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Month: September, 2007

在世界屋脊放下愛(預告篇&#65

  在世界屋脊放下愛
2007.09.15 – 2007.09.26
(預告篇)



西藏自治區位於中國的西南邊疆,青藏高原的西南部,平均海拔在4000米以上,被稱為「世界屋脊」。


********************




女生要先懂得愛自己,才會有人愛惜,對吧?




唔……忽然很想每一種顏色的鞋子都要一雙……

畫展

畫中的女孩正以駭人的大眼睛直視着她,教她毛管直豎。她回過頭去,想跟誰說,這畫有一種令人不安的美。她的身旁沒一個人。她的話來到嘴邊,被逼嚥回下去。甚麼時候開始,看畫不再是沉默的活動?以前她在英國留學,跟同學們去那些世界頂級的美術館,她總是仔細的看,順從的讓自己被美所感動,而她的同學們卻只當觀光一個旅遊點,忙着拍照買明信片。之後她學聰明了,去美術館總是自己去。遇到他之前,藝術總是孤獨的,沉默的活動。她曾經以為藝術應該是這樣子的。遇到他之前,她都不知道,有一個能夠分享美的人要遠比孤芳自賞快樂。遇到他之後,她發現自己可以樂此不疲的一直談藝術的話題,彷彿這世界上除了藝術沒有一個話題是值得談論的。兒時看過的畫,喜歡的畫家,無法明白的畫派,各間美術館的分別,藝術的政治……她把多年來藏在心中的話如盤托出。那些很珍貴的東西,她一直視之為只屬於自己的東西,首次公開讓人參觀。藝術成了屬於他們二人的美術館。她以為對於所有鍾愛藝術的人來說,一個能夠跟自己一起分享藝術的人因為難尋,所以一定會是最重要的人。她以為是這樣的。但是她錯了。當她發現原來自己在對方心目中並不如自己想像般重要,他輕易放棄她,教她毛管直豎。她回過頭去,不敢再跟他說甚麼。如果只能分享發現美的歡樂,而不能分擔她的憂傷,又有甚麼意義。既然他只要分享與她一起的快樂,而棄她孤獨的悲傷不顧,那她也不願再和他分享任何美麗的東西了。男女之間又何來無私的不計較的愛。這教她毛管直豎。她回過頭去,不想再說一句話。畫展的期限到了,美術館的門再次關上。

(撰於無意路經閻飛畫展當晚)

剪髪

他發現每一次她來的時候,總是一臉倦容。她一臉孤疑。有這樣的事嗎?只不過有一次是真的帶着病去他那兒吧。說着她垂下了眼。她一向都不多話,是一個不用花費太多唇舌應酬的客人。今天好像多話了一點,但很快都還是靜了下來。他不介意她的沉默。也許平日上班已經要跟很多人說話,終於可以抽空去剪個髪忙裡偷閒一下,難道還要應酬髪型師。他沒有甚麼所謂。反正髪型師的工作就是剪髪,說話只是額外的東西,有時沒話找話說比沉默更突兀。可她總是對自己的髪型有一套想法。她不太懂說,他總是能夠理解,或者自以為理解。他想她應該不喜歡沉悶的東西。他看她的衣裝,看她來的時間,看她的神情,猜度她心目中想要的是甚麼。她從沒有說過他剪得好或者是剪到了她心目中的髪型,但每兩個月她都會回來找他剪頭髪。每次她都有不同的想法,他就用辦法去猜。那便是髪型師的工作吧。把內裡的東西找出來,在外面呈現。難得她今天好像比以往稍為多話了一點,打算多說兩句,誰知他的剪刀一踫到她的髪尖,她又回復到以往的沉默。然她的沉默並不是一般的沉默。她的眼臉垂下來,像一扇門輕輕掩上了。他再也看不到內裡。他只好專注外面的工作。她不是害羞,他感到只要她願意,她可以一直說下去。但是她的眼垂了下來。她總是一臉倦容。即使他逗她笑,那笑容也帶着倦意。忽然,兩顆淚從那閉上的眼簾滑下了她的臉頰。他呆了。但他的手沒有停下來,反而更急躁的在卡嚓卡嚓的剪下去。剪下去。剪下去。卡嚓卡嚓卡嚓。彷彿自己也嚇到了,她的左手從圍裙下伸了出來,草草的揩了揩臉上的水珠。他怎麼可能沒看見,他就站在離她不夠一尺的距離,撥弄着她眼上的亂髪。面前一面大鏡。鏡中的又是鏡。可她的眼閉上了,看不見這雙眼睛。眼臉的背後,倦意並不是倦意。他所看不見的東西。卡嚓卡嚓卡嚓卡嚓。他是一個髪型師。他的工作就是剪髪,其餘的只是額外的東西。他看得見的東西。灑落一地。真是動聽的聲音。他笑說。她眼睛張開,一臉孤疑,臉上的水痕清晰可見。頭髪落在地上的聲音呀。他說,看着鏡中的她。鏡中的她抬起了眼,回他一個帶着倦意的笑。

Never Truly Been



(Someone said I should write something in English, and so I did, a farewell gift for those who have been and still are true to me. I would be very grateful should anybody read this through to the end, because I know how undeserved I am of this attention. Adieu.)




She thought if he truly did love her, he would read it, and read it to the end, through and through. But she knew that would never be, because she had never truly been loved. That sounded too sad for such a fine young girl like her, to mumble complainingly like a bitter spinster, but it was true, and it hurt her pride to recognize it.

There are all kinds of conspiracy theories. Is there truly a shortage of natural resources, or is there just an extremely uneven distribution of resources? She knew nothing about Mathematical Science, and she was not too keen on Environmental Science neither. She was an Arts student through and through, and for her such a worldly matter she could only look at by the impractical perspectives of Philosophy, in an overtly individualistic manner, through the essentially romantic eyes of an artist. What she felt was true was that whether it was one way or the other, it would still lead to the same conclusion: there is no Justice in this world.

There are all kinds of Justice. Fables and children’s tales create in the young mind an illusion of a certain Divine Justice. Goodness is always rewarded, and Evil always punished. Everyone gets what he or she deserves. Yet that is only an illusion. There is no Divine Justice. When she first encountered Literature, she learnt of the term Poetic Justice. Like God, the Poet imposes his or her will in the work, which becomes Justice. In fables and children’s tales, Poetic Justice is absolute, and it makes us believe that our world is just. But this is not true.

It was just a random incident. It happened that a friend of hers received a gift from her boyfriend, a vintage camera, the same which she had bought herself not long ago. And then she remembered another friend of hers had mentioned how all of her mobile phones were given to her by her boyfriends, and that she never needed to worry about it.

She was more bitter than jealous. Certainly she understood how meaningless it was to make such comparisons. But feelings were not something she could master like she did her reasoning. To compare meant to judge Justice itself. Does everyone always get what he or she truly deserves? No, everything she had encountered told her the otherwise. There were always some people who were more blessed than the others, and she certainly was not the blessed one.

She never cared if a boy sent her any expensive gift or precious token. She never believed in weighing love in monetary terms. She had her earthly desires, but she would not mind if her boyfriend could only afford to bring her to far from fancy canteens, if he knew to order her favourite tea with sweet milk for her. She would not mind if he did not buy her gifts of famous brands, if every little thing he gave was the right thing. She needed not be jealous of her friend who received an expensive vintage camera she herself already possessed. It was not about the precious camera or the expensive mobile phones or any other thing her friends received from their boyfriends. It was something else. She realized, all of a sudden, that she had never truly been loved.

She was a fine young girl, and all through these years she had liked and been liked. But never so dearly loved and cherished like her friends were by their boyfriends. Never such anxiety to make her happy, such fear that any careless or foolish act would hurt her. Somebody who craved for her love, and dreaded the loss of it. Who loved her most devoutly, loved her more than he loved himself. No, she had never been loved this way, by anybody. And this realization broke her heart.

And yet she had loved them so! And she believed they loved her somehow. But now, looking at her friends, she realized that she was not even close to that. Had she ever been in love? Could those be called Love at all? When the two of them sat side by side, she felt his warm presence next to her, sensed his eyes resting gently on her flushed face. Was that not Love?

“You cannot talk of Love before you have been really together with somebody,” a friend of hers once said to her. She felt so offended at the moment. If things did not work out fine between two persons and they never got together, did that mean there was nothing at all? She could not bring herself to believe this. When the feeling is there, it is there. It cannot be refuted. And now she thought of what her friend had said, she thought perhaps there was some truth in her friend’s words after all. Whenever she was touched by a look or a few sweet words, she thought what she felt was Love, when in fact she had never had it in her grasp. Looking at her friends, she realized that if they had truly loved her, they would have wanted her for themselves. They would have wanted to love her and be loved by her, and would have done anything to avoid losing her love. They would have tried their best to make her happy, and would never have left her heartbroken and alone. Nobody had ever loved her that way.

