beautiful things instantaneously

說有多懷念便有多懷念

住在G城的Jenny Shen終于在離開數年之后回去了G城故地重游。曾經那個在晦澀的G城的小酒館里彈幾下鋼琴的女孩子。她會化了煙熏妝去上晚班。她賺很少的錢仍去Urban Outfitter買衣服。對物質的熱愛，卻都是附在她對物質底下的那些精神的東西的依戀。四月天的時候，她在綠草茵茵的樹野里彈奏那首“四月天”。

四月天

是帶傘的思念

我想見

你的臉

我坐在蘇格蘭四月天的大窗戶旁聽到她彈的那首歌。四月天在蘇格蘭，沒有梅雨，只是太陽一日日的下山晚了，風吹的落地的窗簾一擺一擺的。良辰中，我覺得有點醉意。

我那時居住的城市，被她喚作E城。

她總是有側臉的照片，眼睛大大的。

四月天，我總是倚在大窗戶邊吹風，太陽些許的落下來，我拿著一支Mild Seven在那里抽，一邊喝一杯茉莉花茶。

那時的生活亦是充滿了寂寞，只是有點天真的寂寞，卻也是靈感很多的時候。我坐在窗戶邊，廚房藍色的Ikea便宜沙發上，吃飯的圓桌上，寫了很多的文字。

住在隔壁城市的我和Jenny Shen,在只是一個小時車程的時間里，從來都沒有蒙過面。我有一本厚厚的大旅行日志，里面夾了許多千山萬水收集的紙頭，明信片，文字和旅途的寂寞，是她有一天跑去我工作的咖啡店留下給我的。

幾年的之后，我在她的blog里看到她當時在留下本子離開時在Taxi里回頭的照片，眼淚止不住的落下來。仿佛，我看到的是自己的年華和對某事某刻的懷念。

忽然，又到了冬天了。

一年．這樣就過去。多少時事變遷。在Yin Yang的門口和Hannah，Susi道別。路燈光在樹下把影子拉長。對面的土耳其店仍亮著燈。一年多前Hannah背誦的德文詩。月光拉長的影子。看天光云影的浮動。愛的人的臉就在眼前。捧在手中的愛戀。明亮的眼睛。嘴唇輕輕的親下去。

溫柔，都還是在。人，卻是不再。

一路慢慢的走回家去。毛的帽子戴在頭上，頭頸縮進領子里。經過Whisk時，進去買兩只cookies給自己吃。

房間里開了radiator.我的蘇格蘭還在那里，只是我不再那里。有的人的生活還在，只是沒有我在那里。我的生活還在，只是沒有有的人在這里。

一直下雨。樹葉都落了。

沒有什么美好的靈感。只是略微酸楚的溫柔。沒有什么美好的事物。這個城市不是適合人生活的地方。

我要開一間美好的咖啡館。有園的黑腳桌子，綠色的墻，和紅色的地板。溫暖如半夜最后一處的橘色光亮。我穿著圍裙在門口立著抽煙。有個單身的女孩在我的吧臺上不禁睡著。

也許在這樣的幻象里冬天可以過去的快一點吧。

By 蜻蜓

Photo: Xing Zhao

好像有些許的感冒。暈暈的，一直覺得想睡覺。

下了兩天的雨，天仍是陰的。

昨天半夜4點被英國來的電話驚醒。電話那頭的Cindy聲音歡躍，一年多未聽到過，覺得甚是恍惚。我坐在黑暗中，努力想要聽清楚她在說什么。潛意識中想要隱藏自己剛在睡眠中醒來。

于是接下來是一夜的亂夢。大概的現在都記不起來了。

覺得又該是離開一段時間的時候了。去到天藍海綠的地方去。

回頭再看之前的blog,看到某人的照片，覺得甚是想念。忽然覺得什么前事都可不計，只要再見你的歡顏。

Paintings fade like flowers.

曾經寫很多的信，而現在寫很多的電郵。寫很多的信的時候便幻想紙上要說的人和故事是要被信使拿著，騎上馬，穿過中古世紀的黑森林，穿越山川海洋，千山萬水才到收信人的手里。

如今電郵在幾秒之間傳送。沒有了等待信件被寄到的過程，也沒有了等待回信的過程。只是，當你收不到回信時，便要懷疑為什么還沒有回信呢。

我在等待一封回信。卻遲遲沒有回音。

難道這封電郵也在經歷千山萬水，高山大洋，才能抵達我的手中？

半夜睡不著，不禁想到這樣的句子。

夜半私語時，月落如金盆。總是在夏天的夜里，會想要說些什么，卻找不到可以訴說的人。

一整個禮拜忙著忙著，完全沒有時間去想些什么。頭一沾枕頭，便睡著了。睡眠中可以聽到自己打呼的聲音。只是太累了。

Sara Rowe在上海住了兩個月的時間。終于她今天早上還是回了愛丁堡去了。不能再打個電話便約出來吃午飯喝咖啡了。

不知道為什么，心里一點點的失落。總是都有離開的時候。曾經最親近的人，也總是有走了的時候。去年夏天越南的照片不敢去看，可是卻又忍不住的去看。有些人，雖然走了，卻仍舊住在你的心里。怎么辦呢。只是留下的人自己知道。

有沒有哪一個人是會留在身邊一生一世的呢？可不可以不要走呢？到頭來是不是還是自己一個人呢？我有一點的寂寞。

或者是自己一個人靜下來想一想的時候了。夜半無人私語時。

做了什么。接下來要做什么。做些什么才是可以讓知道開心的。幸福的掌握，咫尺天涯。

我不停的喝酒和party.我不停的看書和寫字。我不停的打掃房子和在跑步機上加速。我不停的愛和努力不去愛。我不停的尋找愛和損毀。我不停的旅行和想停下來。我不停的說話和靜默。我不停的笑和流淚。我究竟要的是什么呢？

為什么當時握著我現在覺得是幸福的東西仍舊覺得迷失呢？

惠安的夜色里，腳下好多的蚊子。我不停的涂tiger balm和喝著sugarcane juice. 他睡在身邊，呼吸清勻，仿如嬰兒。

可不可以再念一遍Alice in Wonderland給我聽呢？我親愛的大為。

夏天就這樣的又來了，千呼萬喚的。只是來時不過一閃的光陰便是立夏了。

在房間的陽臺上把窗戶大開著，在小園桌上坐著喝泛著綠色的薄荷葉茶，抽一根夏日的香煙。記得曾經在愛丁堡的公寓的夏日黃昏時的茉莉花茶和Mild Seven.那時窗外的樓下是大片翠綠的花園。遠處看到大海的一角。

如今的窗外仍可以看到些許的樹。聽著夏韶聲唱歌，窗簾在風中一蕩一蕩的，那些褶皺間可以看的到時光的腳。

昨天在叫做The Fat Olive的餐廳的露臺喝了一天的酒曬了一天的太陽。滿目的陽光和皮膚曬黑了的白種人。個個戴了大太陽眼鏡仿佛從GQ雜志上滑落出來的一般。紅色短褲，白色襯衫，Ray Ban太陽鏡。

天黑時，一起的人都走了。我留下來跟另一個人一起看高樓大廈間的一顆星星。

今天的下午把 頭靠著窗吹風聽著夏韶聲時，仿佛是要睡過去了。在夏日初上的熱浪之中，昏昏欲睡。

是怎樣的光陰，叫你我迷醉。

Olivier and my hand with a cigarette.

Anne and Olivier

My hand with a cigarette.

Vienna Cafe on Shaoxing Lu hosts its weekly film nights every Thursday night to bring the city a different film choice.

On Thursday 16 April, we would like to invite you and your friends to our Vienna Café Shanghai Documentary Film Night for the screening of Swedish independent filmmaker Peter Eldin’s documentary Building 173. Building 173 was originally the luxury apartment building the Cosmopolitan in downtown Shanghai. Built in the early twentieth century by the Tan family, the Cosmopolitan lived an international community; with the wars and political upheavals taking place in Shanghai, the residents changed to middle class and intellectual Chinese families, and to workers when the apartments were divided into smaller compartments after the Communist took over. The building witnessed three quarters of a century’s human history. Building 173 discovers the stories and secrets of one building, seven people and three generations, past and present. On the film night, we are very honoured to have the filmmaker Peter Eldin himself to be present to answer questions and to discuss the making of the documentary. For more information, check out the film’s official website: www.building173.com.

紹興路的維也納咖啡每周四推出電影之夜，為春暖花開的上海帶來不同的電影選擇和奧地利的咖啡文化。

4月16日的星期四晚，我們將推出一部在上海拍攝的記錄片Building 173. Cosmopolitan是一棟建于20世紀初的高級公寓樓，本片講述了七十幾年來圍繞這個公寓樓展開的歷史。一棟樓，七個人，三代。住過的洋人，中產階 級，只是分子，工人，歌劇演員。經歷二戰，內戰，風風雨雨，前世今生。制作人員專門赴加拿大采訪杜月笙的兒子與他妻子。

本片由生活在上海的瑞典電影人Peter Eldin等人編導，制作，多次獲得各類紀錄片獎。但是本次為首次在它的主要拍攝地上海公映。

當日導演Peter Eldin將到場與觀眾見面討論本片。

http://www.building173.com/

英文發音，無字幕。

時間：4月16日星期四，19：30

地點：Vienna Cafe, 紹興路，靠近陜西南路（陜西南路地鐵下）

位子有限，先打電話訂位子：021 021 644 52 131

他坐在他的旁邊，他坐在他的旁邊。出租車在暗夜緩行。流光夜色，他在抽一根煙，而他慢慢把頭靠在了他的肩上。此刻的溫柔無限，只盼是能長久。

一個夏天的愛恨交纏。電影中的人的眼神復雜，卻有太多的話沒有說出來。

自己也經過這樣的夏天。炎熱，不停的流汗。和愛的人在一起。讀到有些寫“男人的真愛一生是只有一次的”。若是真的，那樣我便不再可能愛上什么人了。已經把愛都一無保留的在無限夏天的炎熱中給了一個人了。

張國榮的錦繡年華都在電影的光影中記錄了下來了。穿梭如一尾寂寞的魚。光影燦爛都是身外的事情。眼睛大大的，只是要掉淚的樣子。

寂寞的如同阿根廷的南半球冬季一樣，干澀，有太多的眼淚流也流不出來。

兩個人的感情里，總是有一個是比較狠心的。只是狠心的那個，未必不傷。在張國容回去那個房子時，梁朝偉不在了，他抱著被子哭的好傷心。看的人心痛。

盼只盼，錦繡年華都不浪費。愛的人一段姻緣聚會。只是花自凋零，水自流。

四月即至。在這個城市變得無比炎熱之前的短短一個月的春光。

春光。乍泄。

明明還握在手中。

記得兩年前的四月，坐在愛丁堡的家的屋頂看傍晚流云，口中清唱的歌詞。迎風嘆歲月悠悠。

愛情最美麗的時候，都存在回憶之中。

華麗如綢緞觸摸，不冤枉年華錦繡。

藍天白云。我接著去了希臘旅行。從一個島到另一個島。

之后遇見那一個人。

現在想起他來時，記得的都是他的好。嘴角只是小小的微笑。記得他最美好的時候。記得他睡著時的樣子。記得在一起的最好時光。給他的愛，都還在。心，給他帶了去。乍泄如春光，怎樣捉的住呢。

所以，如此時四月的天光，美好的時候稍縱即逝。四月天的黃昏的微風時候，過去了便不再了。只是美好的記憶在。

小心的握在手中吧。

PS: I Love You

不是很努力的去避免這部電影了嗎。不知怎的又拿出來在Vienna Café放。

沒有太多的人來看。只是WJ帶了她新的女朋友來。很高很漂亮的年輕女孩子，青春又美麗著。

我吃著Gulasch，喝著橙汁坐在黑暗中看電影，卻是吃到哽咽。拼命的快快把東西吃下去。一場電影下來，仍是滿面都是濕的。

當初是和他一起看的。他看完后只是說，你干什么又讓我看這樣的電影，結果看到我落淚。我這想著，要是有天你死了，我該怎么辦。

我怎樣也想不到，當初說這話的人，此時已經不再了。

到最后那首ps: I Love You唱起來的時候，我已經是無力去克制了。只是快快跑到洗手間去。

春。夏。秋。冬。

要那么長的時間才可以不再感受到的一個人的存在。是生，是死，都好。究竟有沒有分別呢。

只是當時已惘然。

春

賣花擔上，買的一枝春欲放。淚染清勻，猶帶彤霞曉露痕。

春天了，天氣卻仍是冷。雨下那么久。病了兩個禮拜都不好。頭痛，四肢乏力。夜夜笙歌的日子是怎樣也支撐不下去了。只是穿了幾件的hoodie躲在空調房里仍是覺得冷。沒有暖氣片的冬天，難過到骨頭里去。

看了三個醫生了。每個說的都是差不多的話。只是吃得藥都不有效。

生病的時候，只是嘆若覺得正常該多好。

夜半醒來，忽冷忽熱的。汗流了許多。只是記起某人也曾是睡到半夜總在流汗。

仍是會夢見他。在半夜太冷或太熱醒來時。這輩子到現在沒有對一個人這么放不開的。于是又想到金庸小說里的人和事。起初遇見時也是想到金庸很多。

天上星，亮晶晶。永燦爛，長安寧。

四張機，鴛鴦織就欲雙飛。可憐未老頭先白。春波碧草，曉寒深處，相對浴紅衣。

我只盼自己的人生不是金庸小說里的人一般，不要為了誰了碎了心，白了頭。

病，不死的話，終究是有好的時候的吧。

There is someone I want to write a letter to, not only just one letter, but letters, like I used to write to him. Not just emails, but actually letters, on paper. I wrote to him, all the long letters, at kitchen tables with a cat on my lap, on my bed with candle lights, under dim lights in a wee cabin in Xinjiang. I wrote to him, and my letters travelled across mountains and oceans to get to him. I miss typing in his name and writing down about my day. “Tell each other how our days are… maybe nothing will be different, but everything will be different.”

The beauty of words; the beauty of the distant closeness. I miss this person, and I wish he could read about my life. The real loneliness is you cannot be heard by the one you want to be heard the most, isn’t it?

I miss writing to him. I wish I could write to him.

The days go on, and I become more faithless.

1997年看過的電影。

在哪里？在哪里見過你？

你的笑容這樣熟悉

我一時想不起

在時過境遷之后，在2009年2月14日的上海又看到。一個人靜靜的坐在黑暗中看。只是覺得人在時間中真的渺小，看過時間流去，事件發生。只是那個人最后的最后在你轉身時卻又在那里了。

在現實中，有幾個人是幸運的可以在回首時仍有當初愛的那個人在呢？

有時我懷疑去電影院的原因是不是可以在黑暗中哭一場呢？

2009年的2月14日，我在上海的電影院里看甜蜜蜜。終于是又一次的哭了。

只是這一次是為了自己的故事，還是電影里的故事，是無從知曉了。

在夢里。

When many people describe Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale as science fiction, I read it with my eyes wet, as an emotional journey. Indeed, it is a science fictional story set in a democratic United States of America-turned theocratic state when the nuclear, biological and chemical pollution rendered a large portion of the population sterile and a terrorist attack abolished the US constitution. Thus an imaginary state the Republic of Gilead was formed under the rule of a military dictatorship. It’s a state run by a government which degrades women’s status down to merely a means of reproduction under the name of God and the Bible. Comprising a few social critiques, including religious movements, feminism, the backlash against feminism, and terrorism, the novel presents a dystopian version of life in a country under a totalitarian regime.

