風，花，雪，月。

一個晴朗的早上，我輕輕掀開碎花白棉被子，赤足起來，木地板吱呀一聲。我拉起簾子，在 窗子開一處縫。微風也是輕輕的，呼吸之中，摻雜泥土的香氣，樹木的清新，雛菊的芬芳。一塵不染的空氣，如世外的湖泊一樣。

早餐吃麵包塗 牛油，一杯清茶一本書，一張藤椅一個人。閑時寫作，靜時作夢，餓時煮食，累時休息；心動時旅行，心碎時流淚。縱沒得到太多，也沒失去太多。

我閉上眼睛， 夢裡有人來，手裡挽著一籃小白花，腳踏落霞，到這鄉村郊野小山居。

我張開眼睛，到處無人，只有一束小白花，擺在床頭。簾外月光光，白如新雪。她的臉上，點 點雀斑，如墨落宣紙，便濃也是她，淡也是她。而我每晚守著月兒，支著頭默默來張看，只盼夢中來相見。

insomnia.

I'm been suffering from insomnia these days, during the coldest time of the year, when sleep should be of no difficulty for a working person who has been craving for holidays. It's like a disease I've caught, I mean, instead of flu, I am infected with insomnia, which can be more destructive than illnesses of any kind. 

Something in life always resembles something in One Hundred Years of Solitude. And there is a part of the story about insomnia which I've remembered very well: 

One day Rebecca got insomnia; all of a sudden, like a disease with an anonymous origin. And quickly the whole town become infected with insomnia, which then leads to amnesia, the loss of memory at a collective scale. Afraid of losing everything they remember, the inhabitants of the town start to put a label at everything they see or believe, so that they can always be reminded that this is a 'stool', and 'GOD EXISTS'. Until one day the gypsy returns, bringing with him the antidote of insomnia, and everybody is cured.

Insomnia is such a metaphor. And such a metaphor has found me, as if trying to tell me something by giving me insomnia.

But I wish a gypsy could come and rescue me.

waltz.

my heart pounds as if a dozen fairies are dancing waltz on it, with a handful of stardust sprinkled all over.

now reading:

 

The Book of Laughter and Forgetting.

Milan Kundera

噢，你也在這裡？

「於千萬人之中遇見你所要遇見的人，於千萬年之中，時間的無涯的荒野裏，沒有早一步，也沒有晚一步，剛巧趕上了，沒有別的話可說，惟有輕輕地問一聲：『噢，你也在這裡？』」

《愛》張愛玲 

Love etc.

2 June 2011

" The point is, you can love two people, one after the other, one interrupting the other, like I did. You can love them in different ways. And it doesn’t mean one love is true and the other is false."

Dear Jenny.

14 July 2011

Dear Jenny,

Sometimes I think a certain place belongs to me.

If I am dearly attached to somewhere, I refuse to read anything which some other people have written about it. No description, comment, criticism, not even admiration is acceptable to me because it will never resemble the way I remember it. I think they have no right to do it. I feel offended as if my memory has been trampled by a stranger who knows nothing about anything about me. The place belongs to me, just as my memory belongs to me.

What happens to most people is that they remember, and then bit by bit they forget, however hard they have tried to secure things in mind at first. I seem to experience it the other way round. I am forgetful. Things slip away easily and quickly through the tiny fissures of my brain until I start to become skeptical about whether it's real or just my own imagination. But then pieces and pieces of them return with even better clarity and vividness. Every so often, they find their way back to me in dreams.

In time, memory takes care of itself and brings back what is finally worthy of keeping. Experience is meaningless. It's the residue that counts. It's like it does not matter how much you have learnt at school, it's about the knowledge that is still intact after forgetting.

As I am writing you this, flashbacks with colour and sound correspond with my words in my mind. People are freaked out (somehow I think they are too excited about it lol) by the end of the world. I am not quite sure about this but I think it's okay if it is really to come because of the roads I have taken and the wonders I have seen with my own eyes before the end of time.