Whenever she met some new acquaintances, she would surprise and even shock them by the fact that she did not have, and had never had a boyfriend. She thanked them in her heart for such strong conviction of her attractiveness as a romantic partner, that it was simply impossible that nobody ever wanted her. Her looks were fine, there were not too many flaws in her character, she had sense and learning, she had training in the Arts and had developed a fine taste for almost everything. She had not much problem dealing with people, she was more often liked than disliked. And from the description of many who knew her, she possessed an air not commonly found in most ordinary girls in town. It was impossible that such a girl could be unwanted. It was not fair even, when so many people who deserved less were better off than her. But it was true, she had never truly been loved.

There were many who liked her, but none of them wanted her, none of them would exchange love for her love. They always said the same things. They were not good enough for her. They were not what she thought they were. They loved her but they only wanted to be very good friends with her. All those things that made no sense to her at all. When at last he let her understand that he preferred his girlfriend over her and would not have her, she thought she had never felt more unwanted. Why would they not want her when they claimed to love her? Why would nobody want her when she was no worse than her friends who were carefully guarded treasures of their boyfriends?

She always thought she would be a great girlfriend, if only somebody gave her a chance to prove it. She never needed a boyfriend to pay for her dinner and shopping expenses, to show off to friends, kill time, or even to marry to in case she became 30 and had not yet found a better husband. She never cared for those things, she was resourceful and self-sufficient in her own right. All she wanted was to be wanted and cherished, by the person she herself wanted and cherished. To truly love and be truly loved. Was that too much to ask for? Did she not deserve to be loved so?

Perhaps it was true that she would always remain beautiful in their memories, a girl whom they had never had. But to her, they would always be the ones who did not want her, who broke her heart by refusing to want her, again and again, and her shattered heart had grown tired and bitter. To other girls, they did all the things a boyfriend would ever do to his girlfriend, and yet they did not even want to hold her hand. Did she deserve this? Her friends all gasped in disbelief, she saw it in their looks and knew she deserved better.

And yet she knew she was not alone. There are so many fine young girls in this city, beautiful, smart, sophisticated, sociable, and yet unwanted. They buy their own vintage cameras, their own mobile phones, their everything. They go shopping, go to the cinema, they travel, all by themselves. Nobody pays for their dinners, takes them to the doctor when they fall ill, escorts them home when it is late at night. They are happily self-sufficient, and yet they wish they were wanted, just like other girls are. Their friends all gasped in disbelief, and perhaps some would even sneer behind their backs. They may as well be very fine young girls, but after all they are just a bunch of unwanted spinsters. She knew better than to be upset at these mean judgements. But why would such thing happen to them? Is there truly a shortage of boys and a surplus of fine young girls in the city, or is there just an extremely uneven distribution of true love among boys and girls? She could only look at this by the impractical perspectives of Philosophy, in an overtly individualistic manner, through the essentially romantic eyes of an artist. What she felt was true was that whether it was one way or the other, it would still lead to the same conclusion: there is no Justice at work here.

Indeed, perhaps in the realm of Love, there is no such thing as Justice. If someone does love you, he or she will just love you, no matter you deserve that love or not. And if someone does not love you, he or she will never give you the love you deserve, no matter how worthy of it you are. One can love someone wholeheartedly, yet it does not follow that one will be loved the same way in return. One can be the most lovable person in the world and yet is never truly loved by anyone. It is possible, because Goodness is not always rewarded, and Love itself is not a reward for Goodness. Love is some random treasure which only a few lucky ones can get. Someone disappoints you, hurts you, breaks your heart, still you can never appeal for Justice nor ask for the Love that person owes you. You cannot ask why you are not loved, because there is no reason for it, just like there is no reason for your not winning the lottery. One can never reason with Love. If it ever happens that both persons devote as much love to each other, they are not getting what they deserve, they are only more fortunate than the others.

If he truly did love her, then he would have read this, till here, through and through. But she knew that would never be, because she had never truly been loved, as she wished and thought herself deserved to be. But one can never reason with Love, and she was just being unfortunate, just like many others were, and hers was no exceptional case. Thus instead of tormenting herself by asking why and seeking Justice which does not exist, all she could do was to shed some tears, accept it as the Truth, and then hope for better luck next time.







Six Degrees

Evening at Six Degrees.
Thank you Joycelyn for your perpetual kindness and hospitality!
And nice to meet Sophia and Shine as well.
Feeling more at ease after talking with you girls. I think I know what to do now. It is just so good to meet and talk to people who are different and yet at the same time share some similar traits. People who have passion.
Six Degrees – a really cool concept.   
Looking forward to 7 October! Let’s Rock it!
(If you are reading this, please reserve 7 October too!)

不包含甚麼天理

蠻不講理

問有誰可計較清楚 在這人間有幾可公道過
但求不虧心不必志在結果
沒有人可力挽當初 沒有人可永遠都不犯錯
如何花光心計策劃太多
這是愛 誰望天肯將眼開
情人若肯 不用請誰都會自來 門若上鎖別去開
誰辜負你 不服氣
如果他傷你 你吞聲忍氣
想徹查情人的心理 謀略亦難以令對方歡喜
講道理 誰講道理
會可免分離 你哪須交戲
不與旁人殘忍競技 對方選擇你 不管何事都選你
他感動你 不包含甚麼天理

沒有誰可勉強得到 沒有誰因算式得出情愫
沒人相戀倚靠上學惡補
這是愛 人是你的定會來
流盡淚水 怎樣去改變未來 難道回望令你可愛

愛比人生還玄 任你怎計算
再不愛的心怎說服也只會更加倦
互愛發於自願 是人間美眷
不費力氣亦得嘗未了願










對方不選擇你 不管如何都不會選你 
他辜負你 不包含甚麼天理

ただ、君を愛してる



「你會後悔沒有和我一起的!」










日式純愛物語氾濫。
如果不是玉木宏和宮崎葵,這電影可看性其實很低。

不是故意的,最近的電影總是有那麼一點……
或者只是主觀的對號入座。
像是說「情人的眼淚」,寫的時候我真不知道那就是《不能說的‧祕密》中那首老歌的名字。
當我寫「照片」那一篇時,也沒有想過這電影的。




短髪的靜流
相機和照片
三角關係
珍惜與錯失
信封上的四葉草貼紙
大塚愛「戀愛寫真」




UA皇室太冷,冷得身體所有液體都凝固了。

the brilliant green




LOMO LC-A
Agfa Precisa CT 100
e to c




壘球隊隊長兼經理人Joyce:你d相係邊度影架?
聯賽時只顧拍照的隊員我:咪石硤尾囉……

原來傳聞中的e沖c的魔力就是能把原本一片爛沙地的石硤尾球場變成一片翠綠的草原……










這一片刺眼的翠綠,倒映在發白的天空下
令我想起《青春電幻物語》中
站在草原上的男孩

秋天的聲音

對於Soundtrack,不知是甚麼時候開始喜歡上的。總是有一些電影,沒有了電影音樂就失色不少;看了很久的電影,再聽到電影音樂,當時的種種印象心情就都回來了,而且好像沒有過時這回事。不單是要有好聽的電影主題曲,整個電影配樂都完全配合到電影的主題美學,成了電影的一個重要元素。宮崎駿的久石讓。岩井俊二的小林武史。《天空之城》《龍貓》幾乎所有人都會哼,《情書》《青春電幻物語》的配樂常常被本地電視劇集厚顏無恥地借完再翻借。《不能說的‧祕密》的成功很大程度要歸功於它的音樂。以音樂做主題的電影,即是將電影定位於Drama和Musical之間,演員(即是周杰倫本人)有機會賣弄音樂造詣之餘(例如鬥琴和四手聯彈那兩幕,真的很不錯,令我有點衝動重拾半途而廢了的鋼琴)又不會影響,甚至有助劇情發展。我認同周杰倫其實是很聰明的。

買了《不能說的‧祕密》的Soundtrack,發現那首老歌,原來就叫做「情人的眼淚」。早前才寫了一篇網誌以這五個字為標題,會不會太巧了一點。難不成我跟周杰倫心有靈犀一點通了,果然有才華的人都是自然會感通的(笑)。

情人的眼淚-姚蘇蓉


為甚麼要對你掉眼淚
你難道不明白 為了愛
只有那有情人眼淚最珍貴
一顆顆眼淚都是愛 都是愛

為甚麼要對你掉眼淚
你難道不明白 為了愛
要不是有情郎跟我要分開
我眼淚不會掉下來 掉下來

好春才來 春花正開
你怎捨得說 再會
我在深閨 望穿秋水
你不要忘了我情深 深如海

為甚麼要對你掉眼淚
你難道不明白 為了愛
要不是有情郎跟我要分開
我眼淚不會掉下來 掉下來




一首很慢很慢的歌。

小時學鋼琴,老是找不準拍子,想不是因為不懂拍子,而是因為手腳協調不靈活,所以即使長大後學打鼓也打不好。很怕慢的節拍,因為容易出錯。長大後方明白,音樂不是單靠旋律的,控制得宜的節奏,才是精妙之處。看着電影裡的周杰倫彈琴,快彈自然令人心跳加速,但重重的慢拍子也未嘗不叫人激動。片尾那首電影主題曲「不能說的祕密」,很慢很慢,但卻令人感到非常激動。那便是精妙之處。我很想再次彈鋼琴呢,如果那時老媽沒有把那已停廠了的德國老牌古老鋼琴扔掉便好了。別聽路小雨胡說(因為她都只是要阻止葉湘倫在舊琴房彈”Secret”而已),舊琴的聲音是比較好聽的。







或許命運的籤
只讓我們遇見
只讓我們相戀
上一季的秋天

秋天的味道


Alphonse Mucha, The Seasons (Autumn), 1896


她剛從日文課下課出來,推開沉重的玻璃大門,一陣涼意出其不意的迎面襲來。她不禁打了一個寒顫,怎麼秋天已經來了嗎?她心中算了算:現在是九月初。秋天都是在這個時間來的嗎?她一時間想不起來。由早上九時上班開始她一直在辦公室工作,還有晚上兩個半小時的日文課,忙了一整天,她的腦袋已經不太靈活。而且每天坐在雪房般的辦公室,一年四季都穿着同一件大衣工作,窗簾長年掩上使她無法看到外面的天色;下班後無論是上日文課還是吃飯逛街人都仍是身處於空調之中,她的身體已失去了從空氣中辨別四季的能力。但秋天那一種味道她還是記得的。那是一種微微的涼意,忽然變得乾爽明亮的空氣當中滲着某種輕輕的香氣。

記憶中,有些時候,秋天的味道是歡樂的。每年的九月都是新學年的開始。穿着夏季校服的白色校裙和紅色領帶的少女們充滿期昐的在校園中奔跑着。微涼的秋風從課室的窗戶走進來,把殘舊的啡紅色布簾嘩啦嘩啦的吹得飛舞起來,她們伸手抓都抓不住。天空的顏色變了。沿着通往校門的斜路栽種的夾竹桃樹也開始變色了。那時她不知道這個她看了七年的風景其實是那麼的美。不聽訓導老師們的告誡,她們穿上了深藍色的冷背心。開學不久,便是中秋假期了。中秋就是想盡辦法不跟家人吃團年飯,跟同學們外出的意思。她記得自己的父母一意孤行的要帶她們三姐妹到離島賞月,而她一整晚都只想着正在另一個島嶼上玩的同學們,覺得自己在這個人月兩團圓的日子被悲慘地抛棄了。

有些時候,秋天的味道是孤獨的。坐在大學宿舍的房間裡,忽然感到窗外一陣涼意,她順手拿起椅背上的印着宿舍名字的外套披上。大學的開學比中學時要更熱鬧。迎新熱潮還未過,學會的交接,宿舍間的各種比賽開催,新的上課時間表新的教授新的同學。沒有一刻的安靜。只有在半夜三點過後,宿舍終於靜下來了,在關了燈的房間裡只有她書桌上的燈仍亮着。她坐在書桌前發呆。以前在家裡沒有可能在十二時之後還不回房,即使回到房間也不能呆着不睡。現在時間和空間都在她自己的手裡,她喜歡可以不睡,呆坐等着看天亮。在這兒的每一天都是愉快而精釆的,四周都蓄擁着人,做着各種迴腸蕩氣的青春勾當。但只有在這個淩晨三時後的時刻,她可以跟自己在一起。十八歲,需要很多生死之交共同創建偉大的夢,也需要如此寧靜一角感受孤獨。

秋天的味道是一個人。她記得那是九月,但不記得是否秋天。她回頭跟他說第一句話,他們開始一起下課,交換電話,相約吃飯,網上閒聊,每天窺看彼此的網誌,外出看戲看美術展,那些老掉牙的曖昧和甜蜜。空氣中是他倆身上的香水混和的味道,只有他們才認得的氣味。那一個秋天很快樂。直到他女朋友的出現。像冬天的陰霾,在二人之間纒繞不散。甜蜜的曖昧變成了猜忌和角力。快樂的秋天很短。痛苦的冬天卻很漫長,包括沒有他在旁的聖誕節和情人節,還有她的生日,冰冷的悲傷逐點逐點把她消磿掉。她的身體一早便失去了辦別四季的能力,但她能清楚感覺到秋天已過,而春天遙遙無期。如果能熬到下一個秋天,周而復始,是否就能回到當初的甜蜜?他的生日在夏天,而她在初夏到來之前已經倒下了。冬天太冷了。春天的綿綿細雨太憂鬱。夏天的雷雨令人抓狂。已經耐不住了。等不到下一個秋天。她披上一年四季都穿着的大衣,瑟縮在雪房般的辦公室裡。然而窗簾遮掩着的密封玻璃窗外,秋天帶着她那香氣悄悄的來了。