静听风吟 Whispers of the Wind

好友寄来一张北京三里屯使馆区的照片，让我看看曾经熟悉和钟爱的秋色。是啊，当我想念北京的秋天时，这想念每每化作眼前漫漫的银杏树叶和耳边的低低风吟，还有当年流行的一首歌的歌词“我是一只小小鸟，想要飞，却怎么也飞不高”。连自己那时的样子，也跃然眼前，秋天起风的日子里，常常是一条红格呢裙子，黑色高领羊毛衫，头上包着一块红丝巾, 穿过种满银杏树的巷子，去打大学毕业后的第一份工， 这么多年过去了，我好像还是一只想飞的鸟，那召唤来自飞翔的感觉，不为到哪儿，只为飞。无目的带来自由，所过之处留下想念，这想念有时如同微风掠过，而我就在世界的某个角落，也许是一个月明星稀的秋夜，静听风吟。

To show me Beijing’s autumn colors, a former colleague sent over a photo he took of ginkgo trees in Sanlitun diplomatic compounds with which I used to be very familiar. Yes, when I miss the autumn in Beijing, it is the boundless expansion of these golden fan-shape ginkgo leaves I see and the soft whispers of the wind I hear, and I recall lyrics of a popular song in those years: “I am a small bird, eager to fly but can never reach high…”. Often appearing vividly was also an image of myself, in a black turtle-neck pullover and a red woolen skirt, head wrapped in a red silk scarf, walking along the ginkgo tree lined streets on a windy autumn day, toward my first job after university…Years have passed, and I still feel like a bird, eager to fly. The allure is the flying itself, not to any destination but to fly. Absence of a goal creates freedom, while every episode along the way lingers in the memories. On some days these memories brush through like a breeze, perhaps on an autumn night, under bright full moon and few stars, and all I have to do is to quietly listen to its whispers.

还爱吃巧克力么? Still Love Chocolates?

不久前跟中学时的同桌好友联络上了，特别高兴。 在msn上没聊两句，她打出一句：“你还那么爱吃巧克力么？”这话只有她问得出来，我的回答却令自己失望：“不怎么吃了。”完美的答案应该是:“象以前一样爱。”曾经深爱的东西理应永远深爱，这才因执着而圆满。

这些天来她的这个问题总在耳畔，二十年前的记忆重现带来无比温暖和浓重的怀旧情绪。看到自己生活中有些曾经重要的东西永远丢在了来时的路上，淡淡的忧伤漫起，好象细雨蒙蒙的天气中飘落的粉红色花瓣。这样的忧伤可以让每个人成为诗人。

那时我十八岁，热爱巧克力，热爱舞蹈，热爱舒婷、北岛、顾城，热爱做一切与复习高考无关的事时那种自由痛快的感觉。朋友说我是一个理想主义者，追求完美的人，想想看这是从十八岁时到现在都未丢弃的。人生中的寻觅、丢弃和获得也许就是这样，在不圆满的选择中，执着其实从未改变。

我的朋友，谢谢你还记得岁月中某一时刻的我，就让她安静的留在那一时刻吧。 不过，今天下班的时候，我给自己买了一板巧克力。

Some days ago, I got reconnected with a close friend from high school days. After a few sentences exchanged on msn, she wrote: “You still love chocolates?” She’s the only one who would have asked such a question. My answer disappointed myself: “Not so much anymore.” It should have been: “As much as before”. A sense of imperfection seized me when I realized the loss of a once strong passion, which should have remained, always.

Her question has lingered in my mind. Memories from twenty years before engulfed me with warmth and nostalgia that felt deep and boundless. I was brought back to see things once so important to me but were eventually lost on the way. Pain fell tenderly, like the pink petals of peach blossom falling in a fine, misty drizzle. The tenderness in such pain creates a poet out of everybody.

I was 18 years old then and loved chocolates. I also loved dancing, Misty Poems and the freedom and joy coming from everything unrelated to reviewing for the university entrance examinations. Friends labeled me as an idealist, in constant pursuit of perfection in life. When I ponder over my life from 18 years old to now, I see that such a pursuit has remained. Perhaps this is how it is in the searching, losing, deserting and gaining in our lives. In seemingly imperfect, unsatisfactory choices we make, certain perseverance has never changed.