Offred, the protagonist narrates the story of her life being a handmaid who along with other women, exists in a void-like world with no trust, love, or escape. She tells her story in fragments, with many flashbacks through which the readers slowly envision her life before and after she became Offred.  The story is quietly told in a not-much-happening atmosphere and it exists only because you are listening.

In a world without freedom, Offred has the unfilled amount of time. “Time as white sound”; “the long parentheses of nothing.” She travels through time in her memories to her rebellious lesbian friend Moira, her peculiar feminist mother, her lost daughter, and more often her husband Luke. In Atwood’s poetic descriptions, these passages of memories with Luke are lovingly tender but also heartbreaking to read.  

“We would lie in those afternoon beds, hands on each other, talking it over… How were we to know we were happy? But now it’s the rooms themselves I miss as well…I wanted to feel Luke lying beside me. I have them, these attacks of the past, like faintness, a wave sweeping over my head. Sometimes it can hardly be borne.

“Lying in bed, with Luke, his hand on my rounded belly. Thunderstorm outside the window… A flash of lightning, quite close, Luke’s eyes go white for an instant. I’m not frightened. We are wide awake, the rain hits now, we will be slow and careful. If I thought this would never happen again I would die…It’s the lack of love we die from. There’s nobody here I can love, all the people I love are dead or elsewhere.”  

As the story moves forward, the Commander starts to summon Offred to his office at nights. There is a possibility of an affair between them. However, she does not like him and he only wants to play Scrabble with her. She still takes in what he has to give to the emptiness of her life: moisturiser, a women’s magazine, a cheap lipstick, a costume-like dress with feathers, and a night out in the underground brothel.

Love happens in the very last part of the book, or it almost does. In order to have a baby, the Commander’s wife Serena Joy arranges Offred to meet Nick, the chauffeur. In Nick’s single room above the garage, sex isn’t a ritual anymore. Desire and love sparkle in Atwood’s again poetic but also fast-paced descriptions. “He begins to unbutton, then to stroke, kisses beside my ear.” The imaginary or real-existing thunderstorms, lightning and searchlight glow and flash. “His mouth is on me, his hands, I can’t wait and he’s moving, already, love, it’s been so long, I’m alive in my skin, again, arms around him, falling and water softly everywhere, never-ending. I knew it might only be once.” She herself isn’t sure how it happens either, “the way love feels is always only approximate”.

She then takes risks and goes back to him again and again. In the glow of the searchlight filtered through the white curtains she memorizes him, to save him up so she can live on the image. “The lines of his body, the texture of his flesh… I ought to have done that with Luke, paid more attention, to the details, the moles and scars, the singular crease; I didn’t and he’s fading. Day by day, night by night, he recedes, and I become more faithless.” She knows each time with him might be the last, and if more, that is a surprise, extra, a gift. Love is a spark, lost in the dark. Her momentary happiness bears as much hopelessness as love.

However, when the story is at its climax, it also abruptly ends. Offred is taken away by the authorities that are led to her room by Nick. He tells her to go with them and says “it’s alright.” So she sets off into “the darkness within; or else the light.” Her memories end here with an ambiguous ending of not knowing whether she escapes or dies, whether Nick has betrayed her or saved her.

In this beautifully written book, it looks like nothing much happens within pages of the poetic style of writing, but at the same time a lot happens intensely like waves one after another. Atwood imaginatively creates a dystopian society, but more importantly she weaves together one’s memories of the past and the feelings of love. Love and desire are sensually described with metaphors such as flowers and water, but moreover, are heartfully perceived. She tells the story with great compassion. It is not only a story that brings you the chill to rethink about society, but also a story that brings out your own memories till you are in tears.

The Handmaid's Tale, by Canadian author Margaret Atwood, is first published by McClelland and Stewart in 1985.

当许多人说Margaret Atwood的The Handmaid’s Tale是一部科幻小说时，我将其作为一次情感的旅程，读到双目泪湿。诚然，这是一个带着科幻色彩的故事。当生化污染使很大部分的人口失去生育能力以及恐怖分子袭击国会之后，一个民主的美国变为神主的政权，于是形成一个军事独裁的Gilead共和国。这是一个在神和圣经的名义下将女性的地位下降到单纯的生育工具的政权。小说包含了数个社会评论题材，从宗教运动到女权主义，女权主义的反作用以及恐怖主义，展现了一个在极权主义统治下的“反乌托邦”世界。

女主人公Offred叙述了自己同其他女人一道作为女仆(handmaid,出自圣经故事)的生活。她们生活在一个没有信任，没有爱，也无从逃遁的几乎真空的世界里。她的故事是片断的，如电影中的回忆片断。读者在这些记忆碎片中慢慢将她的前世今生拼接在一起。故事在很安静的氛围中叙述，仿佛没有太多事情发生。它的存在也只因为你的聆听。

在一个没有自由的世界里，Offred有着永远也填不满的时间。“时间如同白色的声音”；“空洞的无限长的插曲。”她于是穿越时空在漫长回忆中旅行，不断地回去与亲人的回忆之中：她的叛逆的女同性恋朋友Moira，她古怪的女权主义者母亲，她失散的女儿，且更多的是她的丈夫Luke.在Atwood的诗歌般的描述中，与Luke的那些片断温柔无限，却又读来让人心碎。

“我们躺在下午的床上，手握着对方，一再谈过…我们怎知道我们是幸福的呢？现在我连那些房间本身也是想念…我想要感觉Luke躺在身边。我拥有，那些来自过去的攻击，如同晕眩，波浪从我头上打过。有时我觉得无法承受。

躺在床上，同Luke一起，他的手在我拱起的腹部。窗外有雷鸣…一道闪电，很近，Luke的眼睛一下变白。我不害怕。我们大醒着，下雨了，我们会很慢会很小心。如果我想到这些再不会发生，我便会死去的…我们会因为没有爱而死去。这里没有我可以爱的人，我爱的人都已经死了或在他方。“

当故事继续推进，司令官开始在夜晚将Offred召唤到他的办公室。他们之间有着发生什么的可能性。然而，她不喜欢他，而他也只是想要和她玩Scrabble游戏。她仍然将他所能给的尽数拿过来填补她空虚的生活：润肤霜，一本女性杂志，一支廉价唇膏，一件戏服般带羽毛的裙子，以及一次地下妓院的夜游。

爱情在小说的最后部分发生，或者是几乎发生。为了让Offred怀上孩子，司令官的夫人Serena Joy安排了Offred与司令官的司机Nick幽会。在Nick那间车库上方的单人房里，性不再只是仪式性的。爱欲在Atwood诗意且快节奏的描述中如同电光石火。“他开始解钮扣，然后抚摸，在我耳边亲吻。”抑或想像抑或真实的雷鸣，闪电以及探照灯交错闪耀着。“他的嘴在我的嘴上，他的手，我等不及而他在动，已经是，爱，过了那么久了，我在我的肌肤上又是活的了，手臂缠绕着他，我在下落，周围都是温柔的水，永不止息。我知道这可能只是唯一一次。”她自己也不确定这是怎样发生的，“爱的感觉从来也只是大概。”

然后她不断的冒着风险一再去见他。窗外的探照灯经过白色窗帘照进来，微弱的灯光中，她用力去记住他的样子，用来保存起来。“他身体的线条，他皮肤的肌理…我应该对Luke也做同样的事，给更多的注意，那些细节，痣和伤疤，每一道的褶皱；我没有，于是他在淡去。一日一日，一夜一夜，他变的模糊，我变的意冷心灰。”她知道每一次与他都可能是最后一次，若有再多，便是惊喜，是多余，是天赐。爱是火花，失落暗处。她瞬间的幸福中承担的无望是与爱一样的多。

故事在它到达高潮时也截然而止。Offred被Nick引领到她房间的人带走。他告诉她跟他们走，且说“你会没事的。”于是她步入黑暗；抑或是光明。”她的回忆也在此中结束，留下一个模糊的结尾，不明生死，也不知Nick所为是背叛还是挽救。

书写的非常的美，诗歌般的写作风格中看似章节与章节之间没有太多发生，却又有着太多的发生，如同波澜，一浪一浪的相接。Atwood极具想像的创造了一个“反乌托邦”社会，但更重要的是她将一个人对于过去和对爱的感觉的记忆一针一线的织造出来。爱与欲的声色描绘用花朵与水来做比喻，且用心感知。她满是怜悯的讲述这个故事。这不仅仅是一个让你重新来思索所处的社会的故事，且是一个引出每一个人自己的记忆直至热泪的故事。

The Handmaid's Tale，加拿大作家Margaret Atwood作，最初由McClelland and Stewart于1985年出版。

Reviewed for Zing, Feb 2009, Shanghai.

霜花店

太陽暖暖的射進車窗，我靠著車窗睡著了。醒來時在某處的公路上。我在從首爾到蔚山的公路上。暖氣開的很足，有些許的熱。

汽車停在半路休息時我下車去買咖啡。山間在下小雪。

在蔚山，Yun Mi帶我去看電影。霜花店。在首爾時恩不停的提到的電影。

王讓自己愛的男人去使王后懷孕，結果他愛的人愛上了王后。最后兩個男人將對方用劍刺死了。死前，王問他，你有否愛過我？他說沒有。

霜花店。王抱著琴低吟著。兩人馬上狩獵，春光無限。

一句韓文不懂，結果仍是看到滿臉熱淚。

曾經也說過，看別人的故事總是來得輕易。難過之后也就算了，畢竟不是自己的故事。電影的好處也便在這里。只是自己的故事是怎樣也逃不開。難過的是，我什么也做不了。

冬日里，我一個人來到韓國。做什么，我自己也不知道。

我穿了黑色的圍裙粉紅條子的襯衫坐在Vienna Café的吧臺抽煙，音樂放了KT Tunstall的acoustic.沒有什么人在，只是在工作的小妹不停的跟我說柏拉圖的故事。

人本身是有兩個頭，四只手四條腿的。結果神把他們分開了。于是人花一生的時間來尋找那另外的一半。

我聽了呆了半響。是一定要有另外一個人我們才可以開心嗎？

雪峰進來，坐下在我旁邊。我一口一口的喝著冰水在那里聽他的煩惱。都是在我看來無需煩惱的煩惱。所以看別人的故事都是輕易太多。

我跑來跑去為客人安排位子。

In Search of a Midnight Kiss. 又是新的一年了。

JT來了。他穿了黑色的T Shirt和黑色圍巾。我把他和Peter, John放在一起坐。他笑的很謹慎。

人生若只如初見。假若以后有什么樣的故事，這個時候都只是最美好的吧，因為相互都還沒有太多的牽扯。

電影的中間，阿平拖著箱子從推門進來。

我從遙遠的地方來看你，要說許多的故事給你聽。

那扇門在黃色燈光里晃蕩著開開關關。

回家的計程車上看外面的世界，許多白人在努力的攔車。我在車里一陣興奮感，不知是否咖啡喝得太多了一點。

午夜到時我們在公園迷路。只是淡淡的和阿平互相說新年快樂。如此，便是又一年了。

不去回頭。No excuses, no regrets, no tears .

坐在床旁邊的沙發上聽夏韶聲唱歌。沙發是美國五十年代的花色樣子的，Rebecca家里拿過來的。

今日溫度零下。剛剛從一個Christmas party回來。燈光里跟許多的人攀談。認識的，不認識的。我感興趣的，我不感興趣的。穿梭人群。哪一個是日后還會再見的，哪一個是相熟的，哪一個是可以相濡以沫的。

阿平說，這樣子跟很多不認識的人講話，會不會很累？也許吧。有時我很喜歡。

我不注意時便聽不懂夏韶聲在唱什么。但仍是聽懂了他唱，命里有時終需有，命里無時莫強求。我同他，是不是也一樣呢？

在吧臺站著喝了許多杯冰水。一直覺得渴。酒保穿著黑色襯衫，眼睛亮亮的非常可愛。卻又是神情淡定。

Julien被諸多的女孩子吸引，按耐不住。我看得只是好笑。

在跟那么多人說過話之后是不是可以不寂寞一點呢？是不是可以少想念他一點呢？

我如潛游的魚，在人中穿梭，在光影中穿梭。光影與時光在一起，編織成記憶的部分，在我的腦子里刻畫。我記得的時光，忘記的時光，夢到的時光，以及其中的人事。記得多少,忘記多少？

越南的魔幻旅程

夏天開始的時候第二次去了越南，開始了一段瘋狂的魔幻旅程。丟失了相機的充電器，于是干脆停止拍照。所以照片為數不多。故事尚未成為文字，只是在記憶中存在。從五月夏初的開始，我愛的人從地球的另一邊來到，一起上路，開始瘋狂的魔幻一般的旅程。知道8月才又回到上海。慢慢的，要把這些文字寫出來。

......

...

I was in Santorini exactly this time last year. Within a year, many things changed, and I am no longer the same old Kapa traveling alone. Eventually I put my story of Santorini into words and images and have it published in the Zing Magazine in Shanghai. Here's the story:

Santorini：失心

 
Xing Zhao

当我透过埃及蓝木门间的玻璃向里张望时，一个男人正在做他的晨间运动。他是一个三十出头的男人，深色头发，身材瘦小。他戴了眼镜，穿了一件日本电影“圣战”的T Shirt.而他周身所围绕的，是满架满架的书。“我想问你几点开门？”我问道。

这是一间小小的英文书店，在希腊的火山岩小岛Santorini的小镇Oia上。小镇上布满了岩石建造的洞穴房子，一味的涂成了雪白的颜色，漂浮在蓝色的海洋上，挤的满满的，却都没有门牌号。亚特兰蒂斯书店就在其中的一间洞穴的地下室。几年前，Craig, Oliver还有Chris借了一笔钱，选了书，再将书运到岛上，便来到了Santorini.和其他人一起，他们从海边捡了漂流木，在那个洞穴里搭起了书架和床，将书店建了起来。从此，希腊的小岛上便成就了世界上的第二个莎士比亚书店：一个旅行者，作家与他们所爱的书的家园。

“那你今晚有地方住吗？”Luke问道，且带着伦敦北部的口音。我告诉他没有。于是他给了我一张书店最里面的木头床，在书架与书架的之间，我成为书店的宿客。在巴黎多年之后，Luke现在生活在意大利与希腊。作为一个三十几岁却未有分文的男人，他却熟悉书店里的每一本书，且在写作一本小说。

等我下午从海边游泳回来时，我认识了John,那个诗人。John是个英俊的年轻威尔士人，他有着浓重的牛津口音和略微神经质的表情，说话时微微的口吃。他在书店已经住了两个礼拜了，正要搬去柏林从事全职的写作。当Natalie爬上房顶时，我和John正在清扫最近的一场风暴给露台带来树枝与沙尘。Natalie大概25岁的样子，皮肤晒黑，加利福尼亚口音。她站在一旁跟我们说着话，巨大的太阳眼镜盖住她的大半张脸。她住在岛上已经一年半了。爱上了这个地方，于是从此便没有离开过。在她的旅游签证到期之后，她成为了希腊的非法居民。夏天她是一家餐馆的女招待，而其余没有游客的日子里，她便不工作，而只是过她的生活。

就这样，我开始了我的岛居生活。早上10点起床，给自己做早餐和咖啡；吃早餐时也看书店。总是听见好奇的游客从楼梯上走下来，说着“看，一家书店！”他们常常是美国人，有时是英国人或者欧洲人。我和他们聊天，帮他们找书。安静时我便在那里一边听爵士，一边读希腊神话。我坐在屋顶的露台吃午饭，在地中海的万丈日光里，脚下便是深蓝色的爱琴海。午后的时光总是沙滩，和一本书在一起。而沿路回家时吃一根Magnum的冰激淋。天黑前，我漫步到游客聚集的海边去看世界上最壮丽的日落之一。黄昏时对面小店的女孩子总是Luke Luke的唤着要我们将路灯点上；此刻店门口的金银花也开始散发甜香。晚上，我给书店里的人做饭，而晚饭之后则是更多的茶与诗歌的诵读。有一些夜晚的时光则是在星空下抽着烟喝着葡萄酒度过的。

有一夜我们在Natalie的洞穴房子里做希腊肉丸到凌晨3点。那一晚我们喝了很多酒，抽了很多烟，且抚拍了很多进来借宿的流浪狗。我问Natalie是否后悔当初的决定，如今成为非法岛民。她倚在半开的木门上，抽着一跟烟，在一天的工作后显得一脸疲累，但是笑容柔和甜美，“我觉得已经找到我的幸福，这便是我想要的人生。”

Santorini是一个夏天里的美丽乐园，但是冬天来时，却仿佛一个被遗弃的孤岛，只是雪白，难得见到人迹。它是个孤独的地方，只有流浪的猫狗。但是冬天对于Natalie，却是和渔夫一起打鱼的季节。在这样的岛屿，住着更多知道或者不知道自己到底要什么的人。但是Santorini对于热爱一切美好事物的人来说，有着自己的生活步调，缓慢而且美好。

当我离开Natalie的家时，渐渐已是黎明。走在这个火山小镇的边缘上，身边的大海正在初夏渐明的天光里醒来。我轻轻的将书店的门推开。Luke正睡的香甜。Raki,那只总是徘徊在书店的流浪小狗，静静的跟了我进来，跳上了一张床，便睡下了。

Santorini: the Lost Heart

 Xing Zhao

When I peeked through the glass window of the blue-framed door that morning, a man was doing his morning exercise. He was a man in his early thirties, dark hair, small and slim. He wore spectacles and a brown T-shirt from the Japanese film Battle Royal. He was surrounded by shelves of books.  “I was wondering what time you open?” I asked.

This was a small English language bookshop in the town of Oia, on the volcanic island of Santorini, of Greece. In a town without house numbers, Atlantis Books was located in the basement of one of the numerous whitewashed Mediterranean cave houses. A few years ago, Craig, Oliver and Chris settled a debt, found books, shipped them and came to Santorini. Together with some others, they collected driftwood from the beach, and built a bookshop with beds. From then on, Atlantis became a second Shakespeare and Co: a home to travellers, writers and their beloved books.

“Do you have a place to stay tonight then?” Luke spoke with a north London accent. I said, “Not really.” With his invitation, I was given a bed among the bookshelves, in the back room of the bookshop. After spending years in Paris, Luke was living and travelling between Italy and Greece. As a thirtysomething man with no money, Luke knew every single book in the shop and he was writing a novel.

When I came back from a swim in the cove, I met John, the poet. John was a good-looking young Welshman with an Oxford accent and a nervous look. He stuttered a wee bit when he spoke. He had been staying in the bookshop for a couple of weeks before moving to Berlin to write full-time. When Natalie came up to the terrace, John and I were sweeping off the remnants from a recent storm. Natalie was in her mid-twenties, tanned and spoke with a California accent. With half of her face covered under her novelty sunglasses, she stood, chatting with us while we were working. She had been on the island for a year and half. She fell in love with the place and decided not to leave, thus, she became an illegal resident after her tourist visa had expired. She worked as a waitress during the summer, and for the rest of the year, she just lived her life.

So it is, I began my island life in a bookshop. In the mornings, I’d get up at 10 am, make myself some breakfast and coffee; watched the shop while having breakfast. I’d hear curious tourists walking down the stairs with comments like “look, here is a bookshop!” Often they were Americans, sometimes British or Europeans. I’d talk to them, or help them find books. When it was quiet, I listened to Jazz and read Greek Mythology. I’d have my lunch in the glorious Mediterranean sun on the terrace, which overlooked the dark blue Aegean. My afternoons were often spent on the beach with a book, and a Magnum ice cream on the way home. Before the dusk, I’d go to where the tourists gathered to see the one most dramatic sunsets in the world. In the dusk, the Greek girl from the shop next door would call “Luke, Luke”, telling us to turn on the lamp outside the bookshop; and you start to smell the sweet fragrance of the honeysuckle flowers. In the evenings, I’d cook a dinner for whoever was there. More tea and poetry reading would follow after dinner, and some of the night time was spent smoking cigarettes and drinking wine under the stars.

One of my nights in Santorini was making Greek meatballs in Natalie’s cave house at 3 am. We drank lots of wine, smoked lots of cigarettes, and patted street dogs who came in for a shelter. I asked Natalie whether she regretted her decision, that she would never be able to leave this country. She was leaning on the half-opened wooden door and having a fag. Her face looked tired after a long-day’s work, but her smile was all soft and sweet, “No. I think I’ve found my happiness. This is what I want in life.”

