最初决定离开这个城市，是因为想逃离。逃离现在的一切，钢筋森林、持续高温、桃色新闻、收发邮件、因特网，陌生的眼眸，所有的这一切都让我觉得很累。我不禁想，我生命的大部分时间都用于忙这些和我没什么关系的事。于是就突然决定在旅游高峰尚未来临前，离开这里。

本来准备订机票，结果由于种种原因还是坐火车去了。因为一来呢，南京到昆明的320元机票订不到，最低520，还是在广州白云机场转机；二来，一下子就飞到海拔2000多米的昆明，担心自己的身体受不了高原反应。南京到昆明的火车K155(K156)48小时，两个晚上三个白天，卧铺最便宜是535（上）。

火车运行了半个小时，我突然发现车窗外的居然还是“共青团路”“雨花路”，经过车上的乘员同志终于打听清楚，原来路线是：南京西发车——南京站上客——途经南京南站。老南京南站位于雨花台区集合村路为宁芜铁路的起首位置，是上海铁路局南京铁路分局管辖的二等客货运直属站。新南京南站位置定在机场高速公路以东宁溧公路以西,绕城公路以南,宏运大道以北。据介绍，整个南京南站占地约1000亩，建筑面积40万平方米，主站房面积8万平方米。南京南站建好后“会很特别”。和现在的南京站最大的不同是，南京站是落地的，这个车站却是悬在空中的，其实它就是个高架车站，站台层离地面12米5高的距离。南京南站的站台相当于在二楼，候车大厅则在三楼——南京南站的南北广场上，各有一个高架与三楼候车大厅相连，和现在的南京站一样，这是送站平台，乘客在此下车后即可直接进入候车室，而在“正负零”的地面上，分别设有公交车、出租车和社会车辆的停车场。是一个连接5条高等级铁路的枢纽站——京沪高铁、沪汉蓉城际铁路、宁安城际、宁杭城际还有沪宁城际。在南京铁路南站综合交通枢纽大致600米范围内，铁路、地铁、公路客运、公交、轻轨5大交通体系全在里面了，而通过200多部电梯，这5大交通体系完全连接在一起，真正意义实现“零换乘”。

火车途经六省一自治区，分别是：

江苏（南京）——安徽（马鞍山-宣城-绩溪县-黄山）——江西（景德镇-鹰潭-新余）——湖南（萍乡-株洲-衡阳-祁东-永州）——广西（桂林北-柳州-宜州-金城江）——贵州（都匀-贵定南-贵阳-安顺-六枝-六盘水）——云南（宣威-曲靖-昆明）

火车的旅途是漫长的，但是我丝毫不觉得无聊，因为眼前的风景不断变换，因为一路上能认识来自天南地北的朋友。要是坐飞机，两个多小时到昆明，什么都看不见。

火车拉来的城市——株洲，位于湖南省东部，湘江下游。地理位置优越，交通运输发达，是我国南方重要的交通枢纽。东界江西省萍乡市、莲花县、永新县及井冈山市，南连本省衡阳、郴州两市，西接湘潭市，北与长沙市毗邻。长沙（湖南省会）、株洲、湘潭三市同处湘江中游，呈“品”字形分布。长沙到株洲和湘潭的距离都是50公里，目前已经由高速公路连接。除了地缘上的紧密，三地在经济社会上亦有相当多的联系，“长株潭城市群”是长沙、株洲、湘潭的简称，其中株洲市是“长株潭城市群”中工业基础最强的城市。“长株潭城市群”早在10年前，就已经启动了包括金融改革、供电、交通、供气、经济技术开发区选址等十大工程，是中国第一个自觉地进行区域经济一体化的试验区。

株洲，是炎黄文化的重要发祥地。中华民族的始祖、农耕文化的创始人――炎帝神农氏，就长眠在株洲境内炎陵县鹿原坡。三国时孙权定都建业，设县建宁，羽扇纶巾的周瑜曾在这片土地上演绎过许多动人的故事，唐代大诗人杜甫留恋湘东美丽的风景，携家眷栖居于此，在他生命的最后两年，老病孤舟，两次溯湘江而南，留诗十多首；唐代奇女子、慧眼识英雄的名姬红拂之墓在株洲境内的醴陵西山，宋代名将岳飞率军途经茶陵时以枪尖挑禾蔸写的“光泉”二字，赫然镌刻在高陇石壁上；宋代大儒朱熹两次到株洲讲学，“朱亭”因他而名；明代大旅行家徐霞客为茶陵云阳山、灵岩寺、麻叶洞留下一篇篇日记，记下了株洲的名山胜水；明代大学士、立朝五十年的李东阳，以他为代表的“茶陵诗派”，将故乡“茶陵”的名字，永远镌刻在中国文学史史册上。

　　株洲，在中国人民革命史上，更有着光荣的一页，是我国重要革命发源地之一。曾先后涌现了以李立三等为代表的传播马列主义新思想的革命前驱，左权、谭震林、耿飙、陈明仁等举世闻名的军事将领也都出自株洲。茶陵、炎陵（原酃县）是井冈山革命根据地的重要组成部分，毛泽东、朱德的第一次见面，是在炎陵县的十都；红军第一次把党支部建在连上，毛泽东亲自主持的红军战士入党仪式，是在炎陵县的水口镇叶家祠；毛泽东亲自批准组建的井冈山第一个县级红色政权，是茶陵县工农兵政府；毛泽东亲自主持、作出“撤围长沙、回师江西、攻取吉安”重大决策，被美国作家史沫特莱称为“朱德和毛泽东采取了一生中最重大的步骤之一，这一步骤扭转了中国革命运动中的一次严重危机”的红一方面军总前委会议，举行在株洲市徐家桥头的原协丰长绸布店。株洲域内目前还有现代著名无产阶级革命家李立三故居、左权将军纪念碑、谭震林墓等。株洲，是一块红色的圣土。共和国第一批（1955—1964）授衔，产生了十大元帅和众多的将军。其中株洲籍将军有41名，仅茶陵一县就出了25名将军，茶陵成了有名的“将军之乡”。

火车经过这个路口时，会换轨。

经过株洲的300多条河流，多属于湘江水系。

火车行到永州时，天空一下就变了样，不再灰蒙蒙的。可以说，蓝天白云始于此地。

　桂林市地处南岭山系的西南部，平均海拔150米，属典型的“喀斯特”岩溶地貌，遍布全市的石灰岩经亿万年的风化浸蚀，形成了千峰环立、一水抱城、洞奇石美的独特景观，被世人美誉为“桂林山水甲天下”。其中最具有代表性的景点有：象鼻山、伏波山、南溪山、尧山、独秀峰、七星岩、芦笛岩、甑皮岩、冠岩、明代王城、榕湖、杉湖等。而我们所说的漓江山水最精彩的一段则在阳朔境内。

桂林地处岭南要冲，自古官宦商旅云集，饮食习惯南北交融，粤、川、湘、浙、赣、闽均有承传。近世纪以来，粤、川饮食影响大，同时融入地方习惯，又因旅游的发展，逐渐形成了有一定地方特色的风味小吃。
桂林米粉以其独特的风味远近闻名。其做工考究，先将上好大米磨成浆，装袋滤干，揣成粉团煮熟后压榨成圆根或片状即成。园的称米粉，片状的称切粉，通称米粉，其特点是洁白、细嫩、软滑、爽口。其吃法多样。最讲究卤水的制作，其工艺各家有异，大致以猪、牛骨、罗汉果和各式佐料熬煮而成，香味浓郁。卤水的用料和做法不同，米粉的风味也不同。大致有生菜粉、牛腩粉、三鲜粉、原汤粉、卤菜粉、酸辣粉、马肉米粉等。

冒热米粉：把烫热的米粉滤干，再配以锅烧猪牛肉片，卤牛膀、牛肝等，加卤水、花生油、酥黄豆或辣椒、蒜蓉，搅拌入味。这种米粉吃起来拂拂作响，声色味俱全。
原汤米粉：把切好调味的猪牛杂，放入小铁锅中煮熟，倒进盛有米粉的碗中，加上葱花、味精、胡椒、麻油。这种米粉味道十分鲜美。
醋水米粉：这是一种无肉的素粉，只加酸醋、酸刀豆、酸辣椒拌吃，经济爽口，妇女特别爱吃，夏天最受欢迎。
马肉米粉：用特制的红烧马肉作配料，马肉鲜嫩味香，壮阳补肾。过去吃马肉米粉多用特制小碟来盛，米粉仅供一箸，上面有几片薄薄的马肉，再加以几粒油炸花生，拌以桂林辣酱，风味特佳。一人一口一碟，可吃二、三十碟粉。现在已改用大碗，滋味不变。

火车到达贵阳时已经是凌晨4点，睡不着，于是下来拍拍站名牌。一个人旅行真的是件很奇怪的事情，总是让我想到很久以前的事情。初中班主任王飞老师就来自贵州师范大学。记得她曾经对我们说过，贵州省很穷，有些山区地方没有肉吃，就割大腿上的肉吃。我不知道她当时说这话是真是假，是不是吓唬我们，不过她说这话时一脸严肃。与我同行的去过贵州的女孩儿说，去贵州就像经历一次思想教育：当时她到那里，一家人欠另一家人1块5毛钱欠了十几年，她去替这家人把这十几年的债还上，还多给了这家人6块钱，然后这家人就集体跪地，泪流满面。。。

贵阳，就像它的名字一样。阳光在那里十分精贵。几乎每天晚上都要下雨，一下起雨来，山间雨雾缭绕。火车经过这里到云南，要经过近100个隧道。在云雾中穿梭，我不禁想，这一定是神仙居主的地方。。。

无论如何地去追索

年轻的我们只如云影掠过

那微笑的面容极浅极淡

在那个古老的不再回来的夏日

唱着、跳着

年复一年

The sky is celeste, moving slowly,

In all this spring it moved slowly.

Such beauty can't be understood

he who drifted through life

with the advantage of wealth;

Such beauty is

you standing on your tiptoes

bypass my back

thumb through the verses I wrote for you

Smile or

gentlely shed your careless tears...

Asuka, I'm not the one who can make

all his words touching to listeners.

All these years, I just watching the stars dogfighting

in the high blue sky outside my window,

which cast a giant shadow over my inward.

In the daytime, I feel cold and tired among the crowd.

When evening falls, Asuka,

I slump over white papers above my table,

lied and cried...

This spring is more clear that others.

With my heart soft as water,

I crossed the plants and fragrances.

They are all along loved by you,

like invisible jewelry, adorned round your ears.

Asuka, in the spring

I saw the birds ascending into heaven.

I'm really grateful for them

for bringing my message to you,

and you are gazing

that absorbed in it.

---it can be a work in progress.

Your inner mettle may not be easily altered, but with the right tool kit, some aspects of personality may be works in progress. Become a believer. Trust that you can change and you are far more likely to do so. Find your signature strengths---and that means discover them. Don’ t assume that you know your strengths in advance. Identify--- and reject---overly pessimistic beliefs. Rigidty might be the result of a belief as well as inner temperament. Tap someone to help you meet a goal. A systematic approach with a good friend or therapist can help you buckle down. Take risks. Confidence increases with persistent experiment. Sign up for a stand-up comedy class. Because people do change with time, you may find that attending parties alone---an act that petrified you two years ago---is now a manageable challenge. Find the right fit. Keep in mind that traits are not necessarily constant across all situations. Some people are anxious interpersonally in intimate settings, for instance, but they nonetheless enjoy the lime (or vice versa). Find the niche where your traits are most useful and where you feel best.