My friend, thank you for remembering the girl that I was at certain moment in the passing of months and years. Let her peacefully stay at that moment. Only today after work, I got myself a big piece of chocolate.

甲骨 Oracle Bones

Peter Hessler’s Oracle Bones is so far the best English-language book on contemporary China I’ve read. It helped me, a Chinese, to understand better my people and my country in massive social transformations. Stories of ordinary people are told in a very calm and smooth tone. No dramatic climax, but touching and powerful because of the truthfulness in the very detailed observation and narration of individual lives across generations. Ancient and recent history of China is naturally weaved into the present, all relevant in expressing certain characters of Chinese culture and people that have traveled through time and space, withstanding great changes in their living environment. I would put the book on top of the reading list of everybody who is interested in gaining insight into the Chinese society, but tired of the “Doing Business in China” type that are swamping every book shop in Hong Kong.

In the end of the book, Mr. Hessler quoted the Chinese translation of a few lines from Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, and translated them back into English. Interesting to compare these to Whitman’s original. All irresistible lines.

我，痛苦和欢乐的歌手，今世和来世的统一者，
所有的暗示都接受了下来，加以利用，但又飞速的跃过了这些，
歌唱一件往事。

I, the singer of painful and joyous songs, the uniter
Of this life and the next,
Receiving all silent signs, using them all,
But then leaping across them at full speed,
Sing of the past.

(Whitman’s original:

I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing. )

第一支椿 First Pile!

Yesterday evening a mail came in from an entrepreneur in Vietnam, for whose construction project we have been helping to raise money. The mail says: “Today 12 Nov at 11 am ICT according to the best time and date we drove the first pile. The pile number was #58. The depth was 35 meters.” The simple line struck me with a strong emotion. On an auspicious day, this must be a special moment in life for him, a moment to see his long cherished dream becoming a reality after years of patience, faith and hard work, and perhaps lots of frustration. Looking at the picture in which a small bunch of bright flowers, incenses, fruits, liquor and chickens are set on a wooden table in front of the huge machine, I became emotional as well, overwhelmed by the power of something real. That’s totally different from all the budgets, plans, financial projections in excel sheets. To the Power of something simple but real, cheers!

榕树湾的傍晚 Dusk Falls on Yung Shue Wan

一转眼，儿子已是英俊少年

周末带儿子乘天星小轮去九龙那边，给他在船上照了几张相。回来输入电脑一看，竟有点吃惊。什么时候这个在我怀里撒娇耍赖的小宝贝长成一个英俊少年了?! 六岁的生日刚过了一个多月啊。岁月走得太快， 想想有多久他没有赖着让我抱了。每一刻跟儿子在一起的时光都是无法重复的时光，那一刻的他，那一刻的我，那一刻的光线，那一刻的气息，都是我生命里一定要特别珍惜的福气。这一点, 就是他气得我掉眼泪的时候，也是不能忘的。

今夏最后的姜花 Last Ginger Flower of This Summer

如果若干年后在世界的某个角落，我回忆起现在的家，回忆起南丫岛, 那么从这回忆中飘来的气味一定是姜花了。那是一种淡淡的甜香，在夏日的田野中，能带给人一丝清凉。起得早的日子，若是来得及去榕树湾大街走一趟，常常可以花10元钱从一个女人那儿买一把她清早割下来满是花蕾的姜花，待傍晚踏着暮色归来，推开家门，等待你的正是这满屋淡淡的甜香。

秋天来了，姜花的季节也要过了。再放一把在窗前吧。我喜欢生活中这些交替的周而复始的变化，让你在任何一个季节总有些什么可以盼望的，即使在香港，也是如此。

Some years later and somewhere in the world, if I happen to reminiscing about my home today and about the Lamma Island, then wafted with the memory must be the scent of ginger flowers. Its delicate and sweet scent always feels refreshing when you walk in the summer fields. And On days when you are able to rise a bit early and have time to take a stroll along the Yung Shue Wan Main Street, you often have a chance to buy a bunch full of buds for HK$10 from a woman who just cut them from the field, and when you return in the deepending dusk, open your door, waiting for you is a full house of such delicate sweetness.

Autumn is on the way, and the seaon of ginger flowers will soon pass. Let me place another bunch in front of our window. I adore the cycles in life, the feeling of things leaving and returning, disappearing and emerging again and again, like the change of seasons. It gives you something to look forward to in any season, on any day, even in Hong Kong.

清晨的收获 Morning Harvest

南丫岛榕树湾码头, 晨早出海的人回来了, 收获不小啊! Coming back from the sea at Yung Shue Wan Pier, Lamma Island. Good harvest!

梦见蝴蝶 I Dreamed of A Butterfly

清晨，我在南丫岛的一片葱绿间行走。明明在岛上，却是一个从未到过的地方，并没有明显的路径，我却很明确方向似地在草丛中前行。最后到了一处灰色的废墟，原本象是一个方正的西式石亭。忽然一只巨大的黑色蝴蝶从身后飞来，先是恍惚的影子，然后就清晰的看见它翅膀上鲜艳的橙色斑点。这蝴蝶落在我的右臂上，安安静静地不走了，我看到它的眼睛望着我。我开始移动脚步离开这个废墟，它仍停在我的右臂上。这时不知从哪里冒一个又黑又瘦的小老头儿，问我：“这是哪一种花精啊？”我开始感到恐惧，用力把蝴蝶甩到地上，它落在草上，却也不飞走…

这时醒了，外面正下着大雨，醒的那一瞬间想着也许这只蝴蝶受了伤, 飞不动了，我为什么没有带它回家，喂它直到好了可以再飞？蝴蝶是吃什么的？…

梦究竟是什么呢? 有些梦会走出黑夜的暗影, 比某些发生过的事还真实，让你在清晰的光线中, 带着一丝困惑，不停回味。

In the first light of the morning, I walked in the green spring landscape on Lamma. This was an area on the island unfamiliar to me. Even without an obvious trail to follow, I seemed to know very well my destination and strode my way through the verdant bushes. In the end, I reached some grey ruins of what looked like a western-style stone pavilion originally. All of a sudden, a giant black butterfly came from behind. First just a faint shadow, then bright orange spots on its wings were sharply in front of my eyes. It landed quietly on my right arm and stayed, no fluttering. I caught sight of its eyes, which were currently gazing at me. I started to move out of the ruins, and the butterfly still clutched on my right arm and wouldn’t leave. At this moment emerged from nowhere a little dark-skinned old man. He approached and asked me: “This is the spirit of what flower?” A chill struck me and I swung my arm very hard, hoping to get rid of the butterfly. It fell onto the grass, still quietly, and didn’t fly away…

By now I was awake. The rain was pouring outside. For an instant, I worried that the butterfly got injured and could not fly any more. Why didn’t I bring it home, take care of it until it flies again? What does a butterfly feed on? …

What on earth is a dream? Some dreams break out of the darkness of night, appear more real than anything that has truly taken place, and push you into a bewilderment that lingers into the broad daylight and refuses to clear up.

Calorie count on the Menu

Today I read that California became the first American state to require restaurants to display the calorie count of each item on the menu, starting in 2011. This is absurd. Why cannot people simply live by common sense, not by numbers? It is exactly in California where I saw the most calorie conscious people examining labels on everything they put into their shopping carts, yet everyone came to the cashier with carts of foods that can easily reduce the world’s starvation by half. Perhaps it is also the US invention to use “unbiased” terms to refer to fat people as “gravity challenged” or “large and in charge”. What humiliation! I wonder what happened in this world to make us unable to live by the basic rules and principles with which human race has survived for thousands of years.

Below I quote somebody’s obituary to Common Sense.

'Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:

Knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm; Life isn't always fair; and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.

Common Sense declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an Aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, his wife, Discretion, his daughter, Responsibility and his son, Reason. He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers:

I Know My Rights
I Want It Now
Someone Else Is To Blame
I'm A Victim

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing ."