À la recherche du temps perdu

news from nowhere

Month: September, 2010

great expectations

The ironic part is, I can only be happy when I do not hope for it. When I feel almost hopeless, expecting to meet with disappointment after disappointment, and have given myself up to fate without the slightest struggle, there happiness evolves, catching me off guard. And I know I cannot ask for anything more, because the moment I start to hope again, I will once again be disappointed. And so I accept this sudden undeserved happiness silently, savouring its unexpected sweetness, fearing it should disappear once I begin to hope again. They all say no pain no gain; yet the opposite holds more truth for me. The more painful you strive for something, the more disappointment you gain. And this is how I come to realize that all my great expectations are never great enough to compensate for all those miserable longings, and that great happiness only comes when there is no expectation at all. And so I dry my tears and tell myself not to think anymore, of all the things that I desire so much, since all these sufferings have already diminished all the value that is in them. That happiness will come to me when I least expect it. That it will come to me freely, without demanding even a single drop of tear from me.

Advertisements

the importance of being earnest

They marvel at the frankness in my words. But I have not been totally honest. I have hidden the fact that what made me so miserable was the thought of some person. It makes me sad to think of some person, knowing that I can only keep this secret to myself, till the day I no longer think of this person, and this person shall never learn about any of it. Because I know all too well, that nothing is going to change even if I am honest about my earnestness. Worse still, such earnestness might bring contempt instead of sympathy. The same thing has happened too many times for me to imagine otherwise. Love makes one feel so humble and pathetic, and a love that is humble and pathetic is not desired by anyone. Therefore I ask only to be allowed this privilege to be sad. Accuse me not for suffering for a meaningless love. Blame me not for my desperate and shameless hopes for love. Tell me not that I possess all the good things on earth and that being sad among all these blessings is a sin. Sometimes I look at the loving couples on the street, and I envy them for possessing something that I do not. The talent of loving and being loved in return.

讓愛因過飽噎塞而死

我真是一個很麻煩的人。儘管我很努力讓自己成為一個能幹而快活的人,在人前還總算可以勉強扮演一個很清楚自己在做甚麼的理想文藝青年角色,但有一點是騙不了自己的,就是我的骨子裡還是糟透了的這件事。我最近常在想這些糾纏不休的負面情緒,那些苦悶、沉鬱、煩厭、怠惰、對他人無由來的惡意、不屑、憤怒、嫉妒、迷茫、低落、自我厭惡、自卑、自怨自憐、悲傷、孤獨……究竟它們從何而來,如何能夠擺脫它們,還是它們本來就是建成我的不可分割的部份,注定伴隨著這個注定不能快樂的人生,儘管所有人都會說我不可能不快樂。

最近我終於發覺原來我有一個問題,就是我的熱情不能持久。曾經非常重要的人或事,在過度燃燒之後,會消滅殆盡,或對之變得厭倦,甚至完全被流放到潛意識的最最底層,那間小房子裡的夾萬裡給鎖上的記憶,彷彿從未發生。偶然一刻的dejavu,往往讓我吃一驚,一是自己竟能為如此的人或事抱有這麼強烈的情感,二是這麼強烈的情感竟也可以被我忘個清光,自己竟然是這麼一個薄情的人,連自己的感情和承諾也可以一而再地背棄,而每一次我都曾經真心相信過那情感會直至永遠的。或者如果我的情感一開始並不是那麼熱烈,那麼沉重而痛苦,可能還不致於那麼轟烈的死亡。這讓我想起Twelfth Night裡Duke Orsino的第一段台辭:

If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.

如果愛得太多會讓愛情死亡的話。我當初不相信的,但似乎那當中也有一點真相。或者當我為那情感費盡心力做盡各種瘋狂的自以為很浪漫的事,當我成功讓人相信我的愛情的堅定後,我早已被那過份沉重的情感壓得透不過氣,繼而失去所有再去愛的力氣而悄然引退,躲在暗角讓傷口結疤,然後像沒事發生過那樣重新開始,再愛,然後再忘記。或者就是因為沒有一件事或者一個人能讓我永遠著迷,所以我苦悶、沉鬱、煩厭、怠惰、對他人無由來的惡意、不屑、憤怒、嫉妒、迷茫、低落、自我厭惡、自卑、自怨自憐、悲傷、孤獨。

而且我不是一個內心漂亮的人。我的性格暗藏很多黑暗面,在性格美好的人前往往更讓我了解到自己的醜陋。我是一個自我中心到極的人,為這一點我很討厭自己,然而自我厭惡其實也是一種自我中心的行為。所以我不能像其他人般得到快樂。

星期六去了一個中學同學的婚禮。新娘子是一個性格跟我完全相反的人。中學一年級認識她時她已是那麼一個直率真誠的人,喜怒形於色,亂衝亂撞,可能會踫一點釘,但最終總會吉人天相,可能會讓一些人咋舌,但也會吸引一群忠誠的朋友,不介意她的粗心大意,就愛她的真摯。我不太明白當初是甚麼讓她湊近我,我不覺得自己是一個很好的朋友,對於她還會邀請我去她的婚禮有點受寵若驚。她的婚禮是那麼的美麗完滿,我卻發覺自己無法代入那幸福的氛圍中。那種幸福快樂的世界對我而言很是陌生。說真的我為她高興,但我不羨慕那高級會所的高雅婚禮、漂亮的衣服漂亮的人物、取景歐洲的婚照、製作精美的影片、之後肯定很豪華的蜜月旅行,不眼紅她找到個事業有成能讓她引以為傲的能幹丈夫,我只羨慕她找到一個真心愛她,願意照顧她一輩子的人。這個時候我就記起幾年前她跟我說的一句話。她說我這麼久還未遇到那個人,是因為上天要把最好的留給我。想到這兒我就很想哭,因為她才是最好的,因此上天把最好的給她了。而我最希望能對他說以上這些話的人,卻永遠不會看到,不會知道我在寫一這篇時流過的淚。然後等我的淚流盡了,就會再次忘記當初是為了甚麼而哭。

In terrible shit.

Once again I let myself fall into this state of chaos and I hate myself for it. It stripped off all my productivity when I should have accomplished a lot. I had thought my sensitivity is gradually vanishing along with age, now that I cannot write as often and as freely as I used to, I had even mourned its loss, but now I realize that perhaps I am the same piece of over-sensitive shit and that in fact most of my energy has been channeled to creative activities other than writing, and that I am still, unfortunately, able to fall into such melancholic-chaotic shit of a state. I find myself crying over my musings, my writings, any random song, blaming those who made me suffer, hating myself for blaming them, and infuriated at the fact that there is no one to blame but myself, because it is solely my own weakness that I am so unhappy. Some said I exerted too much control, some said I had not stayed firm enough. I tried reason, and I tried abandoning myself to my feelings, none seemed to work. Once again I have to accept the fact that I am only fit for sorrow, of all the beauties in life. And then when the next day breaks, I will pretend to the world again that life for me is indeed happy, pretty, and ever fulfilling.

Bright Star

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art —
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —
No — yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft swell and fall,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever — or else swoon to death.



Bright star, would my love be steadfast as thou art.

不過是夢。

我忽然想起一首歌,他說。背向著他的她感覺到他的笑意。他一邊拿著電風筒給她吹頭髮一邊就哼唱起來:

來又如風 離又如風
或世事通通不過是場夢

他笑的時候,像個孩子。他直眼看著她,微笑著不發一言。她以為他有話要說,但他只是那樣對她笑著,她只好以微笑回應。她曾以為他是喝多了甚至是吃了草,後來她想可能那只是他表達善意的方式。那麼的直接,然而她卻未能相信。或者她應該感到羞愧吧。又或者她只是不能相信他會喜歡自己。

他喝完一杯又一杯,白晢的皮膚泛起了一層緋紅。夜色漸濃,時針走了一圈又一圈,他仍未有意興闌珊的樣子,反而像進入了另一種精神狀態。他自顧自微笑著,那一刻世界在他眼中大概是美好的。原本她想著只是跟他來見見他的朋友便走的,結果卻不知為何留了下來。看著他亢奮的樣子,跟平常那個沈默寡言的他截然不同,她又不忍心留下他回去了。他的英國朋友笑說初次認識他時,看他在場裡對周遭的人群置若罔聞自個兒忘情起舞,還以為他是個拆家。她看著他,覺得不難理解。

