《台晝夜手記：我的情懷與祖》
Taiwan Day and Night Notebook: My Feelings and My Ancestors
（一）
親愛的祖，我回來了。幾年前在十萬英呎的高空，我想，也許不回來了。幾年後重新踏上這片土壤，只有一個念頭，是親。這一次，又也許不走了。形體的離開與否，都是其次。我回來了。我要用雙足緊緊的依戀你。
二零一三年六月二十七日，台北
1.
Beloved ancestor, I have returned. Just a few years prior, ten thousand feet above the sky, I thought to myself, perhaps there would be no return. Coming home after several years, I had only one thought, a sense of intimacy. This time, maybe I will stay. Whether or not I would leave physically, was beside the point. I returned, and I would embrace you fully with every step I take.
June 27th, 2013, Taipei
（二）
抵台初夜
浴廁內三隻黑螂小步
帶翅，蠟光
祖，你一定是在和我開玩笑
二零一三年六月二十八及九日，台北
2.
First night in Taiwan
Three black cockroaches walking small steps in the bathroom
Winged and waxy
Lord, you must be joking with me
June 28th, 29th, 2013, Taipei
（三）
回台遇第一場雨，整個城市變成灰色的
街道屋宇各自深了
我摸不著頭緒，字還陷在雨水的味道裡
二零一三年七月二日清晨，台北
3.
The first rain after returning to Taiwan, the entire city turned grey.
The streets, the houses, became gloomy.
I could not think straight; words were still soaking with the taste of rain.
July 2nd, 2013, early morning, Taipei
（四）
河的男孩，我不去看你，因為要是一見了你，就什麼都相信了。我不去看你，這樣你就不曾真的那個了，你還活著，只是我們不再見面。任你成為河流，為雨水。我回來了，你也許就站在我忘了轉身的背後，某個街口，還是像以前一樣安靜，傻傻地笑著。我不去看你，我不要那樣子回憶你。
二零一三年七月四日，台北
4.
River boy, I chose not to see you, because if I had done so, I would believe in anything. I chose not to see you, you wouldn’t actually have done that, you were still alive, and it’s just that we no longer see each other. You became the river, the rain. I returned, perhaps you still stood right behind me when I was not looking, as tranquil as it was, with a silly smile. I chose not to see you, because that’s not how I wanted to remember you.
July 4th, 2013, Taipei
（五）
我想要就這麼地待在這個地方，整日整日的，坐著老遠的巴士，顛顛晃晃，看窗外摩托車呼呼而過。巴士裡，司機掛著耳機和話筒裡的小情人打情罵俏，一面把方向盤熟練地轉。車內擁擠，風也是溫的，什麼都不想去想，重要的是我和這些人待在一起，這一刻心裡頭有著溫溫的情意。
二零一三年七月七日，往基隆車站巴士上
5.
It would be nice to just stay here, like this, day after day, riding this bus traveling far, bumping and swaying, outside the motorcyclists were swooping by. Inside the bus, the bus driver had headphones on, flirting with his lover on the other end, at the same time skillfully turning the steering wheel. It was crowded inside the vehicle, the wind blew and it was warm. I was not thinking about anything, what counted was being together with these people, at this moment, the tenderness in my heart was filled by their warmth.
July 7th, 2013, on the bus to Keelung
（六）
我突然明白
把我留住最好的方法
就是把我帶走
二零一三年七月十日，台北
（七）
我捧著一顆心臟到處兜售
我捧到雙手皆麻
它仍要跳得厲害
二零一三年七月三十一日，台北
（八）
我早該想到，你不會一直等在這裡，一轉身，又或是幾輩子的斷裂。我們就是在這樣一次又一次你找我我找你的重複灰敗中徹悟了人生真正的失散。三十年了，我們何苦？
二零一三年八月七日
（九）
一個小小身體的回報就是要用盡全身的力氣
燃燒自己去愛你（直到你將我撲滅）
二零一三年八月九日
（十）
有些酒，碰都不能碰的
一碰，便日思夜想
有些酒，放了十年
一聞，認都不認得了
有些酒，喝一口極好
不能再喝
有些酒，一輩子也就那麼
存著存著
二零一三年八月十日
（十一）
到來有時，離去有時。我們擁抱，我們孤獨。腳步並非無聲，只是懸。我來了，我走了。面向吧，未知！那個我們自以為知道什麼的未知，我捉不住你，這麼說吧，你也捉不住我。
二零一三年九月六日，台北
11.
Moments arrived, moments fled. We had embraced, we were alone. Footsteps were not silent, but only echoed. I came, and I left. Facing the future, the unknown! Unknown, we knew about you so self-righteously, I could not keep you in my hands, in a way, you too, can’t keep me in yours.
