks at them carefully, she will eventually notice those white spots of little flowers dot the palette. Anonymous trees blooming with anonymous white flowers. If it wasn’t for their large number they would just escape the eye. I have beening thinking about drawing that in a picture, but I’m powerless. Besides, I’m suffering from a cold and I have a lot of students’ journals to read. Can’t see the end of it…
It starts to rain as usual. So again I'll show off some photos of my daisies.
Haha, just to lighten up~
In the morning I saw him lying prone on a wooden board with four wheels under it. He was holding a pair of shoes, one in each hand, and was using them as his feet to help himself move along the street. When the first thing you see in the morning is like this, all the sunshine just fades away and no colors on the leaves. The minute I saw this little figure crawling on the floor, I knew he had no legs. Either he broke his legs somewhere, or someone broke his legs.
He and I were going in opposite directions. I was walking toward a shop to buy breakfast. He, I didn't know, maybe was about to start another day's work. When I passed him, I had this strong urge to do something. I bought two buns with pork in them, separately bagged. One for him, one for myself, as breakfast. It was really getting cold in the morning.
It took me just a few steps to catch up with him. With several bags attached to the wooden board, he was moving really slowly. I bent down and handed him the bun. He raised his head and looked at me. When I put another coin into a bowl hanging from his neck, he smiled, showing his teeth, and was shy and saying "No need... No need... You don't have to... Thank you! Thank you!"
Then I left him, feeling helpless. That was the only thing I could do----to buy him something to eat. If he was forced by his boss to beg, coins didn't really mean anything to him, but at least he didn't have to hand in the bun. I hope he likes the food and feels better just for the day.
There is a song about the possibility that beggars are angels sent by God to test human beings. And in the movie "The Exorcism of Emily Rose", Emily finally refused to be exorcized so that she could show the world that evil exists and that more importantly God exists. I have a God in my heart and I do wish that beggar were an angel.
Just found this, really interesting. Somebody makes a decision. When asked why, he lists a lot of reasons. Days later, he changes his mind and thinks of more reasons to convince himself and others that this time the decision must be right. Then again he realizes that this new idea sucks, so he changes again and comes up with even more reasons different from the old ones.
The point is that sometimes people do not really care about if they believe in those reasons or not, that what they really care about is whether their reasons sound good enough to support their new choices and thus prevent them from being stupid in front of others.
But the truth is nobody cares. You have to make your own choice no matter how it sucks.
I did this stupid thing often. There are some other people I know that did the same thing. And I'm beginning to think that everybody does this. No details, 'cause I don't want to piss off my friends.
I was reading an artical about Northeast China in the National Geographic magazine. At the end of the artical I couldn't help shedding tears for the poor people there. Laid-off workers, coal miners, construction workers, immigrants... It was almost desperate. No way out. All of a sudden those ideas of making your dreams come true just became bullshit. In that place at that time their destiny was in the hands of others. It's really so sad. As for my writing class, I don't really expect to improve their writing that much. Instead their deeper awareness of poverty and injustice of this world would be a great reward.
These two movies: Before Sunrise & Before Sunset
My friend introduced them to me. Fall in love with them. Keep thinking about them all the time. Never get bored. Everything's so cute. Give me hope.
Thanks Leeanne
I felt quite relieved and happy when I was watching "Before Sunset" or when I was sitting at a small table in McDonald, reading "Irish Ghost Stories" and sipping red tea I had ordered, while waiting for a friend's call.
The next moment when I heard my dear parents talking about Dad's low salary which inevitably reminded me of my gloomy future, I felt like hell...
Everyone who knows Chinese should read this:
转自胖兔子粥粥博客。
简述廖梦君遇害之基本事实
http://blog.sina.com.cn/u/4725054d010006f6
学生遇害校园后面拖着一长串问号（一）
http://blog.sina.com.cn/u/4725054d0100066e
学生遇害校园后面拖着一长串问号（二）
http://blog.sina.com.cn/u/4725054d010006af
一个中学生的“自杀”为何如此讳莫如深？
http://blog.sina.com.cn/u/4725054d010006yi
廖爸爸新浪博客：http://blog.sina.com.cn/m/liaozusheng
廖爸爸备份博客：http://liaozusheng.blog.sohu.com/
Where is JUSTICE? Where is HUMAN RIGHTS?
天气好得不得了。下了车都舍不得回家。不出去走走真是浪费了。阳光洒在身上那个暖，又让我想到曾经在春天是如何在田家炳书院的课堂里打盹儿的。我蠢蠢欲动的心~~
I planned to read Shen Congwen's Border Town last night, but failed. So this morning I made it up. Cha Tong is really a beautiful place to live in. The clear water and the green mountains. But I was not happy with the story. There was always such tension between the young men and the girl that the only fate it could lead to was a tragedy. Bittersweet, really.
Afterwards, I discovered this famous female fado-singer Mariza. Her confident, strong and magnetic voice blending with such sentimental melody. What a perfect match! The fado is a kind of Portugese folk song with guitar and strong beats. Mariza's amazing performance reminded me of the little singer Marisol in an old Spanish movie who again reminded me of the gorgeous woman in CSI: Miami. Beautiful things are always connected.
我指的是心理。前段時間焦慮地要死掉了。原先的博客恢復了
這邊保留著。我是個嬗變的人，經常換換環境會好一些~
有時候做個決定是十分不易的事。雖然是自己的事，但腦子裏想的卻是老師、朋友們的眼光。他們會怎麽想。。。但無論如何我不能騗自己。
很多事情暫告一段落。《屍骨袋》看完了。CSI看完了。做了個新決定，也許我早應該做這個決定。只有教書還在繼續。每天改不完的作文。
去玉泉办理成绩单。在校门口附近踩到一坨黄黄的、粘粘的、滑滑的东西。赶紧忙不迭地蹭鞋底。然后，我慢慢意识到可能是踩到了狗屎。真正的屎！不管是人的还是狗的。马上想到常和燕子说的“Wow, man, you've just stepped into a pile of dog shit!
之后的一段时间里，回家的路上，公交车里，我似乎总是闻到从鞋底传来的阵阵异味。希望这只是心理作用。希望那坨东西不是狗屎。
在我离开校园的时候，看到一个女生跟我一样也在慌张地蹭鞋底，还不时回头往地上看。我有点想笑，又一个晦气鬼！地上那坨东西已经被踩得奄奄一息了，车轮轮胎、鞋底子、自行车轮胎，等等都从它上头碾过。可能它也在抱怨自己运气不好，被拉在了路当中，遭众人唾弃。。。
经不住好奇心的驱使，我刚才把鞋子翻过来闻了闻，情况果然不妙~ 明天洗鞋！
In today's class, I taught them how to do brainstorming.
First, I set an example by listing all the advantages and disadvantages of both environmental protection and industrial development. That was what we did back then, right? Then I asked the students to do it on their own. The two topics I gave them were:
Describe your ideal university.
Describe your ideal job.
Then interesting things came up.
After exhausting all the admirable qualities of an ideal university, such as modern equipment, a big swimming pool, and more prestigious professors, a bunch of girls came up with the idea of wishing to see more handsome boys on campus. Well, that was understandable, for they are in a normal college where girls far exceed boys in number. But that idea sort of made the boys at the scene blush a little.
When they came to the topic of an ideal job, almost every one of them made their wish to own a big company and have a lot of loyal and hardworking employees so that the boss can have a lot of money to spend and a lot of free time to travel around the world. Well, although I was not brave enough to dampen their confidence, I had to admit that it was sheer daydreaming. I really wanted to know how come everybody is dreaming of getting everything for nothing? After all, most of them are supposed to be teachers after graduation.
Surprises never ceased to come. A girl forgot to bring her journals I assigned last week and went back to her dorm to fetch it. But she ended up locking herself in the dorm and called her roommate to rescue her. When the two finally came back to the class, we had a really good laugh~
The last thing that made me almost ashamed of myself was that several girls were more than willing to hand in their journals even if I did not ask them to. I intended to collect only five from each class, but finally I got maybe more than twenty. God! I never expect them to be so willing to express themselves. Finally I had to apologize in advance that I might not be able to read through all of their journals.
Well, it was happy to see them so alive!
My Pandora's box sprang open this morning and I had a really bad day.
It was very crowded in the bus. I was standing next to an old woman, unable to move. Since I didn't recover from my cold, I sneezed some times. I turned my head away and covered my mouth, just to show some respect for the old woman standing beside me.
Several minutes later, some people got off the bus and left more room. The old woman next to me turned away and began to move to the back. But as she turned around her hand hit my face and nearly knocked off my glasses.
Already a little angry about the crowded bus in the first place, I cried out aloud, just to get her attention. To my surprise, she turned around, stared me in the face, and, instead of saying sorry or saying nothing at all, she said,"How would I know that I hit off your glasses? Besides, your were sneezing at my face and I didn't say a thing."
So what she was saying was that she didn't have to be sorry for hitting off my glasses just because I sneezed at her face moments ago. So we should be even.
But that was not how I looked at it. The truth was I never sneezed at her face. I turned around and covered my mouth. If she felt uncomfortable with that, she should have said it earlier, rather than take a revenge afterward. Besides, it wasn't my fault to sneeze. I was suffering from a cold.
So the next moment I found myself blowing up like a volcano. All the hateful parts in me were out. Or rather I wanted to let them out. I stared the old woman back and told her that she was being unreasonable.
Unfortunately, we both got off at the same stop. The annoying thing was she still wanted to defend herself and blame me for all that happened. I held myself and ignored her.
During the rest of the day, I was thinking about it all the time. It was no big deal actually, but I was disgusted.
I just cann't believe this is my second time to have confronted such foolish old people. The first time was an old man hit my right ankel with one of his two big tyres of his motor cycle totally intentionally. I heard no warnings or bell-ringing before I felt a sharp pain in the ankel. I shouted at him anrily and he shouted back brazenly. Before I knew he was already crossing the road on his two wheels.
I remember clearly that I was furious at that moment. That man was riding in the opposite direction on the pedestrian, obviously breaking the traffic regulations. Then at the peak of my anger what I wanted to see most was that man being crushed by a passing bus. That was evil, I know, but I couldn't help it.
However, today afterwards I became really sorry for my bad behavior. Well, I didn't feel sorry for that old woman. I just regretted losing myself. When I looked at my reflection on the bus window, I saw a terrible face. It really doesn't worth it to let some complete stranger ruin my day.
Quite unexpectedly, today's writing class turned out to be interesting and successful. I brought Stitch with me to the class and I did an oral description of the little monster to set an example. Then I asked the students to write in simple words about something they have. When I asked them to come up to the front and present their small passages to the rest of the class, they responded quickly by raising their hands one after another.
During their presentation, I listened carefully and discovered that their English is actually good enough to pass CET 3. They can write simple sentences and express clear ideas through simple words, which is a good sign. I hope by the end of this semester CET 3 will not pose as a big threat to them.
Their courage to stand up and talk loudly also indicated that they didn't look at me as their nemesis. Some of the girls have been very considerate and understanding. The good thing is that they know I want to help them and that what they do is for themselves. Therefore, I received only a few complaints when I assigned to them at least two journals every week. Ha, a little bit cruel...
Don't know how many times I've read Hemingway's "Fiesta". Just stopped at the end of Book One. Never been able to read on. I can't figure it out. About Mike. About Brett. About everything.
I tried to pick up Hemingway's novel, hoping to find something to teach in my writing class. About simplicity maybe. His words are simple. But deep as well. So I ended up choking on his ideas. What's he talking about exactly?
Maybe I should go on and finish the story to get the idea. I guess I will in these days.
Anyway, what is Brett thinking about? Though I've learned to accept the fact that some people do leave their true love and lead their own lives, it still makes me uncomfortable. Everybody wants a happy ending, but it's not always the case.
As I read on, those simple words make it like watching a movie. I'm just confused...
It's really happy to know that today the sun comes out. Finally! There's golden light outside and it seems to be filled with joy.
An old man living in the building opposite mine, maybe above 70 or even 80, came out to stand on his balcony, staring up at somewhere in the sky. His mouth was moving, but I didn't think he was really talking. Perhaps he was just trying to inhale some fresh air.
He's one of the neighbourhood I'm familiar with, though we never talked or even met on the street. Often I observed him from my window, for we live on the same floor. And, years back when his wife was still alive, I heard it clearly everytime they had a quarrel. He often shouted at her something like "Go to Hell" or "The Hell with you".
Then she died, leaving him alone. Maybe got sick, or heartbroken, or cursed, I don't know.
Sometimes there was a middle-aged woman coming to help him with housework. She would wash his clothes and hung them in the balcony to get some sunshine. I guess she may be his daughter, daughter-in-law, or just some kind of nanny.
I have no idea what he is doing in his small old house. But it seems that life alone there could be really lonely. Sometimes an orange lamp in his study was lit up, which then made me feel warm about that family when I was looking out my window at night. Perhaps he was not that lonely as I thought. Perhaps he was with his grandchildren.
Right now two of his plants are out in the balcony enjoying the sunshine. He has already gone into the room. I don't know anything about him. But I do hope he spends the rest of his days in peace and harmony.
I heard this on the radio:
An 85-year old granny had NINE children, none of which was willing to provide her shelter. So she ended up sleeping on a bench in the small garden outside the building where two of her sons lived. When both the news reporter and 110 police interfered, none of the two sons cooperated. They just shut the door and turned a deaf ear to the people outside.
Well, I really don't understand this kind of people. These human beings are evil. They should be cursed. If I were God, they would never be saved.
On the contrary, there was another old granny who lived on collecting trash. She was fortunate enough to meet a middle-aged woman who invited her to stay and provided food and shelter. The old woman is enjoying a sufficient life now.
Wow, totally different destinies! Justice doesn't seem to work sometimes...
Till today I've met all the four classes I'll be teaching for the semester. The first time they saw me turned out to be quite interesting. They asked questions like these:
You don't look like a teacher. How old are you?
You look so young. When were you born?
Where did you graduate? When?
How can you look so young? How do you do this?
Then when the class was dismissed I heard someone said "Goodbye, Sister!" "Sister". That was the word she used. Well, I was speechless.
They are all girls. 57+60+33+34=184 girls! I'm almost leading a female army. Only six boys. Active students they are. In fact maybe too active that I felt I was endangered sometimes.
But the class was fun, anyway. They cooperated well. They knew how to be polite and respective. They tried their best to answer my questions. And they asked me questions by raising their hands. Could I ask for more?
The girl in the first row whispered to her friends "if I were a boy I would want to be her boyfriend"... Hahaha, I'd take that as a compliment!
等校车时，为了打发时间，我开始观察路边的动静。周围像个微型公园，记得上次看到有人在这晨练。一条河从边上经过，两岸是浓密的柳树，各种各样的树。盯着水面上的涟漪看，都有些眼花。我所在的岸边有比较宽敞的地盘，中间一个圆形的花坛，里面的紫色植物都快要溢出来了。我不知道它叫什么，经常看到，但不晓得名字。开着淡紫红色的小花，三个花瓣，金黄的花蕊。真得很小，很低调地开着，好像巴不得人看不到。三片花瓣围起来，积满了雨水，像一杯酒的样子。整个花坛不少这样的小酒杯，盛得满满的。
但就是这样不惹眼的花却还是躲不过小动物的侵犯。它们真是什么都不放过哈。一只只蜗牛粘在紫色的叶子上，贪婪地享受着。有的甚至肆无忌惮地把整个脑袋塞进叶子间的紫花里。我有些不敢相信自己的眼睛，第一次，看见蜗牛嚼着花瓣的样子。它没有牙，甚至连上、下颚都谈不上。但我却清楚地看出它在咀嚼。难以相信！然后就看见红色的花瓣慢慢从它透明的脑袋流向体内。I cann't believe this! 我就那样弯着腰站着痴痴地看，身后的衬衫湿了一大块。
蜗牛算是今天早上的奇迹了。周围还有银杏树——小扇子周围的一圈边已经枯黄，但看上去却像花边。那些叶子怎么看都不像叶子，更像是一层层的鳞片。不是说银杏是活化石么？所以更像鳞片。还有我不知道名字却常见到的树，叶子很硬，像船桨的样子，前圆后尖，攒成一簇一簇的。夏天开出洁白硕大的花朵。在雨中，这一大簇一大簇的叶子在我百无聊赖的时候居然也变得很好看了。
当然，还有几只鸟，蠢蠢地四处走动，憨态可掬。这半个小时里，虽然身上冷极了，但眼睛真是没闲着。
开始想念几天前的样子：
2006-9-8
早上起来半梦半醒地看了点《似水年华》，一边还喝着家里自己做的豆浆。我猜妈妈加了花生，浆汁呈一种红芒芒的颜色。我用它来冲麦片吃，虽然看上去不那么雅观，但我加了盐，味道不错。每次翻开《似水年华》都像进入一种梦境，模糊的，朦胧的，粘稠的，就像手边放着的这碗豆浆麦片。
今天的学生比昨天乖一点，也比较合作，很给我面子。让她们造句也至少能说出个大概框架，不少甚至能说完整的句子，很不错。明天上午教写作，毫无头绪。
雨一直下着。虽然yahoo上的天气预报说是微风，但清晨我站在路口等校车的时候真是哆嗦得不行。有些瑟瑟发抖。越来越冷了，就这样进入冬天还真有点不甘心。
昨晚看了几集CSI: NY，一点也不够悬疑，那么多专业术语也听得云里雾里。而且再次证明，晚上看恐怖片是多么不明智的事。半夜毫无缘由地感到害怕，我并没去想犯罪现场，但却提心吊胆，连上厕所都不敢。
原來女孩子吵鬧起來也是很可怕的。
一大清早就出師不利。聽力教室的門居然打不開。只有在教室里上课文了。但更可怕的是学生居然都没有拿到课本。结果是我站在讲台上唱独角戏，抄了一板一板的单词，大声讲解，饱吃粉笔灰。
发现我发炎的嗓子实在是盖不过女生的叽叽喳喳。不过这比死气沉沉可好多了，实际上可能好得过头了。坐在后排的女生明显不感兴趣，但坐在前面的女生还是有些比较积极的，看得出来~
虽然在下雨，但是天还是很明朗的。我猜是学生们给了我好心情。不过作为工作，我是不会选择在这样的地方久留的，各项工作如此混乱，真是浪费生命。
看着窗外的雨和风，想，做人很虚。想到Stephen King说的，现实很薄。此刻，忽然感到一点“薄”。
王蒙的《蘇聯祭》從老爸買回來后就經常吸引我的眼球，覺得書的封面幾乎有些觸目驚心。但我還是不顧一切，翻開它讀了起來，冒著掉進去的危險。既然已經決定要把自己的空餘時間獻給一幫未曾謀面的孩子，就根本沒有時間沉醉在自己時而泛濫的情感裏。真不知道這樣的交換是否值得。而這段時間我本來可以用來讀更多的書。
雖然一點也不了解，但我早已開始喜歡俄羅斯了。從Vitas開始。開始準備吸取那介於中西方文化閒的另一種美。
喜歡其中王蒙的一段話：“此後的生涯中我結識了不止一個美麗、智慧、自尊和絕對的出類拔萃和不幸的女人。她們是人中的精華，是生活的靈氣，是大地上的風景。應該有人愛她們尊重她們體貼她們撫慰她們和支撐她們，至少應該欣賞和讚美她們。水至清則無魚，她們是孤單的，無助的，她們的深情、浪漫和高智商，一句話，她們精神上的居高臨下，使她們難以在男權中心的社會找到恰當的位置。”
Trying to be a strong person. Trying to be a lovely girl. Tyring to find my way out.
derek
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