I gotta stop. I am running out of energy after a long day.

ivy ;)

P.S. Please return the census questionnaire by post asap if you still haven't done so!

Beauty.

30 July 2011



For everyone who is/ is going to be/ was/ has been in love.

Quotes from Essays in Love Alain de Botton

 "Does beauty give birth to love or does love give birth to beauty? Did I love Chloe because she was beautiful or was she beautiful because I loved her? Surrounded by an infinite number of people, we may ask (staring at our lover while they talk on the phone or lie opposite us in the bath) why our desire has chosen to settle on this particular face, this particular mouth or nose or ear, why this curve of the neck or dimple in the cheek has come to answer so precisely to our criterion of perfection? Every one of our lovers offers different solutions to the problem of beauty, and yet succeeds in redefining our notions of attractiveness in a way that is as original and as idiosyncratic as the landscape of their face.

...There is a tyranny about perfection, a certain tedium even, something that asserts itself with all the dogmatism of a scientific formula. The more tempting kind of beauty has only a few angles from which it may be seen, and then not in all lights and at all times. It flirts fangerously with ugliness, it takes risks wit itself, it does not side its appeal from precisely those details that also lend themselves to ugliness. As Proust once said, classically beautiful women should be left to men without imagination."

on dreams.

24 July 2011

I.

had a dream of you again. 'again' as in so many times that i have already given up to count. this time it was a long, incessant one across the night which left me awoke in a state of fatigue.

II.

accidentally you were here and then i did everything trying to keep you with me for as long as i could. you took my hands. my heart still trembles into my bones when i come to think of it as if an inevitable fact. you were fast asleep then like an infant, the softness of your existence smoothed out the night. i looked at you in silence. my eyes refused to remove themselves from the very sight of you. i'm certain it's the point when i went deepest in sleep beacuse it's the point when i wanted time to paralyze for ever after. now that the dream has diminished into memory it becomes a jumble of secondhand fragments. i can no longer re-construct it, not to mention re-tell it, the way i experienced it.

III.

i'm disappointed that even in a dream my mind is so much mastered by sense and overpowered by reason. i had to conceal myself from getting closer to you and i had to reason against my own reason of love. i followed my heart anyway, despite the guilt. but i can still see them staring with an eye of suspicion.

IV.

it's amazing how the very notion of time can become totally twisted and elastic (but never irrelevant) in the territory of dreams. i know beause i am a frequent dreamer. i have seen a lot of things in dreams (e.g dinosaurs, lifeboats, london in moonlight, ghosts, japanese soldiers, wars, students, colleagues... an inexhausible list goes on) but i have never seen a clock. i consider it fortunate as i am not the least interested in knowing the passing of time, not when i am dreaming. the end of time means the end of a dream, which every so often upsets me, for sometimes i don't want to wake up at all but time drags me out of it with force.

daylight broke in as a constant reminder of parting. it outshone our shortlived belonging. what i remember next is that they came searching for you. your cell phone kept vibrating with malignant messages and calls. finally we were sent back to our seperate worlds and our tie broke again like a fragile sewing thread. the next soonest time i get to see you again i know i'll be in dreams. and i always wonder if it's possible that two people are sharing the same dream at the same time.

V.

the remembrance of you weighs upon me like a book with a story that only gets longer and longer in time. it's however written in a language which i don't know. what am i supposed to do.

two people in love.

“Two people in love, alone, isolated from the world, that's beautiful.”
― Milan Kundera

three lives.

“Everyone has three lives: a public life, a private life, and a secret life.”
― Gabriel García Márquez

忽然之間

　

忽然之間　
天昏地暗　
世界可以忽然什麼都沒有
我想起了你　
再想到自己

armageddon

On the eve of the year of dragon I dreamed of the end of the world (again). It's always about water. Everywhere was flooding like hell. Waves and waves of water plunged indoor incessantly, and we were trying to escape from the angry tides which kept rising and rising. People were fleeing like ants away from a flooded pithole. The slow ones were instantly swallowed by water, dark and cold and heavy like sewage from the gutter. I was terrified. You held me tight and kissed me, telling me everything would be alright. I didn't remember the ending, but I think it's alright to die, as long as we die together.

爆米花

睡得不太穩，眼睛有點乾澀。把電話關上，窩在床上看書，發獃。

陰冷的午後，溫暖的只有手中一杯洋甘菊熱茶。事情愈是不去想，愈是困惑，好像鍋子中的玉米，遇熱便開出一顆一顆爆米花來，一發不可收拾，撒得遍地都是金黃，愈是打掃，愈是狼狽。

我害怕事情會一而再再而三的發生。害怕重蹈覆轍。我的世界，再經不起另一次的四分五裂。

mirage

Are we attached to someone because we hardly know anything about her, or because we understand too much of her? How could one deal with the affection which has grown out of nowhere, and would lead you nowhere but a mirage on a desolate desert, so beautiful to behold but too sad to be true?

你知道嗎，聽你說話，我只需要聽你說話。

在你的聲音中，安全得讓我害怕。

蓮藕。

我最愛喝蓮藕湯。

蓮藕湯的味道，能讓我甚麼都不想。無論悲傷，困惱，疲乏，軟弱，統統都拋諸腦後，彷彿只有當下暖的甜的才是現實的真諦，而其他的一切生活的苦澀，吃了虧，生了氣，受了委屈，喝一口湯水，便一一給補償過來了。

蓮藕湯有蓮藕，切開一片一片，有厚的也有薄的，看得見中心的小小的圓洞，偶爾有花生一顆埋藏在裡邊。藕斷而絲連，除了紅豆，我覺得蓮藕便是最有情的食物。而唇邊拈著藕絲，愈拉愈長。有情與無情，心知，肚也明。

就算天空再深。

害怕悲劇重演，我的命中命中，愈美麗的東西我愈不可碰。

 

年復年日復日，也許會發現，自己像痴頭芒一樣，不知不覺，便會拈到某種人身上去。兜兜轉轉，來來去去，愛上不同的人，其實，不過是同一種人。緣有時，份有時。總有一些人，不相往來還好，一旦相逢，只能恨晚。好像寶玉黛玉，一相見，只覺好生眼熟，似是舊時相識，卻又說不出來。

活在當下，甜的吃，苦的也吃。

You're beautiful.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

"Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders."  - Nietzsche

Accidentally I found the letters I buried. There must have been a thousand of them, the volume of a whole book. I spent a few days going through some of them, feeling like rediscovering the secrets of a previous lifetime which I had no memory of.


All of a sudden those days have come back to me, when I'd rush home just to see a mail awaiting. For a long time it's the first thing on my mind when I awoke, and the last when my eyes closed. How forgetful I could be, when everything was decided to be forgotten, and the past forsaken. That's what I had to do. I had no choice but to forget.

Now we're in different universes where nothing really matters. The rights, the wrongs, all taken by the distant past and locked away in the hands of the timekeeper. Life goes forward in a direction where nothing repeats. We were too young and innocent and reckless to do anything logical. After all, I've forgiven you. And that should be the full stop of all. Goodbye. Have a good life.

趁著天還未亮

趁著天還未亮
把你看個清楚
你的輪廓映在我臉上
呼吸你的氣息
感受你的溫暖
在你胸口像浮木一樣
安靜很久之後
陽光灑進之前
這一刻 幸福垂手可得
我是你另一半嗎
你用心跳回答
沉默包容著一切幻想
讓指尖滑落在你的臉龐
輕輕吻在你心上
忽然心頭一酸
知道美麗短暫
但這一刻 地老天荒
怕不慎弄破了美好景象
還是不敢太輕狂
如果你要離去
先得把我推開
但這一刻 你是我的
趁著天還未亮

絕色

不吻亦忘形
一吻亦無形　我的風光不靠風景　

一見又如何
不見又如何　你的春色不染心境

Sunday Music.

繼續　渴望年輕　並　渴望前看　
 

往事沒言語　在皮下呼吸