About N years ago when I was an undergraduate incollege, I was working as an intern at my university' s Museum.

One day while working at the cash register in the gift shop, I saw an elderly couple come in with a little girl in a wheelchair. As I looked closer at this girl, I saw that she was kind of perched on her chair. I then realized she had no arms or legs, just a head, neck and torso.

She was wearing a little white dress with red polka dots. As the couple wheeled her up to me I was looking down at the register. I turned my head toward the girl and gave her a wink.

As I took the money from her grandparents, I looked back at the girl, who was giving me the cutest, largest smile I have ever seen. All of a sudden her handicap was gone and all I saw was this beautiful girl, whose smile just melted me and almost instantly gave me a completely new sense of what life is all about.

She took me from a poor, unhappy college student and brought me into her world; a world of smiles, love and warmth.

That was N years ago. Now and whenever I get down and think about the troubles of the world, I think about that little girl and the remarkable lesson about life that she taught me.

Escucho a menudo las quejas de los directores domésticos que la taquilla de las películas chinas siempre se quedan atrás de las extranjeras a causa de la falta de un buen guión cinematográfico. Leí una noticia en Beijing Diario Vespertino ayer: Un administrador superior de la empresa más grande de programas antivirus de computador en China estableció su propia compañía 2 años después de su dimisión. Su antigua empresa temía que la nueva iría a afectar los negocios, por lo tanto, aquélla mentía que la nueva empresa había fabricado el virus de ordenador y, después vendío el programa antivirus. Mas tarde, sobornó con una enorme cantidad de dinero al conjunto de la policía encargada la securidad de computadora en Beijing y ésto lo detuvo al administrador por rázones panales. Además, las otras corporaciones de estas programas también perjuraba sucesivamente. Y ahora por las apelaciones llenas de peligros y dificultades del administrador, la verdad sale a la luz por fin. Si los cuentos tensos como este puede filmarse, la taquilla de las películas surcará el cielo.

      稀薄的晨雾里。冬日的冷空气里。
　　骑着单车，载着心爱的女孩，飞奔。
　　裹着他的外套，却决心不要做他的负担。
　　静静地一起等待日出。
　　朝阳初升，彩霞满天。

      噢。不。我早已不是那样的年纪。
　　噢，是的。我当然知道这样的承诺有多脆弱。当然知道未来的不可预知。
　　可是我们都已在现实里理智了太久。可不可以，卸下全部的伪装和故作的坚强，让我们的心柔软一下？就一下。
　　
　　突然地就记起从前。　　
　　也曾那样地喜欢一个少年。因为他的光芒，而觉得自己的渺小。也曾那样地因为一个少年，而非常非常地努力。即使不能超越他，也希望能够接近他。可以平等地站在一起。
　　那样单纯的喜欢一个男孩。一无所求。在自己的小世界里，我的喜忧与他相关。
　　
　　后来。
　　后来。
　　本就稀薄的感情被时光无限稀释。终于可以平静地听人说起他。相遇的时候，能够笑着说“HI!”
　　一切都已过去。
　　只是仍记得当初那分单纯的美好。
　　
　　一个人。静静地。静静地。
　　回望那分最初的美好。
　　那个曾用心喜欢过的少年。

除了少数逃罪人员和受骗人员，正常意义上的远行者总是人世间比较优秀的群落。他们如果没有特别健康的情致和体魄，何以脱离早已调适了的生命温室去领受漫长而陌生的时空折磨？天天都可能遭遇意外，时时都需要面对未知，许多难题超越精神储备，大量考验关乎生死安危，如果没有比较健全的人格，只能半途而废。

几乎没有遇见过一个喜欢远行的现代流浪者是偏激、固执、阴郁、好斗的。反之，那些满口道义、鄙视世情的书斋文人如果不得已参加某种集体旅行，大多连谁扛行李、谁先用餐、谁该付款等琐碎问题也无法过关，总是众人侧目，同室翻脸，不欢而散。流浪，一个深为他们耻笑的词汇，却又谈何容易！

以前我是很恐惧冬天的，觉得世间的一切都枯萎了，好像我的生命也将随之停滞。不知从何时起开始喜欢冬天，无论是南京路两侧的法桐，还是枯黄的草地，或者嶙峋突兀的山石、铺着一层薄冰的玄武湖水，都让我的心变得平静而透明。心灵平静的感觉真好，可以不再害怕失去。最近突然很想研究植物。原来世间尚有这么可爱的生命存在。

------Robert Burns 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to mind? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And auld lang syne? 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 
For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne! 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, 
And surely I'll be mine, 
And we'll tak a cup o kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne! 

We twa hae run about the braes, 
And pou'd the gowans fine, 
But we've wander'd monie a weary fit, 
Sin auld lang syne. 

We twa hae paidl'd in the burn 
Frae morning sun till dine, 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd 
Sin auld lang syne. 

And there's a hand my trusty fiere, 
And gie's a hand o thine, 
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught, 
For auld lang syne

Happy New Year ！

Star
If you are
A love compassionate,
You will walk with us this year.
We face a glacial distance, who are here
Huddled
At your feet.
                                                       

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El año 2008 no es sólo mi año 2008. Es un año llena de alegría y pena. Debe que recordar que todavía hay mucha gente que vivir y comer en este mundo sin hogar...

2008。这一年充满了欢乐也充满了苦难。这个世界上仍有很多人无家可归，艰难的活着.....

Nació en Ávila, España, el 28 de marzo de 1515.

Su nombre, Teresa de Cepeda y Ahumada. En su casa eran 12 hijos y ella era la última. Teresa tenía un gran encanto personal, una simpatía impresionante, una alegría contagiosa, y una especie de instinto innato de agradecimiento que la llevaba a corresponder a todas las amabilidades. Con esto se ganaba la estima de todos los que la rodeaban.

De niños, ella y un hermano suyo, eran muy aficionados a leer vidas de santos, y se emocionaron al saber que los que ofrecen su vida por amor a Cristo reciben un gran premio. La mamá de Teresa murió cuando la joven tenía apenas 14 años. Ella misma cuenta en su autobiografía: "Cuando empecé a caer en la cuenta de la pérdida tan grande que había tenido, comencé a entristecerme sobremanera. Entonces me arrodillé delante de una imagen de la Santísima Virgen y le rogué con muchas lágrimas que me aceptara como hija suya y que quisiera ser Ella mi madre en adelante. Y lo ha hecho maravillosamente bien". Providencialmente una persona piadosa puso en sus manos "Las Cartas de San Jerónimo"", y allí supo por boca de tan grande santo, cuán peligrosa es la vida del mundo y cuán provechoso es para la santidad el retirarse a la vida religiosa en un convento. Desde entonces se propuso que un día sería religiosa.

"Nada te turbe, nada te espante.
Todo se pasa. Dios no se muda.
La paciencia todo lo alcanza.
Quien a Dios tiene, nada le falta.
Sólo Dios basta."

Su autobiografía titulada "El libro de la vida"; "El libro de las Moradas" o Castillo interior; texto importantísimo para poder llegar a la vida mística. Y "Las fundaciones: o historia de cómo fue creciendo su comunidad. Estas obras las escribió en medio de mareos y dolores de cabeza. Va narrando con claridad impresionante sus experiencias espirituales. Tenía pocos libros para consultar y no había hecho estudios especiales. Sin embrago sus escritos son considerados como textos clásicos en la literatura española y se han vuelto famosos en todo el mundo.

La transverberación. Esta palabra significa: atravesarlo a uno con una gran herida. Dice ella: "Vi un ángel que venía del tronco de Dios, con una espada de oro que ardía al rojo vivo como una brasa encendida, y clavó esa espada en mi corazón. Desde ese momento sentí en mi alma el más grande amor a Dios".

Desde entonces para Teresa ya no hay sino un solo motivo para vivir: demostrar a Dios con obras, palabras, sufrimientos y pensamientos que lo ama con todo su corazón. Al hacer la autopsia del cadáver de la santa encontraron en su corazón una cicatriz larga y profunda.

Santa Teresa murió el 4 de octubre de 1582 y la enterraron al día siguiente, el 15 de octubre. ¿Por qué esto? Porque en ese día empezó a regir el cambio del calendario, cuando el Papa añadió 10 días al almanaque para corregir un error de cálculo en el mismo que llevaba arrastrándose ya por años.

Marisol el viernes, 25 de noviembre 

Estos días Anotonio me ha mentionado un par de veces a Tchaikovsky. Esto me hace recordar el cuento entre Tchaikovsky y yo. Un día de invierno, una amiga mía y yo estaba en una tienda donde se vende CD cerca de NNU. Acababa de llegar un sumo de CD nuevo de la música clásica. Entró un joven muy flaco en la tienda y empezó a hablar con nosotras. Le gustaba mucho la música, especialmente la clásica. Sacó un CD de Tchaikovsky de la estantería y siguió hablarnos con sus ojos brillando.. Nos hablaba un montón no solo la música sino también él mismo. Era un estudiante de la Universidad de Nanjing. Pero como una persona venía de un pueblo pequeñito y poblecito, no tenía sufienciente dinero para comprar ni solo un CD. Por eso, no tenía otra manera que frencuentar aquí. Saben que en cada álbum hay un libro pequeño y en que hay un par de pinturas y instrucciones. Le alegraba mucho solo leer las palabras. Prestabamos toda la atención en la música y nadie de nostros nos dabamos cuenta de que ya era 10pm. Cuando nos despidió, nos sentimos muy tristes. Solo valía 20 yuanes pero para él es un sumo grande de dinero. Propuse de que compráramos el CD y se lo regaláramos. Le encontramos en la multitud, le parecía un poco sospechoso después de enterarse de lo que queríamos hacer. Nos agradeció pero nos rechazó por fin.

Unos años después, todavía recuerdo claramente al chico. Cuando cada vez estoy en apuro, se me ocurría la image de él y siento apoyada. Su mirada afirmada y decidida me dice que nunca abandonarás el sueño aun cuando en momentos muy difíciles. Y el CD está en mi casa, lo conservo muy muy aunque todavía no comprendo mucho la música clásica y no he escuchado mucho. 

我和老柴不得不说的故事 

Marisol el sábado, 22 de noviembre

Necesitan ser rescatadas todas las mujeres por los hombres? ¿Qué pasa si el Príncipe Encantador nunca aparecía y Blancanieve que se había dormido en ese ataúd de cristal se despertara y escupiera la manzana tóxica y obtuviera un trabajo y un bebé de su vecino con la ayuda de Inseminación Artificial? Debido a la tecnología avanzada la evolución de la independencia de las mujeres es tan rápido que los hombres y las mujeres de hoy se enfrentan a una situación un poco embarasoza y que los ambos necesitan reconocer a ellos mismos. 

Las mujeres han recorrido un largo camino en la busqueza de su justicia. Hace un poco tiempo las mujeres que querían tener algún éxito necesitaban lograr un hombre primero como su ocupacíon para buscar los puestos. En el año 1948 un libro publicó, El Segundo Sexo escrito por una filósofo francesa llamada Simona Beauvoir. Declaró por primera vez el poder de las mujeres. Se lee mucho entre los jóvenes Y todas las mujeres del mundo empezaron a conocer cada día más claramente que la situación social suya no es más baja que los hombres desde el principio pero es dado más por la sociedad y la historia. A excepción de la diferencia física, los hombres y las mujeres son iguales  

Mi Pueblo Natal
Marisol

Nací en Nanjing y viví por 20 años aquí. Por eso, esta ciudad es mi pueblo natal.

Es una ciudad antiga y tiene una historia larga. Hasta hoy, se puede ver muchas lugares de interés y cascos antigos. Por ejemplo: el Mausoleo de Sun Yat-sen, el Templo de Confucio, el sitio del gobierno chino de la época Minguo etc. Casi cada lugar tiene arquitecturas de un estilo elegante y con forma encantadora. Parece que tiene una cuenta para decir a la gente.

También es una ciudad moderna. Ha desarrollado con rapidez, especialmente en los últimos años. Se han construido muchos edificios altos en que hay muchas compañías internacionales. El gobierno de Nanjing ha mejorado el tráfico. Con la ayuda del metro, la gente que vive en las afueras y tiene que trabajar en el centro de la ciudad puede dormir más cada mañana. Claro que en invierno pleno. También hay aviones desde Nanjing a Frankford de Alemania. Y los extranjeros no necesitan cambiar sus aviones a Beijing o Shanghai, porque ellos pueden llegar directamente a Nanjing. Ahora muchas empresas europeas están pensando ampliar las operaciones en esta ciudad.

Sin embargo, creo que la gente de Nanjing es la más famosa del país. Aquí la gente hace todo sin prisa en comparación de Beijing y Shanghai. Porque la clima es agreable, las cosas son baratas y la comida, distinta y muy deliciousa. Entonces, la gente prefiere disfrutar y encender la vida lentemente. Es tan natural y hospitalaria que logra un apodo ¨Rábano Grande¨.

Aunque Nanjing todavía tiene mucho problemas, considero que será mejor en el futuro.

格桑亚西
 
突降的暴风雪把海参崴陷入一片混沌，凌厉的西伯利亚寒流卷起漫天雪雾，打得人睁不开眼睛。款式多样的二手吉普车在起伏冰冻的街道上爬行，上了年纪的有轨电车叮叮咚咚驶过，古旧的建筑物全都关门闭户的，不过下午三点钟的光景，昏黄的路灯已经亮起。

蒸汽机车静静停在西伯利亚大铁路的终点线上，黑色车身上的黄铜构件，涂着红色防锈漆的曲柄和轮毂，被站台上厚厚的积雪映衬得分外鲜明。帝俄时代的老火车站依旧气势不凡，但是镏金的装饰和白色的门窗都有些褪色。我走进空荡荡的候车室，脑海里闪现的是日瓦戈医生和保尔·柯察金时代与火车、站台、布琼尼式的军帽、白匪、冬妮娅有关的场景。
 

从大学时代开始，受一位精通俄语的老师影响，我偏爱上了俄苏文学，无论是莱蒙托夫的诗，屠格涅夫的散文，瓦西里耶夫的小说我都喜欢，记忆犹新的还有普希金的《致大海》，开头一句就把人镇住，“再见吧，自由的元素”，那情怀，那胸襟，那眼界，多么的博大深沉，现在想起，依然让人回肠荡气。如果此时此刻再由远而近地响起手风琴声和夏里亚宾忧郁的男高音，那氛围，那情景肯定让我心醉神迷，所以直到今天我都偏爱清凉的饮料格瓦斯，喜欢秋林商店的俄式大列巴，时不时哼哼一句伏尔加河什么的，这也算是我久治不愈的俄国病后遗症吧。

这一次到俄国，对我有怀旧和寻梦的意思。我是踩着莫斯科郊外夜晚的旋律，踏着山楂树的节拍，猜想着鱼子酱的味道来到这里的。

我们的轮船航行在冰冷的日本海上，黑色的海面飘着白色发蓝的浮冰，船尾追逐着求食的海鸥，它们上下翻飞，争抢游人抛出的食物，累了就歇在浮冰上，呆呆的，风吹浪打，动也不动。远处军港里排列有执勤的灰色驱逐舰，能够分辨出舰首的三色旗帜，它们属于俄国太平洋舰队，在码头后面有一幢白色的旧建筑，就是太平洋舰队的司令部。

这是一个大得惊人的国家，远东的概念名副其实，就是指遥远的东部。从海参崴乘坐火车去欧洲的莫斯科，是整整七天七夜的漫长行程，途中大部份时间就穿行在西伯利亚茫茫的大森林里，还要经过巨大的贝加尔湖，这一湖映衬有蓝天白桦的平静淡水，占有了全球淡水总量的六分之一，让来自干旱地域，渴得喉咙冒烟的人类见了，心中只有愤愤不平的两个字：奢侈。至于餐车中沿途供应的，我想除了红菜汤，黑面包，应该就是伏特加和传统的乌克兰香肠，里面混有很多辛辣的大蒜，把1941年6月21日那个美好的夜晚，我们尚未列入名册的军校毕业生尼古拉·普鲁日尼科夫中尉辣得咝咝的倒吸着凉气，而他的前面，他将要服役的布勒斯特要塞里，夏天的丁香花依旧馥郁芬芳，但是，几个小时以后，战争就要来了，美好的前程和初恋的爱情就要被猛烈的炮火打得粉碎。这些都是我从鲍里斯·瓦西里耶夫的小说《未列入名册》中读到的，在物质匮乏的年代，书中那些单调但是油水充足卡路里充分的俄国食物，尤其让我过目不忘，印象深刻。

记得中学地理课看地图，北方劈头盖脸的大片姜黄色，全是USSR的国土，它们大模大样的堆积在书页的上方，压迫得人心中紧紧的，后来苏联解体，碎裂成好多块，最大的叫俄罗斯，比原来的姜黄色小了许多，很让我松了口气，但还是世界国土第一的庞然大物，只是新版地图调整了视角，两个国家的关系也大有改善，他们的领袖也不再是大腹便便的垂垂老翁，换成了性感的年轻人，会滑雪跳伞，光膀子钓鱼，虽然表情依然是俄国式的冷峻，名字依然是咄咄逼人的弗拉基米尔，但毕竟有战略伙伴的约定，全球化进程中，经济又互补，我们有廉价的工业品，他们多的是钢铁和石油，所以再看地图，心中释然了许多。

但大终究还是很大，就是乘坐快捷的飞机，比如图154，从远东的海参崴到西边的莫斯科，还是要十个小时的可怕空中历险，机舱密封不好，噪音震耳，发动机颤抖，还要好几次呼啸着降落加油。
 
 

 天知道俄国人为什么如此固执，坚持着国产的道路，航空公司清一色粗笨的俄国造，图式，雅克，伊尔，拒绝空客，气煞波音，坚守着，忍耐着，维持着俄罗斯民族的自立自尊，维护着国家的独特和孤傲。让旁人在觉得他们有一点寒酸的同时，却一点也不敢去小瞧他们，看着他们庞大臃肿的身躯，有一点笨拙的蹒跚在风雪交加的街道上，手上小心拎着一大块面包，半网篼土豆，两三个西红柿，板着严肃的面孔，认真的瞪大着灰色、蓝色、褐色的眼睛，心中多少有点肃然和尊敬的意思。
 
 
黑色的列宁塑象依旧高高站立在原来的地方，保持着伟大导师的招牌造型：左手插在马甲口袋里，右手向前伸出，指示着苏维埃前进的方向。他引人注目的大圆脑袋上积了厚厚的雪，肩膀上有斑驳的鸟粪。

另一组反映十月革命的雕塑也在不远处，漫卷的红旗，呼喊的士兵，军帽上巨大的红星，和《钢铁是怎样炼成的》小说中的描写一模一样的神情。

1917年的革命打碎了帝俄，阿芙乐尔的一声炮响，布尔什维克 “乌拉”的欢呼声，给全世界挣扎的人类和痛苦中煎熬的国家提醒了一种崭新的可能性，在业绩最好的时段，资本主义阵营在嘹亮的歌声，动地的口号中几乎就快撑不下去了，华尔街崩盘的股市引发了多米诺效应，失业的无产阶级义愤填膺，资本家惶惶不可终日，资本主义制度风雨飘摇，倒闭似乎只是时间问题，但是经过将近一个世纪的漫长岁月，苏联不在了，帝俄的双头鹰重新回到了广袤的俄罗斯，是必然，是偶然，是天意，是人愿，没人能给出确切的答案，但是星期天早晨响彻海参崴的早祷钟声，东正教圆顶教堂外庄严的人群，还是让我若有所思。

许多年过去，山楂树中歌唱的锻工和镟工已经是拿着微薄退休金的老人了，他们和蹒跚在风雪街道上的老人，和世界上所有的老人都没有什么两样，他们象叶芝诗中娓娓述说的那样，当你老了，头白了，睡思昏沉，在炉火旁打盹……伤感，落寞，炉火温暖了衰老的身体，回忆抚慰着孤独的内心，茶炊里，还有些昨夜的陈茶，扶手椅上，蜷缩着年迈的爱人。

春天的山楂树还是开花的，但是姑娘不会再发愁徘徊了，今天的俄罗斯姑娘，时髦，现实，崇尚西方，她们知道勇敢和可爱都很好，但是美元、欧元、英镑，BMW和保时捷跑车应该更好。当然她们的名字还是叫卡佳，柳芭，卡秋莎，尤莉娅，脸蛋也冷艳得象格林童话中冰清玉洁的公主，但是她们中的很多，已经不再会唱我所熟悉的那些歌谣了。她们不是莫斯科郊外夜晚的那个，不是红梅花儿开放的那个，不是一条小路的那个，不是灯光中的那个，不是三套车上的那个，也不是海港之夜里挥舞蓝头巾送别的那个，她们眼神中装满了陌生，冷漠，怀疑甚至敌意，关于这一点，敏感的我是在通过海关的时候就有了感觉，俄方的男女边境警察穿着合体的迷彩军服，头上戴着我熟悉的羔羊皮帽，眼睛里面放射出冰冷的目光，锥子般盯着排队通关的中国人，目光中没有昔日的友善，信任，我读懂的只有厌烦和报怨。
 
美丽的夏天谢了，谢了，
明媚的日子飞逝，无踪， 

夜晚的阴霾的浓雾
悄悄铺展了沉睡的暗影；
啊，绿色的田野空旷了，
嬉笑的小河变为寒冷，
树林的枝桠苍老，发白，
天空也暗淡而且凄清。
 
 
 
 
我默默的背诵着普希金温情的诗句：《给娜塔莎》，心中慢慢的溢满了伤感。

普希金失去了娜塔莎，俄罗斯失去了普希金，而我，就在今天早晨，在海参崴，刚刚失去了我心爱的俄罗斯，

是告别的时候了，海参崴还在沉睡，雪已经停了，星星显得清冷。公路伸向森林的深处，天际线上，朝霞正在慢慢变得嫣红。汽车碾压积雪，发出好听的沙沙声，眼前依然是许多过去的歌曲，电影，诗和小说中有关俄罗斯的情景，那里面是我所热爱和熟悉的俄罗斯，她自信，大方，自豪，有漂亮的小伙子，鲜花般的少女，穿宽松斜领衬衣总是名叫伊凡的老大爷，还有肥胖的好心肠的老大娘，会在烟雾的厨房里，炖上满满一锅浮着厚厚油脂的红菜汤，那是和这些天所经历的俄罗斯完全不同的，另外一个俄罗斯，我喜欢的俄罗斯，它过去还有一个更加豪迈的名号：苏联！过去和现在相一致的只有这远东的黎明，正如鲍里斯·瓦西里耶夫书中描绘的那样，真的是静悄悄的。

Events in Tibet have turned ugly. Once again we see the harm caused by Beijing's heavy-handed bureaucracy, and its panicky, untrained soldiers used for crowd control. But even when combined with all of Beijing's other alleged sins — Darfur, pollution, human rights and other issues — does Tibet justify the calls for a boycott of Beijing's planned Olympic Games later this year?

Olympic boycotts are a clumsy and biased weapon. Moscow had its 1980 Olympics boycotted because of its intervention in Afghanistan. But the Western, including British, intervention today in Afghanistan, while weaker in its ferocity, is almost identical in its motives — support for an unstable government with idealistic goals but unable to cope with domestic insurgents. Would anyone use that to boycott the planned London Olympics? Hardly.

Hypocrisy taints most of the other accusations against Beijing. Take Darfur, for example. Beijing is criticized for weapons sales to a Sudanese government guilty of assisting attacks on defenseless villagers, and refusing to intervene politically to help prevent those attacks. Yet nonintervention in the affairs of other nations was once a proudly proclaimed Western principle, aimed to end all wars in the 20th century. Now China is criticized for obeying that principle.

As for selling weapons to governments behaving atrociously against their own peoples, that has long been standard Western behavior. During the East Timor, Papua and Aceh atrocities in Indonesia, Britain was busily selling Jakarta the military aircraft it wanted. The handful of brave British women who tried physically to prevent those sales were jailed. Few complained.

Western armies are also known to attack defenseless villagers at times, as in Indochina before, and now in Iraq and Afghanistan. True, those armies can claim they only attack people supporting the civil-war enemy, but the Sudan government can say exactly the same over Darfur. The cruelties of its attacks there have yet to match the defoliation and free-fire zone tactics of the United States in Indochina. Of all the Western nations, only the Scandinavians at the time had the moral courage to halt arms sales to the U.S. in protest.

China is criticized as the great global polluter and user of scarce resources. But in one almost completely overlooked respect it has done far more than any of the rest of us to overcome both problems. This is its one-child policy. If not for that policy, China today would have to feed, clothe and accommodate an estimated extra 300 million to 400 million people — more than the entire population of Western Europe. The strain on world resource supplies and the environment would have been unbearable.

But to do this Beijing has had to court severe unpopularity at home. And it now has to live with two unfortunate results — a serious male-female population imbalance and rapid aging of the population. No one thanks Beijing for making these sacrifices. On the contrary. Some Western conservatives see the one-child policy as yet another Beijing evil.

Meanwhile, Beijing's impressive efforts to increase nuclear and hydro-power and so reduce dependence on polluting coal are criticized by our Western antinuclear, antidam progressives. China, it seems, just can't win, no matter what it does. It is the six-ton elephant that everyone likes to bash.

Similarly with many other criticisms. Beijing should admit that policy mistakes were made in Tibet in the 1960s, and that the Han Chinese immigration there since has caused frictions. For cultural reasons Chinese do not blend easily with other peoples. Resentments flare up easily, as we saw before in the anti-Chinese riots of Malaysia and Indonesia.

But Beijing can also point out that some of its early troubles could have been avoided if the CIA and New Delhi hawks had not set out to instigate the original 1959 Tibetan rebellion. As for Tibetan independence, people forget that the strongest opponent was the Western-backed Nationalist Chinese government that ended up in Taiwan. Beijing simply inherited that Western-approved situation.

Hypocrisy dogs the criticisms of China over democracy and human rights also. China at least goes through the motions of providing trials and prison sentences for the occasional activist dissident it sees as dangerous. Nonactivists are largely ignored.

What were the U.S. and some of its friends doing when Latin American governments of the 1970s were arbitrarily arresting and torturing dissidents in the tens of thousands and throwing their broken bodies into the ocean or unmarked graves? Almost nothing. Their agents were busy providing lists of more dissidents to be tracked down.

The U.S. has an impressive track record of supporting dictatorships that it sees as friendly even if they suppress human rights, and working to overthrow democratically elected governments if it sees them as unfriendly.

Beijing has already moved to introduce democracy at the grassroots level. It plans to go further up, but there are limits. Does anyone imagine, for example, that its unpopular one-child policy would survive if China had free national elections?

Singapore is another Sinitic culture society that believes in a strong semi-autocratic government able to impose unpopular but needed policies as preferable to the Western free democratic model. Few see Singapore as the epitome of all undemocratic evil.

I do not want to whitewash all that Beijing does. During the Cultural Revolution and "ping-pong diplomacy" periods of the early '70s, I saw at close quarters how unpleasant and unreasonable its officials can be. But you judge a nation by the direction in which it is traveling, not by the road bumps. And China is clearly moving in a direction of very considerable promise to us all. The Olympics, like ping-pong diplomacy, will push China further in that direction.

Marisol  viernes, 06 de junio de 2008 

Cuando yo estudiaba en la secundaria, tenía muchísimo interés por la música. Pero en aquella época, no había mp3. Por eso siempre iba a una tienda de CD alrededor de la Universidad de Nanjing en que se vendía muchos CDs piratos. Era la primera vez que tenía contacto con la música extranjera. Para mí todo eran nuevo y creativo. Aunque no tenía mucho dinero para comprar, me gustaba ponerme delante de las estanterías llenas de CDs de diversos colores sacándolos del estante, leyendo los títulos y a pocos minutos metiéndolos otra vez.   

En aquel entonces, si estaba libre, iba a la tienda. Y muchas veces incluso llegué tarde a la clase. De modo que mi profesor siempre me hacía pelo. Pero no le hacía caso yo nunca. Solo quería escuchar la música, olvidaba las cosas tristes y disfrutaba del mundo de mí mismo. 

Era una noche del invierno. Estuve en la tienda y vi por la ventana. Estaba lloviendo afueras. A mí me gustaba la llovia, era otra manera de ver la ciudad. En este momento, vi que una mujer andaba hacia mí, cada vez más grande. Es una mujer de mediada edad. No la vi muy claramente hasta cuando se puso delante de mí, era mi profesora de ingrés. Le parecía simpática. No me reprovechó nada sino que me aconsejó aprender las letras de canciones. Conversábamos mucho y cuando nos despedimos ella me regaló una nomendatura que era mi favorita. Al graduarme de la secundaria, cayó una enfermedad grave y perdió todos los pelos...Me muero de tristeza. 

No quería escuchar esta nomenclatura por un largo tiempo porque no me acostumbré a olvidar unas cosas buenas, y tampoco osé aceptar la verdad que las cosas ya había pasado. Tenía miedo de pensar en las cosas desaparecidas. Pero por último, decidí escucharla, porque me parecí que ya era la hora de dejar aquella época para que abrazara una nueva. 

Ahora es totalmente diferente de aquella época. No tengo los tristes sentimientos más. Solo recuedo su cara cuando estoy acostada en la cama. Y después me duermo con un poco placidez. Sé que el viaje sigue y todavía tengo un largo camino que recorrer.                                  

旅   程     

我上中学的时候，对音乐非常感兴趣。但是在那个时候，还没有MP3 这种高级的东西。因此，我就常常去南大附近的一家卖走私碟的店。那时我第一次接触外国音乐，耳朵还没现在这么挑剔，对我而言，一切都是新鲜的。尽管我并没有多少钱买碟子，我还是喜欢在那些塞满花花绿绿cd的架子前驻足，一张张把它们取下来，默念着上面的文字，再一张张把它们按原样放回去。     

那个时候，但凡我有空，都会去那家店里。有的时候甚至连上课都会迟到。为了这件事，我的班主任总是对我大发雷霆，不过我倒是从来没当回事儿。 我只是想听音乐，沉浸在自己的世界里，忘记那些悲伤的事。     

那是一个冬日的夜晚，我在店里透过玻璃望向窗外。外面淅淅沥沥地下着雨。我喜欢雨。在雨中，这个城市是另一番景致。就在那时，我看见一个女子向我走来，越来越近。是一个中年女子。我看得不是很清楚，直至她走到我跟前我才认出来，原来是我的英文老师。她看上去很亲切。她一点也没责备我，反倒建议我通过好好研究歌词来学习英文。那晚，我们聊了好多，走的时候，她居然买下我最喜欢的那张唱片作为礼物送给我。当我从中学毕业的时候，她却得了重病，身上所有的毛发都掉光了......那时候，我伤心极了。     

好长一段时间以来，我都不想听那张唱片。因为我始终不习惯忘记那些美好的事物，也不敢承认它们已经消逝的事实。我害怕去凭吊那些逝去的过往。但是最终，我还是下定决心去听它，因为我觉得，是时候放下一个时代，去拥抱另一个新的时代了。     

现在确实跟那个时代完全不同了。我不再有那些忧伤的情绪。只是，偶尔，当我躺在床上的时候，我会记起她的面庞，然后，带着一丝温暖，安然入睡。我知道旅程还在继续，而我仍有很长的路要走。 

                    
                                        Marisol  domingo, 18 de mayo de 2008

El viernes pasado asistí una conferencia con el tema: Rescate Psicológico tras el Terremoto. Una chica presentada contó llorando una historia. Para apoyar el educación en los pueblos pobres suroccidentales, estuvo durante medio año en una escuela primaria en el distrito de Wenchuan que es el epicentro en este sismo. Pero los niños con que ella estudiaba, jugaba y vivía juntos en aquella época desaparecieron por siempre. También en el tren desde Pekín a Qingdao que se produjo un gran accidente falleció la mejor amiga suya. Mientras que contaba, los presentes estábamos a punto de llorar.

Efectivamente, en estos días cada persona experienció un seísmo en su crazón. Lo conetó directamente o no, creo que mucha gente estaba sentada delante del computador leyendo los últimos anuncios, conmoviéndose por la generosidad de la población en todo el país y el ELP que están dando las labores de socorro, lamentando por los muertos y los supervivientes, repulsando por algunas compa?ías famosas que donaron tan poco y también sintiendo consolación por los reportes ajustos y objetivos de los medios entranjeros.

¨Cuando uno en el apuro, los demás compañeros se apresutarán a ayudarlo. ¨ En China hoy, cuando se van olvidando las palabras como unidad o conciencia, la gente chica dio una explicación perfecta a esta oración con su propio comportamiento. Si este desastre de nuestro país podrían ser la oportunidad de la revolución y progresión nacional, las almas que se dieron daños podría sentir algo mejor. Quizás, quizás...

Lo que me preocupo mucho es las víctimas van a olvidarse lentamente como el tiempo transcurre. Sin duda, a los que nesecita la ayuda son los hombres que han sobrevivido pero no pueden seguir viviendo. Porque husmearon el muerte, oyeron los chillidos desesperados de los padres y los ni?os, y tocaron los cuerpos de sus familiares con sus propias manos o les pirdieron una parte del cuerpo .......¿Cuál curación puede confortarlos para vivírse en el chirlo durante la vida?  ¿Qué asistencia puede hacerles apoyar sus cielos mancos? Hoy lloramos por los niños sobrevividos, pero si pensamos que en los siguientes días de sus vidas, ¿cuántas veces llorarán por lo que pirdieron por siempre? Con el sistema de seguridad social que no es tan consumado hasta hoy y no podrá enmejorarse en poco tiempo, si les dará a los supervivientes un camino indescriptible arduo?

Dicen que si curarán los heridos dentro de 6 meses, el APSD (Acute Post Tranmatic Stress and Disorder) va a ser mejor. Sí los psicólogos pueden analizar las pesadillas de la gente, pero sólo el amor y esperanza les enseñarán el ánimo a soñar otra vez. La atención por compatriota y el amor por la nación están superior a ningún sistema. Siquiera existan muchas dificultades y sufrimientos, nuestra condura y amor por las cosas buenas deben hacer la policía progresar y reverdecer la nación, que nos van a traer esperanza.
Lo creo.

春光还是别太明媚的好。春阴的微光和微凉更适於从冬季的犹豫中甦醒，适於从薄被裡伸出凉凉的手伸懒腰，打哈欠，拨弄头髮，支颐写长信，或是百无聊赖地等，闲敲棋子。春阴是迂迴的光阴，如同一个有心事的人不会发现光影的变换，一个凝神諦听的人不会看见眼前的事物。它的隐匿和压抑来自不存在的时空，它藏身於另外的思绪，它的光在它处。它像一段完美的和弦出现之前的悬宕与徘徊，酝酿著非常柔缓的情绪，你不知道它终会是一阵雨，或是一道光，你只能任它极其韵緻地，慢慢地慢慢地犯滥。你只能等。

      在芽苞秘密四伏的花圃裡，那阴云越沉，雨越绵密，土壤也就越细腻软沃，你知道这样的等待是一个饱满而阳光的承诺。

       然而春阴的等待也有荒凉的时候。特别是那尚未来临且不知道何时来临的，属於夏天的热切的场所。在应该有太阳却怎麼也等不著的，属於欢笑和防晒油的地方﹔在应该有洋伞和太阳眼镜之处，应该有小孩的嘻闹和奔跑的脚印之处，应该有沾满沙子的毛巾，几瓶啤酒空罐。但是什麼也没有，去年夏天不会再回来，虽然今年还是可以继续晒伤，继续拧乾泳衣，抱怨黄昏，在回程的路上摇下车窗风乾头髮并大声唱歌。也许还可以，也许不，但是此刻我们只能等。

        海水浴场的沙滩遍佈小小的纸屑，是去年的笑声留下的註脚。远处灰蓝色的碎浪起起伏伏，等待一回汹涌的涨潮来冲刷并且忘却它们。

        空无一人的游乐场被前夜的雨水儒湿了，紫色的大象、黄色的长颈鹿、红色的狮子寂然低视斑驳的水泥地。怎麼垂著泪呢，这群来自不知名的梦境的兽，这裡一滩泪，那裡一滩泪的。它们只会在夏天活过来。所以它们也只能等。

        这是等待。它就是这样荒凉。

        朱天文在《荒人手记》裡写等待，缠绵非惻淋漓尽致地写了四页，一种死去活来的等，几世几劫的等，既放弃又坚持的等，宇宙洪荒的等。写的是短暂的睡眠与乍醒。梦裡的时间比现实恒久，梦裡的等待比现实更难熬。昏眠等待是一床襤褸的梦，等不著人的时候，睡去如同死去却在梦裡回生，而醒来──朱天文写乍然醒来的冷汗「潮湿如尸体拉出来在解冻中」──如同回魂，却也落空如死，像茱丽叶。

         罗兰巴特在《恋人絮语》裡的等待更為焦灼，那是坐立难安的等，看得出来他曾如此真心地等过谁，而且他非常习於等待以及伴随而来的苦恼。於他而言等待乃是将自己的存在意义繫於他处，放在一个身影、一纸信笺、一通电话上。「我依赖一个不完全属於我的存在，而这个存在的实现需要时间。」他的思绪在它处，他的光也在它处。

         那种等待是对缺席的过敏，对空缺过敏。搔首蹢躅，如坐针毡，过度解释一切的意义，既耽於幻想和猜疑，也耽於近乎自虐的禁錮，他哪儿也不去，什麼也不能想，每一分每一秒都可能是终结等待的剎那，因此他每一分每一秒都等著那终结，时间变得庞大而缓慢，现实消失，一切看起来呆板、无生气，孤寂，恍若「荒无人烟的星球」。他失去现实，沉浸在意象中无法自拔。当他偶尔為闪现的清明震醒时，他会幡然自问：「我在这裡做什麼？」巴特说，这清醒正是爱情显露其非现实的时刻。

         这描述同样也是关於等待的昏沉与清醒的对比，个体在等待中将存在的意义置於此时空之外，意义总是在他处，它处。因而等待者不断在此身所处的现实与此心所想的虚构之间摆盪，是梦与实，是生与死，现实与非现实。在巴特看来，清明的现实感和爱情那种由意象与感官构筑的世界显然无法共存。《恋人絮语》正是一种书写的尝试，写那些无法言说的昏沉杂乱之感、语言逻辑无法捕捉的心中虚构之象，他利用语言的不足来书写从来就说不清楚的感觉和感叹。话语总是只能在感官边界游移，那游移的痕跡像春天若有若无的雨丝一样没入情绪的迷濛烟波裡。

        某一天我梦见我的茶花开了，梦裡花比现实更美。梦裡它笼著薄雾，姿态崎嶇，顏色妖冶异常。醒来之后明明知道是梦，我还是兴冲冲到阳台上去看它真的开花了没有。当然，没有。这梦几乎是照著佛洛伊德《梦的解析》裡那则山茶花之梦的标準范例显现，我当然也明白，多年前偶然读过的这一则案例的记忆会在此时於梦裡浮现，可能有超越我阳台那株山茶花能够指涉的意义。

        然而我寧愿不解析它，我只想记得它在梦裡的样态，我不喜欢燃烧完了之后，清醒如同回魂，又落空。

        等这茶花开等了几年，念兹在兹，总是这样落空。春日的花与惆悵，日有所思种种，均与等待有关。

El verano pasado, fui a España para viajar. Me divertí mucho en España y saqué muchas fotografias como recuerdo.

El primer mes, estuve en Valladolid. Es una ciudad de mucha cultura, tiene muchas iglesias antiguas. La iglesia de San Pablo es mi favorita. El rey de España Felipe II fue bautizado allí en el siglo XVI. Sin duda, es uno de los monumentos más importantes. Me gustó mucho esta iglesia, especialmente al atardecer la luz en la fechada era encantadora. Es un lugar tan agradable que la gente suele ir a descansar o charlar delante del edificio. En esta ciudad, hay muchas plazas como ésta. La plaza es un lugar ideal para sentarse. Normalmente, hay bancos cómodos o terrazas. A la gente de Valladolid  le gusta beber en las terrazas alrededor de la Plaza Mayor. También es un lugar en el que la mayoría se encuentra. Cuando mis compañeras de clase y yo salíamos para ir de paseo o para ver películas, siempre nos encontrábamos en la Plaza Mayor.

En este ciudad, siempre se puede encontrar algo hermoso o interesante. Por ejemplo, una fuente con una escultura bonita, un escudo en una fachada, o una pintura en la pared de la calle. Vi una que era una imitación de la pintura famosa "El Grito" de Munch. Debajo de la pintura decía "¿Donde está  la justicia para las mujeres?" Era muy especial y, aunque no sé si en la sociedad española la posición de las mujeres es más baja que la de los hombres, me impresionó mucho.

El Museo Nacional de Escultura es el más bonito de la ciudad. Allí me encontré con Antonio, es un español muy amable, que me alegré de conocerle muchísimo. Cuando íbamos de paseo por Valladolid, me presentó la historia y la cultura de Valladolid.

Dos gardenias para ti
con ellas quiero decir
te quiero, te adoro, mi vida.
Ponles toda tu atencion
porque son tu corazon y el mio.

Dos gardenias para ti
que tendran todo el calor de un beso
de esos que te di
y que jamas encontraras
en el calor de otro querer.

A tu lado viviran y te hablaran
como cuando estas conmigo
y hasta creeras
que te diran te quiero.

Pero si un atardecer
las gardenias de mi amor se mueren
es porque han adivinado
que tu amor se ha marchitado
porque existe otro querer.

送你两朵栀子花，

是想告诉你，我爱你，我仰慕你，

我的爱人

clavo mi remo en el agua
llevo tu remo en el mío.
creo que he vista una luz
al otro lado del río.
el día le irá pudiendo
poco a poco al frío.
creo que he vista una luz
al otro lado del río.
sobre todo, creo que
no todo está perdido.
tanta lágrima, tanta lágrima,
y yo soy yn vaso vacío...
oigo una voz que me llama,
casi un suspir
rema, rema, rema!
en esta orilla del mundo
lo que nos es presa es baldio.
creo que he visto una luz
al otro lado del río.
yo, muy serio, voy remando,
y muy adentro, sonrío.
creo que he visto una luz
al otro lado del río.

时间静静地散落。

      写这段文字的时候，想起自己看过的一部日本电影，东京日和。一个摄影师怀念他死去的妻子，电影平淡无味地描绘了一些他们生活的细节。淡淡的伤感。让人感觉时间的空虚。
　　很多时候，会考虑死亡，宿命或者无常。又觉得人是可笑的。一枚棋子而已。
　　所以昆德拉说，人类一思考，上帝就发笑。
　　那么所有的意义就是在与感受过，正在感受和以后注定要感受的一切吗。
　　很颓废的。笑。

　　写的时候，想起爱情。
　　也许是有爱情的。但是没有未来。


　　爱过，伤害过，然后可以离别和遗忘。

 Le Jardin

    Jacques Prévert 


Des milliers et des milliers d'années
Ne sauraient suffire
Pour dire
La petite seconde d'éternité
Où tu m'as embrassé
Où je t'ai embrassèe
Un matin dans la lumière de l'hiver
Au parc Montsouris à Paris
A Paris
Sur la terre
La terre qui est un astre.

公园

一千年一万年
也难以诉说尽
这瞬间的永恒
你吻了我
我吻了你
在冬日,朦胧的清晨
清晨在蒙苏利公园
公园在巴黎
巴黎是地上一座城
地球是天上一颗星

The last time to cry me a river.

Yesterday was a didactic calamity, tomorrow will still rest on sheer hard work.

Lo and behold,

I still clutch lingeringly to dreams, by no means will drop them.

The road leads to success so twist and turn.

But,

success is availabe to these who appeal to it.

Although I am now,

staggering in a state of constant tension,

I won't be beaten in this way.

Never!

I am a weed.

Fate,

you has tangled with me for a long long time,

do you know,

you only stirred my blood

stirred my conscience of being more judicious accomplished and distinguished.

I am a weed,

I won't easily wither away like a flower.

So,

don't defuse your squalid riot, fate

'Cause your power can never plunge me and gun me down!

                                                                         --------Marisol    this moment, this year

What life means to me

                                                                                  Jack London

I was born in the working-class. Early I discovered enthusiasm, ambition, and ideals; and to satisfy these became the problem of my child- life. My environment was crude and rough and raw. I had no outlook, but an uplook rather. My place in society was at the bottom. Here life offered nothing but sordidness and wretchedness, both of the flesh and the spirit; for here flesh and spirit were alike starved and tormented.

Above me towered the colossal edifice of society, and to my mind the only way out was up. Into this edifice I early resolved to climb. Up above, men wore black clothes and boiled shirts, and women dressed in beautiful gowns. Also, there were good things to eat, and there was plenty to eat. This much for the flesh. Then there were the things of the spirit. Up above me, I knew, were unselfishnesses of the spirit, clean and noble thinking, keen intellectual living. I knew all this because I read “Seaside Library” novels, in which, with the exception of the villains and adventuresses, all men and women thought beautiful thoughts, spoke a beautiful tongue, and performed glorious deeds. In short, as I accepted the rising of the sun, I accepted that up above me was all that was fine and noble and gracious, all that gave decency and dignity to life, all that made life worth living and that remunerated one for his travail and misery.

But it is not particularly easy for one to climb up out of the working- class — especially if he is handicapped by the possession of ideals and illusions. I lived on a ranch in California, and I was hard put to find the ladder whereby to climb. I early inquired the rate of interest on invested money, and worried my child’s brain into an understanding of the virtues and excellencies of that remarkable invention of man, compound interest. Further, I ascertained the current rates of wages for workers of all ages, and the cost of living. From all this data I concluded that if I began immediately and worked and saved until I was fifty years of age, I could then stop working and enter into participation in a fair portion of the delights and goodnesses that would then be open to me higher up in society. Of course, I resolutely determined not to marry, while I quite forgot to consider at all that great rock of disaster in the working-class world — sickness.

But the life that was in me demanded more than. a meagre existence of scraping and scrimping. Also, at ten years of age, I became a newsboy on the streets of a city, and found myself with a changed uplook. All about me were still the same sordidness and wretchedness, and up above me was still the same paradise waiting to be gained; but the ladder whereby to climb was a different one. It was now the ladder of business. Why save my earnings and invest in government bonds, when, by buying two newspapers for five cents, with a turn of the wrist I could sell them for ten cents and double my capital ? The business ladder was the ladder for me, and I had a vision of myself becoming a baldheaded and successful merchant prince.

Alas for visions! When I was sixteen I had already earned the title of “prince.” But this title was given me by a gang of cut-throats and thieves, by whom I was called “The Prince of the Oyster Pirates.” And at that time I had climbed the first rung of the business ladder. I was a capitalist. I owned a boat and a complete oyster-pirating outfit. I had begun to exploit my fellow-creatures. I had a crew of one man. As captain and owner I took two-thirds of the spoils, and gave the crew one-third, though the crew worked just as hard as I did and risked just as much his life and liberty.

This one rung was the height I climbed up the business ladder. One night I went on a raid amongst the Chinese fishermen. Ropes and nets were worth dollars and cents. It was robbery, I grant, but it was precisely the spirit of capitalism. The capitalist takes away the possessions of his fellow-creatures by means of a rebate, or of a betrayal of trust, or by the purchase of senators and supreme-court judges. I was merely crude. That was the only difference. I used a gun.

But my crew that night was one of those inefficients against whom the capitalist is wont to fulminate, because, forsooth, such inefficients increase expenses and reduce dividends. My crew did both. What of his carelessness he set fire to the big mainsail and totally destroyed it. There weren’t any dividends that night, and the Chinese fishermen were richer by the nets and ropes we did’ not get. I was bankrupt, unable just then to pay sixty-five dollars for a new mainsail. I left my boat at anchor and went off on a bay-pirate boat on a raid up the Sacramento River. While away on this trip, another gang of bay pirates raided my boat. They stole everything, even the anchors; and later on, when I recovered the drifting hulk, I sold it for twenty dollars. I had slipped back the one rung I had climbed, and never again did I attempt the business ladder.

From then on I was mercilessly exploited by other capitalists. I had the muscle, and they made money out of it while I made but a very indifferent living out of it. I was a sailor before the mast, a longshoreman, a roustabout; I worked in canneries, and factories, and laundries; I mowed lawns, and cleaned carpets, and washed windows. And I never got the full product of my toil. I looked at the daughter of the cannery owner, in her carriage, and knew that it was my muscle, in part, that helped drag along that carriage on its rubber tires. I looked at the son of the factory owner, going to college, and knew that it was my muscle that helped, in part, to pay for the wine and good fellowship he enjoyed.

But I did not resent this. It was all in the game. They were the strong. Very well, I was strong. I would carve my way to a place amongst them and make money out of the muscles of other men. I was not afraid of work. I loved hard- work. I would pitch in and work harder than ever and eventually become a pillar of society.

And just then, as luck would have it, I found an employer that was of the same mind. I was willing to work, and he was more than willing that I should work. I thought I was learning a trade. In reality, I had displaced two men. I thought he was making an electrician out of me; as a matter of fact, he was making fifty dollars per month out of me. The two men I had displaced had received forty dollars each per month; I was doing the work of both for thirty dollars per month.

This employer worked me nearly to death. A man may love oysters, but too many oysters will disincline him toward that particular diet. And so with me. Too much work sickened me. I did not wish ever to see work again. I fled from work. I became a tramp, begging my way from door to door, wandering over the United States and sweating bloody sweats in slums and prisons.

I had been born in the working-class, and I was now, at the age of eighteen, beneath the point at which I had started. I was down in the cellar of society, down in the subterranean depths of misery about which it is neither nice nor proper to speak. I was in the pit, the abyss, the human cesspool, the shambles and the charnel-house of our civilization. This is the part of the edifice of society that society chooses to ignore. Lack of space compels me here to ignore it, and I shall say only that the things I there saw gave me a terrible scare.

I was scared into thinking. I saw the naked simplicities of the complicated civilization in which I lived. Life was a matter of food and shelter. In order to get food and shelter men sold things. The merchant sold shoes, the politician sold his manhood, and the representative of the people, with exceptions, of course, sold his trust; while nearly all sold their honor. Women, too, whether on the street or in the holy bond of wedlock, were prone to sell their flesh. All things were commodities, all people bought and sold. The one commodity that labor had to sell was muscle. The honor of labor had no price in the market-place. Labor had muscle, and muscle alone, to sell.

But there was a difference, a vital difference. Shoes and trust and honor had a way of renewing themselves. They were imperishable stocks. Muscle, on the other hand, did not renew. As the shoe merchant sold shoes, he continued to replenish his stock. But there was no way of replenishing the laborer’s stock of muscle. The more he sold of his muscle, the less of it remained to him. It was his one commodity, and each day his stock of it diminished. In the end, if he did not die before, he sold out and put up his shutters. He was a muscle bankrupt, and nothing remained to him but to go down into the cellar of society and perish miserably.

I learned, further, that brain was likewise a commodity. It, too, was different from muscle. A brain seller was only at his prime when he was fifty or sixty years old, and his wares were fetching higher prices than ever. But a laborer was worked out or broken down at forty-five or fifty. I had been in the cellar of society, and I did not like the place as a habitation. The pipes and drains were unsanitary, and the air was bad to breathe. If I could not live on the parlor floor of society, I could, at any rate, have a try at the attic. It was true, the diet there was slim, but the air at least was pure. So I resolved to sell no more muscle, and to become a vender of brains.

Then began a frantic pursuit of knowledge. I returned to California and opened the books. While thus equipping, myself to become a brain merchant, it was inevitable that I should delve into sociology. There I found, in a certain class of books, scientifically formulated, the simple sociological concepts I had already worked out for myself. Other and greater minds, before I was born, had worked out all that I had thought and a vast deal more. I discovered that I was a socialist.

The socialists were revolutionists, inasmuch as they struggled to overthrow the society of the present, and out of the material to build the society of the future. I, too, was a socialist and a revolutionist. I joined the groups of working-class and intellectual revolutionists, and for the first time came into intellectual living. Here I found keen-flashing intellects and brilliant wits; for here I met strong and alert-brained, withal horny- handed, members of the working-class; unfrocked preachers too wide in their Christianity for any congregation of Mammon-worshippers; professors broken on the wheel of university subservience to the ruling class and flung out because they were quick with knowledge which they strove to apply to the affairs of mankind.

Here I found, also, warm faith in the human, glowing idealism, sweetnesses of unselfishness, renunciation, and martyrdom — all the splendid, stinging things of the spirit. Here life was clean, noble, and alive. Here life rehabilitated itself, became wonderful and glorious; and I was glad to be alive. I was in touch with great souls who exalted flesh and spirit over dollars and cents, and to whom the thin wail of the starved slum child meant more than all the pomp and circumstance of commercial expansion and world empire. All about me were nobleness of purpose and heroism of effort, and my days and nights were sunshine and starshine, all fire and dew, with before my eyes, ever burning and blazing, the Holy Grail, Christ’s own Grail, the warm human, long-suffering and maltreated, but to be rescued and saved at the last.

And I, poor foolish I, deemed all this to be a mere foretaste of the delights of living I should find higher above me in society. I had lost many illusions since the day I read “Seaside Library” novels on the California ranch. I was destined to lose many of the illusions I still retained.

As a brain merchant I was a success. Society opened its portals to me. I entered right in on the parlor floor, and my disillusionment proceeded rapidly. I sat down to dinner with the masters of society, and with the wives and daughters of the masters of society. The women were gowned beautifully, I admit; but to my naive surprise I discovered that they were of the same clay as all the rest of the women I had known down below in the cellar. “The colonel’s lady and Judy O’Grady were sisters under their skins” — and gowns.

It was not this, however, so much as their materialism, that shocked me. It is true, these beautifully gowned, beautiful women prattled sweet little ideals and dear little moralities; but in spite of their prattle the dominant key of the life they lived was materialistic. And they were so sentimentally selfish ! They assisted in all kinds of sweet little charities, and informed one of the fact, while all the time the food they ate and the beautiful clothes they wore were bought out of dividends stained with the blood of child labor, and sweated labor, and of prostitution itself. When I mentioned such facts, expecting in my innocence that these sisters of Judy O’Grady would at once strip off their blood-dyed silks and jewels, they became excited and angry, and read me preachments about the lack of thrift, the drink, and the innate depravity that caused all the misery in society’s cellar. When I mentioned that I couldn’t quite see that it was the lack of thrift, the intemperance, and the depravity of a half-starved child of six that made it work twelve hours every night in a Southern cotton mill, these sisters of Judy O’Grady attacked my private life and called me an “agitator” — as though that, forsooth, settled the argument.

Nor did I fare better with the masters themselves. I had expected to find men who were clean, noble, and alive, whose ideals were clean, noble, and alive. I went about amongst the men who sat in the high places — the preachers, the politicians, the business men, the professors, and the editors. I ate meat with them, drank wine with them, automobiled with them, and studied them. It is true, I found many that were clean and noble; but with rare exceptions, they were not alive. I do verily believe I could count the exceptions on the fingers of my two hands. Where they were not alive with rottenness, quick with unclean life, they were merely the unburied dead — clean and. noble, like well- preserved mummies, but not alive. In this connection I may especially mention the professors I met, the men who live up to that decadent university ideal, “the passionless pursuit of passionless intelligence.”