September 6th, 2013, Taipei
（十二）
二零一三年秋，初到雞肉飯城，特大特大的「雞」字，在滿街的招牌上立著，雖不見籠子關著，也好不到哪去。客來朝老闆一叫，不一會功夫，白肉底下蒸著一碗香噴噴的米，就下肚去了。我坐在往阿里山的公車上，一面見著無數雞雞雞在頭上奔過，一面想著那畫面驚心。好不容易到了石棹，險些暈車，又寒，找個當地人問路，才一交談，心就鬆開。真的在山上了呢。兩日在石棹和隙頂，好像晃眼就過，又好像已經住了好長時間，捨不得走了。高山茶的香氣還在齒間，山巒雲海也還在鼻息，阿嬤們白髮撲粉抹口紅，笑起來還羞滴滴的，大叔阿公們就算哺檳榔抽煙喝老人茶，也還是漂撇，小學生一個個眼睛發亮，問你是誰，你從哪裡來。啊，講台語真好，台語使人和人之間一下子就親了起來，沒有都市裡那麼多的避諱，只有自然純樸的親。越來越大才漸漸覺得台語的好，這語言的智慧並不在表面，而是在對話者彼此的心裡。是否這樣，所以台語沒有書寫。張愛玲說的人生憾事，一恨鰣魚多刺，二恨海棠無香，三恨红樓未完。我看除此三恨，台語文無以書寫，今天也該恨上一恨了吧！
二零一三年十月十二日，自阿里山回北二日
12.
In the fall of 2013, upon arriving at “Jirou City”, (literally: chicken rice city) the streets were covered with signs in an extra-large font with the word “chicken.” I sat in a bus heading towards A-Li Mountain, as I looked at the endless “chicken,” “chicken,” “chicken,” passing by, I also imagined the scenes of horror. Finally arriving in Shizhuo, I nearly got car sick, and felt the chill. After asking a local the way around, I chatted a bit, which relaxed me. I was actually here in the mountains. The two days at Shizhuo and Xiding passed in a blink of an eye, or as if a long time had gone by, and I was reluctant to leave. I could still taste the aroma of the high mountain tea, and the scent of the mountain range with the sea of clouds in each of my breaths. The elderly ladies with their makeup and red lipstick, shy, as they were when they smile. Even when the uncles and grandfathers chewed on areca nuts and smoked cigarettes, they were natural and unrestrained. Young school kids with their eyes wide open, asking who you were, where did you come from. How nice it was to be able to speak Taiwanese. Taiwanese warmed people up to one another rather quickly, unlike a city full of taboos. Its natural humbleness brought us closer. The older I got, the more I realized the positivity of the Taiwanese language. The wisdom of the language lies not on the surface, but within the hearts of the people in conversation. Is that the reason for the Taiwanese not to have written words? Zhang Ailing (aka Eileen Chang) said that there are regrets in a person’s life. The first regret is Shad tends to be boney, the second regret is that Chinese quince has no aroma, the third regret is that Honglou (aka The Dream of the Red Chamber) was unfinished. In my opinion, besides the three regrets, the fact that Taiwanese has no written words should qualify as regret in this modern day.
October 12th, 2013, returning to Taipei from A-Li Mountain
（十三.1）
我對我媽年輕時候是沒有記憶的，幾年前第一次再看到她，她已經老了，平凡的中年婦人模樣。此次返台，一個人行走各地，沒巧遇什麼老朋友，倒遇上了這位婦人。她先叫出我的名字，我很訝異，問她：「妳如何知道是我？」她笑一笑，說：「手指頭的模樣是不會變的。」
13.1
I had no memories of my mother when she was younger. When I saw her several years ago, she had aged. Returning to Taiwan this time, as I traveled alone to places, I did not bump into any other old friend but her. She called out my name first, to my surprise. I asked her: “How did you know it was me?” She smiled: “The shapes of the fingers don’t change.”
（十三.2）
她邀請我到現今的住所，翻出一本整理好的相簿，給我帶回去，裡面都是我兩歲以前的照片。我對兩歲以前的生活也同樣是沒有記憶的。看到相簿裡的她，大約就是我現在這個年紀，感覺像看見了自己。我們太像，笑起來太像，靜默太像，自己走自己的路，連這一點，也完全相同。臨走時，彼此也沒有約好下一次什麼時候再見。只說，我們下次再見吧。
二零一三年十月十三日，台北
13.2
She invited me to where she currently lived, took out an organized old photo book, made me take it, with pictures of me before two. I had no memories of my life before two. When I looked at her in the pictures, she was about my age. It was as if I was seeing myself. We were too similar, a smile too similar, too similar when we pondered, even how we chose our own paths were also exactly the same. At the time of departure, we did not make any arrangement for the next meeting. Only said: “See you next time.”
October 13th, 2013, Taipei
（十四.1）
「如果樹不止像書，如果人像一顆樹，在在有其生長的時間與路徑，豐盛有時，潦倒有時，貧窮有時，大笑有時，飢餓有時，孤獨有時，狼狽有時，失語有時，散失有時，聚合有時……那麼，對於生命裡不同的境況，人們是否能比較安然接受。但也有可能，這之間並無任何分別。」（韓麗珠《雙城辭典》，信件）
14.1
“If trees were not just like books, if humans were like trees, on the path and time of their growth, with moments of harvest, moments of frustration, moments of impoverishment, moments of laughter, moments of hunger, moments of loneliness, moments of downpour, moments of lost words, moments of being lost and apart, moments of gathering……well, facing different situations in life, one can come to an acceptance at ease. But maybe, there is no difference between all of these things.” (Lizhu Han, Shuangcheng dictionary, letter)
October 30th, 2013, reading handwritten notes
(十四.2)
才剛買來，一翻開，一張隨時可能離冊的薄薄信紙，漫不經心折起，夾在書間，似落非落。我迫不及待抽出要讀。滿頁的話語筆跡，才第一段，已教人沉陷。我的舉止，回應著這張信紙的出現所構成的一連串畫面，熟悉得不像真的，令人發毛。想起當年那一段，我們年少，恨不得要把滿腔胡憂鞭刺在信紙身上，附加著那個時代信紙的神聖性，傳過來，遞過去。走廊上，兩片身影安靜地對著，每至上課鐘聲訇地響起，又聽它終了，我們總是沒來得及把心話說明，又分頭回去了。這校園走廊，多麼長，又多麼短。鐘聲亦然。
二零一三年十月三十日，讀雙城辭典憶年少，凌晨二時
（十五）
矣矣。大都市人多擁擠，惟心不親。
二零一三年十月三十一日，台北捷運站內人潮有感
（十六）
傍晚時分，拿了沖好的底片走出來，經過溫州大餛飩小食店，見牌上有麻醬麵、紫菜三絲湯，圖近，便坐了下來。另拿了兩碟素小菜，三色蛋、小黃瓜。麻醬麵才剛上來，湯也來了，我一面用筷子拌麵，熱氣挟著星星青蔥的辛香，直撲面上。我獨身一人坐的是一張雙人桌，又是用餐時分，沒留意店內幾乎滿坐，一位年約五十上下的白領西裝男人走進店裡，選了和我同桌的對面位子，才擱了公事包，還沒坐，指著我碗裡的東西，問：「這什麼？」「麻醬麵。」我答。男人眼睛一亮，又指了我的湯，問：「那這什麼？」我遲疑雖遲疑，面色自若。男子大概也覺得了自己唐突，自嘲地趕緊補一句：「呵不好意思，都和你吃一樣的。」我笑一笑說：「這三絲湯。」。男子隨後去點了餐，也選了小菜。端來的時候，我不禁在心裡笑，也是三色蛋。也不曉得是有意還是真巧。都市裡兩個陌生人，在傳統的小吃店裡，隨興地同桌共餐，點著一樣的麻醬麵，三絲湯，三色蛋，就這樣面對面簡簡單單吃了起來。同桌同食，雖不同語，像電影裡一幕短暫的場景，像一片詩，伴著店外小雨，樹燈華麗，行人匆匆。這番人情，要不是在台灣，在自己家鄉，也決不能有。食畢，我先行離桌，起身時，男人對我笑了一笑，說：「謝謝啊！」我心想，這謝的什麼，可以各種解釋，但無疑這是一份別有滋味的晚餐，也許一輩子只會遇上這麼一次。值得記下。
二零一三年十月三十一日，台北街頭小食店記
16.
At dusk, I stepped out with the developed photographs, passed by the Wen Zhou Wonton Snack Shop, and saw the menu of sesame noodles, seaweed egg drop soup. Liking how close it was, I sat down. Also, I picked out two vegetarian side dishes, three-color eggs, and cucumbers. Just as the sesame noodles were being served, the soup was also ready. While mixing the sesame noodles with my chopsticks, the fragrance of the green onions rose with the heat, engulfing my face. I sat alone at a two-person table, during dining hours, and didn't realize the snack shop was almost full. A man wearing a white-collar suit, fifty years of age or so, walked into the shop and decided to sit right in front of me. As he was putting down his briefcase, prior to sitting, he pointed at my bowl and asked: “What is this?” “Sesame noodles,” I answered. The man’s eyes opened up, and pointed at my soup, he asked: “What about this?” Although hesitant, I remained composed. