Racist?

我問阿姆斯特丹的白人荷蘭人，Can Chinese be Dutch?

有一位答：Chinese可以，但Turks不能。

另一位答：可以，對我來說，你是否Dutch視乎你的荷蘭文說得怎樣。

其實這兩個答案沒有分別，來自土耳其的移民，就是遭批評說荷蘭文時口音太濃。

我從這一個「另一位」的口中，聽過取笑中國人和日本人眼細的笑話，也有其他她不覺歧視但其實充滿stereotype的話。

歧視不一定是打你一身。

My latest OCD

Since I can't wash my hands that much, I decided to wash clothes instead.

Family problems make a clean home. We're all striving to outdo the other in terms of household chores.

獨處

在家中，無聲的獨處。在快要發瘋時，少了S陪伴左右，思考，我們的關係，也思考，上一輩給我的影響。

我從跟S的相處中看到母親的影子。究竟性格是遺傳還是因我們的互動產生？傷痛一代傳一代。

S，你看我倆多破碎！是這共通點拉我們在一起嗎？

午夜夢迴，我發現，原來我們是真正的彼此相愛。

離去

你提起離去這個問題。我想起Smashing Pumpkins的歌。

我曾經寫到，你給我的印象是一個會選擇離去的人。

現在不該是你最快樂的日子嗎？那不可告人的事情，你的困擾、驚慌，旁人不會猜想到。那天我們一起食午餐，你越是談笑風生，我越捕捉到那反差。光與暗，人生就只是掙扎。

不要離去，好嗎？算是我自私，無視你的痛。我不想明白，不想體會，你走了的話，我怕我會跟隨。

你答應我的，不要輕易反悔，可以嗎？

給你(5)

親愛的S：

有話就在這裡說吧！

其實是有話只能在這裡說。

漫長的一天，早上參加周五晨早聖餐崇拜，早餐後聯同朋友B送另一朋友入院。第一次見識政府醫院的精神科病房，誠然是諸多限制，出入有限制、可以留身的物品有限制......那是一個沒有電腦，沒有手提電話的世界，只能與外界作有限的接觸，沒有什麼私隱可言。

我想起你。你也曾在這種地方流連嗎？當你的世界都變成灰灰黑黑時，你會問上帝在哪裡嗎？

你說破碎是什麼一回事？有時我感到大家都碎得散落一地，偶爾有人想花時間把碎片一片一片的拾起，間中會給它們割得滿手鮮血，你說我們的人生是多麼的血淋淋！在血肉模糊的我們身上，神學有什麼意義？

但我知道你喜歡神學，也想從神學了解破碎這回事，正如我想明白更多關於邊緣化的生命。

你知嗎，我已不敢說愛你，因為我意識到，我的愛連兩毛錢都不值。

你的我

給你(1)

親愛的S：

我知道你正在困苦中，我也知道我們都愛莫能助。上主日是我們的泰澤崇拜，John的分享教我想起你。的確，主耶穌沒有應該我們生活沒有痛苦，祂只呼召我們跟隨祂，我們也跟隨了，雖然是跌跌碰碰，雖然並未能跟得貼，也許從來都沒有人能。

我問主，為什麼你會有這麼困難的人生？這並非你的錯，並非你父母的錯，但事實卻是你的人生路都較我們的難走。我的心是痛的，有幾次我看著你的臉，從你的眼睛看到無比愛心，你多麼燦爛的笑容，你在幸福中的甜絲絲，然而一切都彷彿過眼雲煙，我已經可以預計到六月來臨時你的痛，六月不要來，可以嗎？

願你今晚可以安睡，不要在驚恐中醒過來。

你的我

Sorrow

"Sometimes sorrow is more than a state. It can be part of the being," I said.

So if you want to cure me out of this sorrow, you'll have to kill part of me.

Thinking of some stifling optimism and cheerfulness.

Solitude

Getting ready for the Friday Morning Eucharist. We took our time; I took mine. Half way through I went outside and took this picture. I loved the blue sky, so beautiful, so transient. Wish you were there.

The best moment on Friday came before people arrived. Gradually, this solitude was replaced by sounds from human activities. In the midst of various crowds, I had a hard time preventing this solitude from becoming loneliness. It was when in crowds that I felt the most alone. People talked but I could only see their mouths moving. The shape of their mouths, the movements of their hands, then I looked down, trying to seek refuge in the moring dews on the grass, the tiny toadstools that had sprouted up after a night of heavy humidity. The wind was less than gentle, slapping our faces and making our hair dance. In such cold weather, I missed the warmth of that big hand that I had held, the broad shoulder that I embraced with so much longing that it hurt. Then I heard the birds' singing. It sounded crisp and you could almost feel the echo. All these would disppear as the sun gave us more of its light and heat. It was in coldness that I felt warmth, something lingering and almost imperceptable.

我不寂寞

熱鬧過後，與一班特別的朋友分別後，我竟沒有慣常的孤獨與寂寞。

歌唱、閒談，最原始的娛樂，最真誠的分享，分享食物、笑話、歌曲，也分享愛。

原來，愛很簡單。

我這大傻瓜沒有意會到你們的邀請，但你們沒有把我遺忘，於是我得到一個難忘的晚上。

跟你說再見後，我帶著平靜幸福回家，不再患得患失，因為我確定你的愛。

往外走

走到人群，
在潮水中，
各不相識，
衣服觸碰著，
螞蟻一般，
我鳥瞰著，
卻也感壓迫。

人來人往，
你們可知下一站
是喜是悲？
商場的光明教我冷，
可否暫把燈關掉，
讓雙目小休，
讓我游說自己，
我不孤獨？

Don't wanna sleep

Because I don't have you in my dreams.

My dreams are only nightmares.

May I stay awake? May I?

鳥

大概有十五隻吧，在在空飛翔，排成一個Y字。都一月天了，怎麼還會在香港上空出現。完成了我的鹿特丹之旅後，乘坐小巴從市中心回家。下車後，走在上課、上山崇拜必經之路，忽然見到牠們。我停下來，從來都不會有人在那地方停下來，我卻放慢腳步，然後完全靜止。抬頭看，天空何其大，沒有樓房阻擋就更好。我想把鳥兒的數目數清楚，卻不夠牠們飛離屋邨上空的速度快。我告訴自己，許是十五隻吧。

願你就在我的身旁，你的眼界視力又好又快，或許你會知道答案。

完全的接納

接納我的古怪，甚至愛護我的古怪。

在我神經發作時，你沒有離棄我。在別人嫌棄我時，你與我同在。在有人欺負我時，你願為我出頭。

我們都是別人眼中的瘋子，對啊，但我愛你這個瘋子，你也愛我這個瘋子。

Sensory overload again

Well, I do live in HK; how can I expect to escape from all those noises and crowds and irritations.

I felt swamped. It was as if the whole Shatin was flooding with noises. People were talking, too much talking.

I complained to Spike that he's late.

Did my complaint make me a bad friend? I asked.

Why couldn't I be all smiling when I was so so so happy to meet him? Why did I let the noisy enviroment have the upper hand? Plain stupidity!

Thank you for understanding my condition. Your understanding meant a lot.

自殺

中二那年，鄰班同學自殺。她在行動前給我和其他幾個同學寫信，請我們互相交給對方，但要在特定的時間，在那特定時間前，千萬不要閱讀。我們很聽話，就在她行動翌日交換信件。讀罷，大家哭了、害怕，驚動了校方，結果，我差不多整天都在社工房內渡過。她沒有死，一年多以後，她退學了，無聲無色地，我們就從此沒有見面。

朋友來電說想死。怎麼辦？我聽她說話，告訴她總有something better than suicide，要她答應我會在某天出現。

聽另一朋友提及的歌，彷彿走進他的內心，他邀請我進入，不算偷窺吧。回頭仍是我近期的motto，life is short, what the hell!我覺得這個朋友有機會死於自殺。我這念頭可怕嗎？也許我搞錯了，也許，也許你只想睡一睡，我知你累了，就像長期失眠的我。

失眠可怕嗎？其實習慣了，就不當一回事。

你送給我的照片，我都收到了。怎麼都像我拍的那些？是你知我喜好，還是我們太相像？

Something is better than suicide，you are better，你知道嗎？你知道的。

The Smashing Pumpkins

聽The Smashing Pumpkins的Today。

Today is the greatest / Day I've never known / Can't wait for tomorrow / I might not have that long / I'll tear my heart out / Before I get out ...

彷彿走進他的世界。

但願你也找到你的something better。

Anything is better than suicide?

No, that's not true. But Spike is better than suicide.

This is a conclusion I made this morning on the train. I must be somewhere between Tai Wai and Mongkok.

So how does Miss Smilla come out of her suicidal thought? It's her friend the mechanic. The dyslectic man writes her a big note, and then she survives.

The force of life

"What a death. What a life. What a chance. What a surprise. My will has chosen life? Still, it has had me spooked and many others besides.”(The Piano, directed by Jane Campion)

I experience the full force of being alive when I am at the lowest point in my survival instinct. But still, I have that instinct. Maybe my mind has been doing something which not even I can understand.

I have no idea why I wanted to re-read Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow. Maybe it's because of the cold? That it's Christmas time? That I had had made friends with a few Danes? I couldn't even remember the plot. There was just this feeling, maybe it's like Miss Smilla's feeling for snow, something real yet transient.

"Let's call it a day." I told myself, "Let's finish it all." And yet I was trapped on a bus, sitting at the window seat, with a complete stranger next to me, blocking my way out. There was nothing drastic I could do. There wasn't even a window to open so that I could jump out. And the bus still had a long way to its destination. Miss Smilla only had some blunt knives at home. She found this comforting. If she wanted to kill herself, she had to at least go to a neighbour to borrow something sharper.

I was this close...And then these words jumped to my eyes: Anything is better than suicide. Maybe these words were the reason for my choice of reading. Maybe I remembered there was something like this in page 99. Maybe. The brain is too complex an organ; I would never know.

I felt as if life had slapped me on my face, real hard. I was swimming. I was sinking if you got the joke. Fear was in the air. Our survival instinct made us smell it out.

I felt love/loved in a hopeless situation. Why did I find it hopeless? Was it another survival instinct? May I just shut down everything so that I wouldn't be hurt? So that I wouldn't hurt? I had this fear of hurting people; I had this fear of intruding upon other people's life. But I couldn't keep my distance; it's as if I was addicted to this chaos.

Maybe it's just life. Like what we said on Christmas, it's life; it's shitty. A shitty Christmas in the literal sense could teach us a lot.

Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow

I have a few comfort books, and Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow belongs to one of them.

I don't really remembr the plot; but I remember the atmosphere. It's something I want to return to when I'm really down.

It is as if there is a blanket covering me, and I'm too tired to lift it up or crawl out.

In p.99, I read this:

From the chair where I'm sitting I can see the letter box. It's the last entrance that the world hasn't tried to force its way through. Now a long strip of grey cardboard is pushed through it. There's writing on it. I let it lie there for a while. But it's hard to ignore a message that's almost a metre long.

"Anything is better than suicide," it says. That's what it's supposed to say, anyway. He has managed to include two or three spelling mistakes in the brief text.

I was on a 260X bus when I read it. As usual, I took a window seat. My reflection was on the window. I saw myself, wearing a hat which earned me the nickname "Czarina", and tears were rolling down.

Anything is better than suicide. Are you sure?

The sad thing didn't come from my being depressed. Its source came from my knowing that this depression would be gone, sooner or later; but then it would always come back. It's part of me.

I don't really mind dealing with it. It's my friend, foe, companion. I have had it for so long that sometimes I just don't notice it. But when it quietly creeps to the surface, when I notice that something's wrong, I'm already quite deep in this black hole. Sometimes, I just don't have the strength to get out. So, why not just call it a day?

The unbearable lightness of being; what's unbearable might well be the part about being.

Sensory overload

Now I can put a name to it; and I am relieved to be able to name my discomfort when there are too many sounds around me.

I took the train home after the worship service and supper tonight. The man sitting next to me was playing a handheld electronic game. Oh gosh, I just couldn't stand the noise. After him came a woman holding a toddler. She tried to make him giggle, not realizing the high-pitched sound of him was really hurting my ears. And there were numerous other sounds as well. It's torture.

The world isn't very friendly to people like me, that's all.