酒吧的上層有現場樂隊演奏。他帶她坐到露台去,她才慶幸能得到一點清靜和新鮮空氣,他忽然轉過頭來說很想跳舞,就捉著她的手把她拉回鬧哄哄的室內了。他走到樂隊前方,興奮地跟著音樂獨自起舞,臉上是一片她未曾見過的快樂表情。她不懂跳,而且已經累得不想動了,就坐在後方的皮沙發上看著他,覺得自己有點像一個在旁邊看著自己孩子玩耍的媽媽。他這時拿起非洲鼓搖鼓伴奏,那時又跑上去充當keyboard,她這時才意識到她眼前的是一個多麼有才華的人。她忽然想起很多年前在大學的一位學長,那些虛無縹緲的所謂單戀。她竟有點覺得置身在電影中,感覺有點非真實。晚上的世界對她來說從來只是安寧的房間裡閱讀寫作和整理思緒,而不是中環某唐樓內每夜年輕中外藝術家聚集的昏暗酒吧,嘈雜的人聲和音樂,催情的酒精和大麻,一個不知是被現實遺棄還是對現實失望的才華洋溢的美麗少年,拼命的似想放下內心潛藏的甚麼。而她正和他在一起。

或者她一早預料到事情的發生。第一次見他,她就覺得有點甚麼不一樣。但是她不相信他會喜歡自己,所以她也不讓自己太喜歡他。他問她為甚麼不拍拖。她心想,因為沒有人想跟我一起,包括問這條問題的他。他只是因為女朋友不在,感到寂寞,才找上自己的吧。但她沒有這樣對他說,說了又有甚麼意義。但近在咫尺的他的臉在微笑著,她就想是否可以相信這一刻的他的確是喜歡自己的。他問,那她不會想拍拖嗎。但她已經失望過太多次,早已變得害怕再期望了。偶然遇到喜歡的人,她都先說服自己對方沒有可能喜歡自己,或者暗中也流過一點淚。他說她應該控制自己太多了。而她只想學會不再心痛。她側臥著看著他,覺得為一個libertine流淚一點不值錢。他大概只會覺得費解。

或我亦不應再這般心痛

他說他有過很多女人。這她不難理解,也相信自己只是那很多他連名字都記不起的其中一個。可能就是因為這樣,她才會扶著腳步不穩的他上了小巴回了他的家。他是一個有著天使微笑的孩子,女孩子看了都不忍心丟下不管的。但是她自己的心只得自己來照顧。

他拿起床邊的木結他,開始彈奏起來。學過的樂章他都不記得,只有胡亂作一些來彈。木結他少了一根弦。她坐在旁邊靜靜看著他,心想這個男孩子大概一直在追尋著那個英年早逝的音樂家父親。她好像看見他內心的一個洞。而她大概是為了暫時填補那個洞而存在的。她也沒有問他女朋友何時回來。當然她問了他會答,但那又有甚麼意義。

她想他大概是孤獨的。她自己又何嘗不是。

他的家沒有時鐘,回到街上時已是日上三竿的下午二時多。他們徐徐的步往地鐵站,沿途她沒有怎麼跟他說話。或者她是相信她的使命已經達成,他也許已經不再需要她。她甚至不知道她之前跟他說的東西他實際聽進了多少。她不懂猜別人的情感,不知道自己有甚麼讓人喜歡的地方,只好斷定所有的人都比自己薄情,自己沒有讓人持續喜歡自己的能力,哪怕只是一晚的時間。站在地鐵車廂裡,她才開始感到與現實接軌,之前的,通通不過是場夢。

他下車前,給了她一個很燦爛的笑容,然後在她臉頰上親了一下。她被他這個舉動給嚇了一跳,回過神來時,他已在車門外向她揮手道別。她笑著向他揮了揮手,腦裡響起了這兩句歌:

但我不過 是人非夢
總有些真笑 亦有真痛