I met men who invoked the name of the Prince of Peace in their diatribes against war, and who put rifles in the hands of Pinkertons with which to shoot down strikers in their own factories. I met men incoherent with indignation at the brutality of prize-fighting, and who, at the same time, were parties to the adulteration of food that killed each year more babies than even red-handed Herod had killed.

I talked in hotels and clubs and homes and Pullmans and steamer- chairs with captains of industry, and marvelled at how little travelled they were in the realm of intellect. On the other hand, I discovered that their intellect, in the business sense, was abnormally developed. Also, I discovered that their morality, where business was concerned, was nil.

This delicate, aristocratic-featured gentleman, was a dummy director and a tool of corporations that secretly robbed widows and orphans. This gentleman, who collected fine editions and was an especial patron of literature, paid blackmail to a heavy-jowled, black-browed boss of a municipal machine. This editor, who published patent medicine advertisements and did not dare print the truth in his paper about said patent medicines for fear of losing the advertising, called me a scoundrelly demagogue because I told him that his political economy was antiquated and that his biology was contemporaneous with Pliny.

This senator was the tool and the slave, the little puppet of a gross, uneducated machine boss; so was this governor and this supreme court judge; and all three rode on railroad passes. This man, talking soberly and earnestly about the beauties of idealism and the goodness of God, had just betrayed his comrades in a business deal. This man, a pillar of the church and heavy contributor to foreign missions, worked his shop girls ten hours a day on a starvation wage and thereby directly encouraged prostitution. This man, who endowed chairs in universities, perjured himself in courts of law over a matter of dollars and cents. And this railroad magnate broke his word as a gentleman and a Christian when he granted a secret rebate to one of two captains of industry locked together in a struggle to the death.

It was the same everywhere, crime and betrayal, betrayal and crime — men who were alive, but who were neither clean nor noble, men who were clean and noble but who were not alive. Then there was a great, hopeless mass, neither noble nor alive, but merely clean. It did not sin positively nor deliberately; but it did sin passively and ignorantly by acquiescing in the current immorality and profiting by it. Had it been noble and alive it would not have been ignorant, and it would have refused to share in the profits of betrayal and crime.

I discovered that I did not like to live on the parlor floor of society. Intellectually I was bored. Morally and spiritually I was sickened. I remembered my intellectuals and idealists, my unfrocked preachers, broken professors, and clean-minded, class-conscious workingmen. I remembered my days and nights of sunshine and starshine, where life was all a wild sweet wonder, a spiritual paradise of unselfish adventure and ethical romance. And I saw before me, ever blazing and burning, the Holy Grail.

So I went back to the working-class, in which I had been born and where I belonged. I care no longer to climb. The imposing edifice of society above my head holds no delights for me. It is the foundation of the edifice that interests me. There I am content to labor, crowbar in hand, shoulder to shoulder with intellectuals, idealists, and class-conscious workingmen, getting a solid pry now and again and setting the whole edifice rocking. Some day, when we get a few more hands and crowbars to work, we’ll topple it over, along with all its rotten life and unburied dead, its monstrous selfishness and sodden materialism. Then we’ll cleanse the cellar and build a new habitation for mankind, in which there will be no parlor floor, in which all the rooms will be bright and airy, and where the air that is breathed will be clean, noble, and alive.

Such is my outlook. I look forward to a time when man shall progress upon something worthier and higher than his stomach, when there will be a finer incentive to impel men to action than the incentive of to-day, which is the incentive of the stomach. I retain my belief in the nobility and excellence of the human. I believe that spiritual sweetness and unselfishness will conquer the gross gluttony of to-day. And last of all, my faith is in the working-class. As some Frenchman has said, “The stairway of time is ever echoing with the wooden shoe going up, the polished boot descending.”

NEWTON, IOWA,
November, 1905.

A famale Chinese writer once said: The sincerest angels in one's life are parents. A Jewish proverb has the same meaning as above. That is:God could not be everywhere and therefore be made mothers. A mother is the greatest and the most precious gift we receive from the Almighty. She makes each day of us a glowing one with her unconditional love... 

O... means only that she's growing old,

H... is for her heart of purest gold;

E... is for her eyes, with love-light shining,

R... means right, and right she'll always be.

Put them all together, they spell "mother"
A word that means the world to me.
                                                        --Howard Johnson (c. 1915)

C'est peut-être la Seine qui traverse Paris.

C'est un village. Des maisons, des arbres et les verdures.

Un martin. Il fait du nuage et du brise qui fleure l'herbe.

Toutes les photos a été prendues avril 23-25 en France

il y a deux ans.

 Thanks for all the things happened in the past year and all the things that  have accompanied and will still accompany me for so many years, from which, I've learned how to grow up: 

★Thanks for all the troubles I have received and endured. I have learned to be more self-confident, to be more careful and serious to everything in life, to cherish every oppotunity of being hurt,  to moving forward and build a correct attitude towards failure.

★Thanks for all the beautiful songs, books and movies, all the joyful tears. They bring me sweet dreams, teach me to look to hear to think and to put my thoughts into practice.

★Thanks for all the friends and my dear mother. I have learned about love and how to care about others: To listen to them, feel and comfort them if they should encounter any difficulty.....

Wish everyone safe and sound forever.

With this hand I will lift your sorrows.
　              Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine.
　                                 With this candle, I will light your way in darkness.
　                                                    With this ring, I ask you to be mine. 

Plusieurs pays parlent le français et ceux qui apprennent le français, langue étrangère, sont de plus en plus nombreux. Pourtant, le français recule devant l'anglais. Pourquoi?

Pour:

1. C' est la plus belle langue du monde. J' aime réciter des poèmes de Victor Hugo. Ça cgante comme de la musique.

2. C' est une langue précise, exacte, juste comme une science. Ceux qui aiment la vérité aiment le français.

3. La langue de Molière et de Rousseau est la langue de la pensée, de la liberté.

4. Je le parle mal mais j' aime le lire. Chaque phrase est comme un paysage: chaque subjonctif, chaque temps de passé est un mvstère qu' il faut regarder longtemps avant de la comprendre ou de l' admirer.

Contre:

1. On dit que les Français sont logiques. On ne le dirait pas. Leur grammaire est compliquée, l' orthographe impossible, et chaque règle a au moins dix exceptions. Je ne parle pas des verbes irréguliers qui sont plus nombreux que les verbes réguliers!

2. Pourquoi apprendre le français puisque tout le monde apprend l' anglais? On n' apprend pas une langue pour le plaisir mais pour voyager, rencontrer des gens, échanger.

3. J' ai appris le français, mais mon fils apprend l' anglais, et mon petit fils apprendra peut-être le russe ou le chinois. C' est une question de force.

4. Toures les langues sont pareilles. Si je dis 'Zut' en anglais, en chinois, ce sera toujours 'zut'. Mais le Français est chauvin et croit que sa langue, sa femme, sa ville est la plus belle du monde. Gros naïf! Mais s' il a le malheur d' aller à l' étranger, il découvre la vérité. 

Ce soir, l' Alliance Français de Nanjing et le départment de français de l'Université de Nanjing présentaient '' Le français, c'est magique ''. Benoît Rosement, qui est un jeune magicien professionnel de vingt-neuf ans, faitait sa scène. Le spectacle est accessible à moi, parce que j'aime la langue français et je veux la découvrir. Par conséquent j'ai lui participé.

Jeudi 12 avril à 18h30, j' arrivais à la salle du rez-de-chaussée à Bâtiment Tian Jiabin. Il y a déjà beaucoup de gens de différentes nationalités: chine, afrique, français, japon, américane... Dans dix minuites, la port a ouvrit et les gens sont entrés. Le spectacle commençait à l'heure. Le magicien a fait de la magie avec les cartes, les mousoirs en soie et les journaux. Le sepectacle a été terminée vers 17h30. 

Depuis apprendre le français, je l'ai trouvé que ce n'est pas difficile d'etudier une langue. Mais, beaucoup de étudiants oublions que parler la langue occuper une place plus importante dans l'étudiées que le grammaire.

J'éspère que je vais en France un jour quand je fait la langue bien.

Selma Lagerlöf's speech at the Nobel Banquet at Grand Hôtel, Stockholm, December 10, 1909

(Translation)

A few days ago I was sitting in the train, bound for Stockholm. It was early evening; there was little light in my compartment and none at all outside. My fellow passengers were dozing in their respective corners, and I was very quiet, listening to the rattling of the train.

And then I began to think of all the other times I had come up to Stockholm. It had usually been to do something difficult - to pass examinations or to find a publisher for my manuscript. And now I was coming to receive the Prize in Literature. That, too, I thought would be difficult.

All through this autumn I had lived at my old home in Värmland in complete solitude, and now I should have to step forward in the presence of so many people. I had become shy of life's bustle in my solitary retreat and was apprehensive at the thought of facing the world.

Deep within me, however, was a wondrous joy at receiving this Prize, and I tried to dispel my anxiety by thinking of those who would rejoice at my good fortune. There were my good friends, my brothers and sisters and, first and foremost, my old mother who, sitting back home, was happy to have lived to see this day.

But then I thought of my father and felt a deep sorrow that he should no longer be alive, and that I could not go to him and tell him that I had been awarded the Nobel Prize. I knew that no one would have been happier than he to hear this. Never have I met anyone with his love and respect for the written word and its creators, and I wished that he could have known that the Swedish Academy had bestowed on me this great Prize. Yes, it was a deep sorrow to me that I could not tell him.

Anyone who has ever sat in a train as it rushes through a dark night will know that sometimes there are long minutes when the coaches slide smoothly along without so much as a shudder. All rustle and bustle cease and the sound of the wheels becomes a soothing, peaceful melody. The coaches no longer seem to run on rails and sleepers but glide into space. Well, that is how it was as I sat there and thought how much I should like to see my old father again. So light and soundless was the movement of the train that I could hardly imagine I was on this earth. And so I began to daydream: «Just think, if I were going to meet Father in Paradise! I seem to have heard of such things happening to other people - why, then, not to myself?» The train went gliding on but it had a long way to go yet, and my thoughts raced ahead of it. Father will certainly be sitting in a rocking chair on a veranda, with a garden full of sunshine and flowers and birds in front of him. He will be reading Fritjofs saga, of course, but when he sees me he will put down his book, push his spectacles high up on his forehead, and get up and walk toward me. He will say, «Good day, my daughter, I am very glad to see you», or «Why, you are here, and how are you, my child», just as he always used to do.

He will settle again in his rocking chair and only then begin to wonder why I have come to see him. «You are sure there is nothing amiss?» he will ask suddenly. «No, Father, all is well», I will reply. But then, just as I am about to break my news to him, I will decide to keep it back just a while longer and try the indirect approach. «I have come to ask you for advice, Father,» I will say, «for I am very heavily in debt.»

«I am afraid you will not get much help from me in this matter», Father will reply. «One may well say of this place that, like the old estates in our Värmland, it has everything except money.»

«Ah, but it is not money that I owe, Father.» «But that's even worse», Father will say. «Begin right at the beginning, daughter.»

