倒数起飞。
其实，我还没有整理我的行李。
照理说，我明天就飞了。因为现在已经过了12点。似乎很多东西要带过去，又似乎不需要那么多。那里的气温介于11-17度C，听起来很冷，所以要带很多衣服吧？可是，倘若行李太重，去那里购物后不是超重？馨滢甚至要将带去的衣服（旧的啦）穿后丢掉，那么就有位子了。
呵呵，我要买很多太阳饼！
我想，还是去整理一下比较好。
虽然快要1点了。
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
忘记
忘记
其实我一开始也有在追看《金枝欲孽》。
我不是很爱看连续剧，因为我觉得有点拖泥带水、故事情节不果断，最重要的是总是吊我胃口。所以比较钟爱日剧、电影，更好的选择是小说；因为翻页的速度我自己控制。
说到《金枝欲孽》，它的曲折很曲折。人物的处心积虑、明争暗斗和一般‘后宫的故事’比起来更是让人无法预料。同时，将一个身处紫禁城里的人的内心挣扎表现得很赤裸。简单地爱、恨、怨、悲、迷惘、无奈都很清晰。更重要的是，在看官的生活里都有影子。
谁能说完全没有？
我很喜欢剧里的一段话：“人如果不开心，醉也是理所当然的。心越痛就应该慢慢的、一杯一杯的让它痛，痛完之后那人就会觉得累，觉得累了那就很容易醉，醉醒了人自然保护就会舒坦，这才是借酒销愁的方法。但相反的，大人你喝得这么急，只求快醉快倒快忘情，只怕痛得不够，醉醒之后一切只会循环不息，浪费的不只是酒，还有大人的时间和心思。”
我也最觉得林保怡的表情让人很是心酸。
他在演的时候也是不是钩起了自己无法忘怀的遗憾而有了那么自然的表情？
戏里的他是大夫并说了：“忘记才是治疗伤痛最好的一贴药”
医生都这么说了，难道错得了？
其实我一开始也有在追看《金枝欲孽》。
我不是很爱看连续剧，因为我觉得有点拖泥带水、故事情节不果断，最重要的是总是吊我胃口。所以比较钟爱日剧、电影，更好的选择是小说；因为翻页的速度我自己控制。
说到《金枝欲孽》，它的曲折很曲折。人物的处心积虑、明争暗斗和一般‘后宫的故事’比起来更是让人无法预料。同时，将一个身处紫禁城里的人的内心挣扎表现得很赤裸。简单地爱、恨、怨、悲、迷惘、无奈都很清晰。更重要的是，在看官的生活里都有影子。
谁能说完全没有？
我很喜欢剧里的一段话：“人如果不开心，醉也是理所当然的。心越痛就应该慢慢的、一杯一杯的让它痛，痛完之后那人就会觉得累，觉得累了那就很容易醉，醉醒了人自然保护就会舒坦，这才是借酒销愁的方法。但相反的，大人你喝得这么急，只求快醉快倒快忘情，只怕痛得不够，醉醒之后一切只会循环不息，浪费的不只是酒，还有大人的时间和心思。”
我也最觉得林保怡的表情让人很是心酸。
他在演的时候也是不是钩起了自己无法忘怀的遗憾而有了那么自然的表情？
戏里的他是大夫并说了：“忘记才是治疗伤痛最好的一贴药”
医生都这么说了，难道错得了？
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Shmily
Shmily
I first saw this story on xinhui's blog (quite some time ago). A very sweet story i must say. Then when i visited erina's blog yesterday, she had an entry about grandpa and grandma's love story. Well, i would like to share it again. Thanks xinhui for looking it up for me! =)
" My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more. They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath.
At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet. There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture. It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game.
Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love - one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky enough to experience. Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em." Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.
But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: my grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside. Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.
It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.
S-h-m-i-l-y: See How Much I Love You. "
I first saw this story on xinhui's blog (quite some time ago). A very sweet story i must say. Then when i visited erina's blog yesterday, she had an entry about grandpa and grandma's love story. Well, i would like to share it again. Thanks xinhui for looking it up for me! =)
" My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more. They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath.
At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet. There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture. It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game.
Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love - one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky enough to experience. Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em." Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.
But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: my grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside. Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.
It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.
S-h-m-i-l-y: See How Much I Love You. "
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
好。烂。啊。
好。烂。啊。
其实，我不否认我的词句文法很不整齐，而且有时会有点别扭。撇开错别字不说，我想我写东西可能真的很烂吧？
那些，不守“虽然。。。但是。。。”、“因为。。。所以。。。”的文法，还有那些名词和动词的位子倒调啦、少掉某些量词等等等的习惯真否算是种要不得的行为？
有时，我更是认为‘非正统’的文法更能体现出某些情感表达。前提是在同时不要动摇语文的基本根基，那么，我看不出有什么不妥。
有时候是老师改掉、有时侯是搞被改，感觉真的很讨厌，明明我就是要那种感觉，他们偏偏改掉，虽然整齐有条不紊，可是流失的是更重要的表达及文章情绪的推展。
我不明白有些作家能够这样写，人们说是“个人风格”，我们学生这样写，人们说是“语言能力差”。
是否，这也是种歧视？
其实，我不否认我的词句文法很不整齐，而且有时会有点别扭。撇开错别字不说，我想我写东西可能真的很烂吧？
那些，不守“虽然。。。但是。。。”、“因为。。。所以。。。”的文法，还有那些名词和动词的位子倒调啦、少掉某些量词等等等的习惯真否算是种要不得的行为？
有时，我更是认为‘非正统’的文法更能体现出某些情感表达。前提是在同时不要动摇语文的基本根基，那么，我看不出有什么不妥。
有时候是老师改掉、有时侯是搞被改，感觉真的很讨厌，明明我就是要那种感觉，他们偏偏改掉，虽然整齐有条不紊，可是流失的是更重要的表达及文章情绪的推展。
我不明白有些作家能够这样写，人们说是“个人风格”，我们学生这样写，人们说是“语言能力差”。
是否，这也是种歧视？
Saturday, January 20, 2007
鸡婆
鸡婆
每当我向妈妈说我要下去海星Band、Mj Band时，她总是说我很鸡婆，都毕了业还怎么有事要管？肯定是我‘硬硬’岔上一脚。
没有啊，只是对他们有一点牵挂。当这种牵挂累积多了，就会想下去看看、听一听。看了之后就会比较安心啊。同时也可以和其他的alumni members 聊聊天，也很不错啊！
我很了解Kathy总是放不下girl guides的心情。她的牵挂深了一些，而且毕了业的伙伴只有几个人会回来看看。她当然会更放不下。我们Band还好，alumni members蛮多，还能聚在一起吹奏、开会、BBQ的。所以“牵挂”分担了。
哪里有鸡婆！
每当我向妈妈说我要下去海星Band、Mj Band时，她总是说我很鸡婆，都毕了业还怎么有事要管？肯定是我‘硬硬’岔上一脚。
没有啊，只是对他们有一点牵挂。当这种牵挂累积多了，就会想下去看看、听一听。看了之后就会比较安心啊。同时也可以和其他的alumni members 聊聊天，也很不错啊！
我很了解Kathy总是放不下girl guides的心情。她的牵挂深了一些，而且毕了业的伙伴只有几个人会回来看看。她当然会更放不下。我们Band还好，alumni members蛮多，还能聚在一起吹奏、开会、BBQ的。所以“牵挂”分担了。
哪里有鸡婆！
Monday, January 15, 2007
Prioritise
Prioritise
有时候，当你面临的事情对你来说都有一定的份量时，而你必须作出选择时，你会怎么办？你会把自己放在第一位，还是把他人？抑或，责任感会驱使你奋不顾身，还是，始终终于自己？
如果，你因为某些事而导致无法完成心里头想完成的事，你还会这么做吗？虽然，可以不负责任一点而离去；因为自己始终有离去的权利，但是你不会觉得负了他人吗？
这段时间，除了工作赚钱，我更想做别的事。我想学习其他的东西，扩大我的视野，完成一些小小的梦想。工作是得做，因为没有收入向父母伸手也不是件好事，但我想工作的时间至少是有一定的规律性。可能，曾经大放厥词希望尽情地挥霍现有的青春，可是挥霍的同时，我也不想让这段可贵的时间没有丰硕的收获。
所以咯，怎样prioritise？
有时候，当你面临的事情对你来说都有一定的份量时，而你必须作出选择时，你会怎么办？你会把自己放在第一位，还是把他人？抑或，责任感会驱使你奋不顾身，还是，始终终于自己？
如果，你因为某些事而导致无法完成心里头想完成的事，你还会这么做吗？虽然，可以不负责任一点而离去；因为自己始终有离去的权利，但是你不会觉得负了他人吗？
这段时间，除了工作赚钱，我更想做别的事。我想学习其他的东西，扩大我的视野，完成一些小小的梦想。工作是得做，因为没有收入向父母伸手也不是件好事，但我想工作的时间至少是有一定的规律性。可能，曾经大放厥词希望尽情地挥霍现有的青春，可是挥霍的同时，我也不想让这段可贵的时间没有丰硕的收获。
所以咯，怎样prioritise？
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
寂寞之歌
寂寞之歌
寂寞，似乎我们用得很广泛。
前一阵子，读完了藤井树的《寂寞之歌》。
原来他的成长历程是这样的；而且不止是他的道路寂寞，他写的是世人的成长的寂寞。小说的呈现方式是以一个访问为背景。一位记者在访问吴子云（藤井树），从而他们的对话中道出吴子云的故事。
藤井树把这本小说分成了大概3大段吧。先是母亲的寂寞，然后是朋友的寂寞，然后是自己的感情的寂寞。寂寞到底是什么样子，是什么东西？记者更是问藤井树说的“更上一层楼的寂寞”是什么？
母亲用走的，带着当时才出世不久的吴子云从台南走到基隆。是的，走的。父亲的滥赌导致了母亲的寂寞。几个死党，在其中一位失去了联络时，他“牵动了依然想念他的所有的朋友的寂寞”。因为这位朋友说过“若是我离去，也一定因为暂时我还要消化回忆中的饱和而已。然后明天，我还会开门把笑脸迎向你们”。朋友的寂寞，太强烈了。被喜欢的人报以“抱歉”的眼神，又是怎样的寂寞呢。
这些都是寂寞，“因为，那所有堆叠的情绪，是所有其他人都‘无法真切地分享或共有’”。
在书的终结，藤井树解说了“更上一层楼的寂寞”是什么。
“当我决定把寂寞与人分享，却发现寂寞是无法分享的时候，那份寂寞，便更上一层楼了”
不是吗？
Monday, January 08, 2007
Sunday, January 07, 2007
艺术家
艺术家
在工作的地方，偶然地和一位同事聊起了天。他37岁，却历经了很多。他出身南阳艺术学院-graphic design。在踏出社会不久遇上经济萧条，失去了工作。在父亲的餐馆帮忙，可是他心里清楚知道，这不是他想要的。后来结了婚，也离了婚。父亲过逝后，餐馆结束营业。他在机场找到了一份工作，可是工作时间长得惊人。他根本没有时间陪太太。
这一次，他结婚了。他再也没有父亲的支持，也没有青春的权利。他说，他要辞职现在这份工作，因为这份工作的收入无法维持太太腹中即将到来的新生命的未来。
他的经历让我看见了、领悟了一位艺术家被现实浇灭了热忱。现实囚禁了飞翔的翅膀。在他的声音里听见了自嘲却也抹上了多一份不屈。或许是孩子的来临和父亲的离去，他更懂得生存始终会扼杀一位艺术家的生命。
现在的他不求太多了。一位艺术家的矜持及固执在现实生活里死亡了。
可能每一个人都是一名艺术家，大多的人知道不可能战胜现实，早早不去挣扎，而他一般的人在对抗了30年最终放弃了这场战役。
问起有没有想过再回到设计，他说已经lost touch了，不可能的。
一双画画的手为什么始终没法提起一支笔而是选择了另一个行业？
在工作的地方，偶然地和一位同事聊起了天。他37岁，却历经了很多。他出身南阳艺术学院-graphic design。在踏出社会不久遇上经济萧条，失去了工作。在父亲的餐馆帮忙，可是他心里清楚知道，这不是他想要的。后来结了婚，也离了婚。父亲过逝后，餐馆结束营业。他在机场找到了一份工作，可是工作时间长得惊人。他根本没有时间陪太太。
这一次，他结婚了。他再也没有父亲的支持，也没有青春的权利。他说，他要辞职现在这份工作，因为这份工作的收入无法维持太太腹中即将到来的新生命的未来。
他的经历让我看见了、领悟了一位艺术家被现实浇灭了热忱。现实囚禁了飞翔的翅膀。在他的声音里听见了自嘲却也抹上了多一份不屈。或许是孩子的来临和父亲的离去，他更懂得生存始终会扼杀一位艺术家的生命。
现在的他不求太多了。一位艺术家的矜持及固执在现实生活里死亡了。
可能每一个人都是一名艺术家，大多的人知道不可能战胜现实，早早不去挣扎，而他一般的人在对抗了30年最终放弃了这场战役。
问起有没有想过再回到设计，他说已经lost touch了，不可能的。
一双画画的手为什么始终没法提起一支笔而是选择了另一个行业？
Saturday, January 06, 2007
依旧
依旧
前几天和trombone section来了个聚会。当然的，都很期待然后玩得很开心，再后来是有点不舍并积极安排下一次的聚会和chalet。我们也成立了一个博克，呵呵。所以，也就不需要重复在我们各自的博克里。http://trombonesection.blogspot.com
我们长大了。
真的，有些观念、看法、原则改变了。可是仍然我们对这段情谊持有的坚持没有改变吧。最恐怖的是成长让人忘了某些曾经单纯快乐的东西，而从此遗失。
前几天和trombone section来了个聚会。当然的，都很期待然后玩得很开心，再后来是有点不舍并积极安排下一次的聚会和chalet。我们也成立了一个博克，呵呵。所以，也就不需要重复在我们各自的博克里。http://trombonesection.blogspot.com
我们长大了。真的，有些观念、看法、原则改变了。可是仍然我们对这段情谊持有的坚持没有改变吧。最恐怖的是成长让人忘了某些曾经单纯快乐的东西，而从此遗失。
Monday, January 01, 2007
2007 New year resolutions
《理想版》
- 事事称心如意（既是，心想什么都会实现）
- 生活会开心地继续 （至少到2008）
- 拥有一个小型的私人图书馆（那，钱就得从天上掉下来）
- 拥有一个小香料园
- 不会伤心难过失望及失落一整年
《现实版》
- 可以升学
- 赚点钱买多几本书
- 顺利考取驾照
- 吉他弹好点
- 健康生活
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