Santorini is a wonderland in the summer, but when winter comes, it’d become a deserted island with only whiteness but little sign of people. It’d become a lonely place with street dogs and cats. However, winter for Natalie was for fishing with a local fisherman. On this island, live many other people who know or do not know what they want in life. Nevertheless, for people who love all beautiful things in life, Santorini has its own pace, nice and slow.

When I left Natalie’s flat, the dawn was already breaking. I walked on the edges of the volcanic town, and the ocean was just waking up in the early summer twilight. Quietly I opened the bookshop door. Luke was soundly asleep. Raki, the street dog who came to the shop all the time, quietly followed me in, jumped into one of the beds and went to sleep.

煮饭前的10分钟。刚洗完澡，是下午6点。

很想说下昨天做了什么。

吃过晚饭，开始啃cookies,接着是妈妈从中国带来的肉松，喝Irish Cream。Somebody got to stop me, or I'll just keep eating! 买了一瓶Chardonnay和一包花生去Ellen家。冰冷的夜里，提了酒和花生去朋友家取暖，这样的日子过去就不再了。月亮是满的。夜色冰凉。

花生吃的很快。Ebba的瑞典朋友来了。那个女生是给水产杂志写稿子的，在欧洲跑，写海鲜的品论。男生很高很瘦，Ellen说觉得他很好看。金发，典型的北欧人，她说。

去Chamber Street的Jazz Bar。好冷，一路颤颤的。每次进一个club都常担心被查身份证，虽然早已过了未成年人的年龄。在阿姆斯特丹买酒就被人问有没有到18岁。还好没被看门人刁难。Jazz Bar在地下。星期五的晚上挤满了人，灯光是红的。乐队还没开始唱。高个子瑞典男生看到他的朋友，先把我们介绍了给两个北欧人。Ellen开始在人群里寻找她的朋友Sara。Sara换了隐形眼镜，戴了一串长的珍珠项链。红色毛衣。身边是个理了平头的男生，看起来很年轻。

这是我的朋友Jay。她说。

当接过Ellen递过的Gin and Tonic时，Jay开始问中国的事情。问作为在英国的中国是何感受。说到希望成为作家，Jay说那也是他想做的事情。

Corinne来时已经醉了。去一个party喝了许多不要钱的酒，静静的，就像她每次喝醉的样子。

有人开始跟着音乐跳舞。又喝了一杯Vodka and Tonic。那么多的人。有个金发的瑞典人开始说和Napier Uni的学费贵，学校又不及Edinburgh Uni的好。他坐的很近，又开始问中国人的事情。常常觉得人们都很默然，根本不关心世界另一边的事情。常常又觉得人们很烦，问太多关于中国的事。

弹钢琴的男人百分百是gay,这是我猜的。后来换了个乐队，开始唱巴西的音乐。人们开始跳舞。在人堆里看到旧时的西班牙室友，在跟一个不是他女友的西班牙女生热舞。

有个苏格兰男人问我从哪里来。又问为什么要从共产主义的大陆移居到欧洲来。我说是因为不想成为共产主义者而已。说到一半去跳舞了。他开始和身边的女生搭讪。

一路跌跌撞撞的回家。到时已是凌晨4点了。如果是夏天，4 am天已大亮了，此时的天色黑的如同蛮荒的宇宙。忽然觉得有东西掉到我头发上，然后是大衣上。低头发现衣服上是白的。细小的雪片从空气中索索的落下来，满月还在当空。到家门口时抬头看路灯，从灯光下看到雪片。马路上安静的一个人也没有，只听见雪花落下的声音。

I don’t understand how things like this happen: before this moment, his whole world was all peaceful and quiet; there were no ups and downs of tides, but only a quiet blue ocean of small waves. They floated with the same pace and same rhythm. He was the little boy sitting before the peaceful ocean and its breezes. He was all by himself. The moment has happened within just minutes, or maybe seconds, before himself or anybody else has realized. Like a spark, lost in the dark, just like Billy Holiday would sing. After that moment, things are different. That is what life does to us: things can totally change within seconds, and they will never be the same again. The goods, the bads, we don’t know, we cannot predict, we cannot prevent, or prepare for.

Like a planet meets another planet, in the darkness of the universe. After light-years and light-years of travelling, unexpectedly, they met.

He probably thinks he doesn’t deserve to be happy, deep down in his subconscious. He doesn’t think he deserves to be with anyone, like everyone else. Walking down the streets, he imagines he might just be hit by a car, because he is happy. When making love, the sunlight comes in through the window. He smiles like he just sees a rose opens. He looks at his face, he is smiling too, and his eyes twinkle with the bright innocence full of happiness.

He still thinks he might get hit by a car, when crossing the street.

He has this dream: It was Jose, but in the appearance of Wang Leehong. Jose was saying “sorry, I didn’t realize it was your first year abroad”. Jose asked for his forgiveness. But he said no. “No, no, I can’t”, he then started crying. He wakes up. In the dark he realizes he is in his own bed instead of an island of Greece. He is holding him, and he is soundly asleep. He could hear him breathe and feel his warm body. He then starts sobbing. An unexplainable emotion from the dream and the surrounding darkness creeps up to him, like a tide, like a person’s breathing, in and out, in and out. It swallows him. He holds him and sobs. Tears wet his T-shirt.