«It is not too much to ask that you should help, Father, for it was all your fault right from the beginning. Do you remember how you used to play the piano and sing Bellman's songs to us children and how, at least twice every winter, you would let us read Tegnér and Runeberg and Andersen? It was then that I first fell into debt. Father, how shall I ever repay them for teaching me to love fairy tales and sagas of heroes, the land we live in and all of our human life, in all its wretchedness and glory?»

Father will straighten up in his rocking chair and a wonderful look will come into his eyes. «I am glad that I got you into this debt», he will say. «Yes, you may be right, Father, but then remember that that is not all of it. Think how many creditors I have. Think of those poor, homeless vagabonds who used to travel up and down Värmland in your youth, playing the fool and singing all those songs. What do I not owe to them, to their mischief and mad pranks! And the old men and women sitting in their small grey cottages as one came out of the forest, telling me wonderful stories of water-sprites and trolls and enchanted maidens lured into the mountains. It was they who taught me that there is poetry in hard rocks and black forests. And think, Father, of all those pale, hollow-cheeked monks and nuns in their dark cloisters, the visions they saw and the voices they heard. I have borrowed from their treasure of legends. And our own peasants who went to Jerusalem - do I owe them nothing for giving me such glorious deeds to write about? And I am in debt not only to people; there is the whole of nature as well. The animals that walk the earth, the birds in the skies, the trees and flowers, they have all told me some of their secrets.»

Father will smile and nod his head and look not at all worried. «But don't you understand, Father, that I carry a great burden of debt?» I will say, and look more and more serious. «No one on earth knows how I can repay it, but I thought that you, in Heaven, would know.» «We do», Father will say and be as carefree and relaxed as he used to be. «Never fear, child, there is a remedy for your trouble.»

«Yes, Father, but that's not all. I am also heavily in debt to those who have formed and moulded our language into the good instrument that it is, and taught me to use it. And, then, am I not in debt to those who have written in prose and in verse before my time, who have turned writing into art, the torchbearers, the pathfinders? The great Norwegians, the great Russians who wrote when I was a child, do I not owe them a thousand debts? Has it not been given to me to live in an age in which my own country's literature has reached its highest peak, to behold the marble emperors of Rydberg, the world of Snoilsky's poetry, Strindberg's cliffs, Geijerstam's countryfolk, the modern men of Anne-Charlotte Edgren and Ernst Ahlgren, Heidenstam's Orient? Sophie Elkan, who has brought history to life, Fröding and his tales of Värmland's plains, Levertin's legends, Hallström's Thanatos, and Karlfeldt's Dalekarlian sketches, and much else that was young and new, all that nourished my fantasy, drove me on to compete, and made the dreams bear fruit - do I not owe them anything?»

«Yes, yes», Father will say. «You are right, yours is a heavy debt but, never fear, we will find a way.»

«I don't think, Father, that you really understand how hard it is for me. You don't realize that I am also in debt to my readers. I owe them so much - from the old King and his youngest son, who sent me on my apprentice's wanderings through the South, to the small schoolchildren who scribbled a letter of thanks for Nils Holgersson. What would have become of me if no one had wanted to read my books? And don't forget all those who have written of me. Remember the famous Danish critic who, with a few words, won me friends all over Denmark! And he who could mix gall and ambrosia in a more masterly fashion than anyone in Sweden had ever done before his time. Now he is dead. Think of all those in foreign lands who have worked for me. I owe them gratitude, Father, both for their praise and for their censure.»

«Yes, yes», Father will say, and I shall see him look a little less calm. Surely, he will begin to understand that it will not be easy to help me.

«Remember all who have helped me, Father!» I shall say. «Think of my faithful friend, Esselde, who tried to open doors for me when no one dared to believe in me. Think of others who have cared for and protected my work! Think of my good friend and travelling companion, who not only took me south and showed me all the glories of art but made life itself happier and lighter for me. All the love that has come to me, the honours, the distinctions! Do you not understand now that I had to come to you to ask how such debts can be paid?»

Father has lowered his head and does not look so hopeful any more.

«I agree, Daughter, it is not going to be easy to find help for you but, surely, there is nothing more you owe anyone?»

«Yes, Father, I have found it difficult enough to bear all that I owed before, but my biggest debt has not yet come. That is why I had to come to you for advice.»I cannot understand how you could owe still more», Father will say. «Oh, yes  », I will reply, and then I will tell him all about this.

«I just cannot believe the Academy... », Father will say but, looking at me and seeing my face, he will know it is all true. And, then, every wrinkle in his face will tremble and tears will come into his eyes.

«What am I to say to those who put my name up for the Prize and to those who have made the decision - think, Father, it is not only honour and money they are bestowing on me. They have shown that they have trust enough in me to single me out before the whole world. How shall I repay this debt?»

Father will sit and still no words will come as he thinks. Then, drying tears of joy from his eyes, he will bang down his fist on the arm of the rocking chair and say, «I will not rack my brains about problems that no one in Heaven or on earth can solve. I am too happy that you have been given the Nobel Prize to worry about anything!»

Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, Ladies and Gentlemen - having received no better answer than this to all my questions, it only remains to me to ask you to join me in the toast which I have the honour to propose to the Swedish Academy.

"This made me wonder just how far down the dangerous roads of our early adult lives does the pull of a simpler life begin to tug at our sleeves. When does the overbearing din of hollow seduction suddenly fall on deaf ears? Does the balance need to be addressed? If so, then when, finally, does an existence free of clutter prove more desirable than one of chaos?
　　Life and the material world was designed to seduce, and we are designed to be seduced by it. We career, uncompromisingly, through our early lives, proud of our strength and youth but never treasuring it. Maybe that’s how it should be, that we squander it if only to mourn it later when we don’t feel so invincible and have to savour each day of our late adulthood. Perhaps this may be why, as we get older, we like more what we see when we close our eyes. "

These days, T talked with me about her new life in a whole new city. She listed to buy a laptop, a new cell phone...ect. At the same time, E picked the fight with herself since she want to change a major to make big money. A gave in to her parents, and is engaged in hunting jobs. Financial problem is bothering all of them and as a matter of fact they are rejusting their ways of life.

Cerf-volant
Volant au vent 
Ne t'arrête pas 
Vers la mer 
Haut dans les airs 
Un enfant te voit 
Voyage insolent 
Troubles enivrants 
Amours innocentes 
Suivent ta voie 
En volant 

Cerf-volant
Volant au vent 
Ne t'arrête pas 
Vers la mer 
Haut dans les airs 
Un enfant te voit 
Et dans la tourmente 
Tes ailes triomphantes 
N'oublie pas de revenir 
Vers moi  
 

Changed the background music, changed my clothes, changed the style of blog. Spring now, I want to dance, but...I'm keeping stumbling.

Same feeling, same scenery, same days, even the repetitive tone in the music...I wonder whether I'm growing maturer and maturer every single day. Have I keep making progress through these days?

Really envy others' spring come so quickly so brilliant, mine is rather late.

 Believe it or not, I don't like the Spring-Festival holiday at all. When referring to this festival, the first word that occur in one's mind may be "joy" or "jollification", in fact, this is not always the case. Since people(including myself) stay at homes, they have nothing serious to do but sitting in sofa, watching TV and eating all the time...I always adding my weight for about 2 kilogram in the end of the holiday. What a terrible thing! And the most unacceptable thing is that I can't go window shopping. Shops hardly open and as a matter of fact, the street is empty.

Have you ever been ecstatic for something not last for just only 5 minutes? Or have you ever focused on something for quite a long time without losing interest? There is definitely one addiction and hardly can I quit ----I am the one who like to wander in the earthly life. Recently, I have been spending about 2 hours on the road everyday, which lasts for about 2 months, and I don't feel boring at all. Everyday I ride on my bicycle as if I start my honeymoon trip. People in the steet or on the bus seldom know each other, so nobody need to be in favor of someone else. In contrast to this, the officals, or people on the occasion of a banquet, making every effort to protect themselves in the disguise of kindness. In the parks, movie theatres, playgrounds or the cafeterias, all the people are joyful, at least they pretend to be. Wherease, at the cemetery or the graveyard, court, hospital or drugstore, everyone is painful and of great sorrow. Both of the two above are monotonous, and one may think that the world itself may be repetitious and uninteresting. But the people in the street varies a lot and they appear differently. So if you concentrate all your attentions and watch and observe them carefully for a few minutes, then you will find all sorts of emotions that exist in the world and the temprorary mood they owned at the moment.

Suddently, I recall a poem, I quote it to end this article:

　　"Afoot and light-hearted to the open road，

　　Healthy，free，the world before me，

　　The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. "

                                                                       ------Walt Whitman

 To be honest, I've never done shopping of this sort before. At this moment every year, all I need to do is bringing my mouth and stomach to enjoy the prepared food. To me this is my favourite pastimes in the 15 days-long vacation. But this year it presents to be a little different, for my mother asked me to do some shopping with her for the approaching Lunar New Year. I should admit it is a very tedious and repetitive assignment because every supermarket chain is full of people  busying choosing their goods and such scene always makes me feel upset. So, before setting off, I made up my mind to make this mission more effective.

The super market was defintely the same as I thought. People wandering, chating, laughing, making the air hotter and hotter. Some came by himself. Some with his love. Some turned up with a big family, wife and husband and their lovely children. (I wondered if the dogs weren't banned, they might bring a pet as well.) Everybody has a bound smile. The supermarket's shelves were stuffed with piles of goods, which were shining, covered with a red & yellow paper and tied by a pink ribbon, seems suggest the good forture for the coming year. All kinds of colorful fruits, fried chickins, dumplings, noodles, steamed breads, champagnes and alcohols with a preferantial price are waiting for people to choose from. Music continousely sang "Best wishes and make big money next year".

At that moment mum began to laugh in spite of herself.  She asked me to choose whatever I like. Then she dived into the crowd and suddenly disappeared in the happy enviroment. I didn't remember the exact moment from which on I forgot I was at the noisy place I used to dissent. And I also didn't remember the moment I started to sing after the music. But I remembered quite clearly that I was happy, both for the Spring Festival and the expectation for my future. I did not know how many oppotunities like this I could still hold on to, to share the common happiness in life with mum. 

In the end, I wish everyone in the gold pig year "Gong xi fa cai, bu bu gao sheng~".

It's a gloomy and chilly day today. Yesterday night, I had a heart-breaking disappointment. So I texted my friend A. I told her I indeed needed a hard-working year, and I would get up at 6 o'clock from then on. But as we all known, sometimes we just saying something or making a promise with tougue in cheek. So I quickly fell asleep as soon as I went to bed. This morning, I got up late as usual. When checking my cell phone,I found a massage, which is, from my dear friend A at as early as 6 am, asking whether I have got up or not. Instead of words of fanfare to comfort me, she only asking whether my life can be normal again. I was more inspirited than moved. Although I replied her simply in the same way, I realized something weltering within the depth of my heart, which used to be tranquil there but now is growing stronger and stronger.    

  While having breakfast, I couldn't help to think over this issue. Form the message, I’ve learnt how much my friend cared me. But this raised the question: have I ever noticed friends' concern or just accustomed to it? Am I qualified a sincere friend to others?

A woman is an uncompleted creature for she is only a rib.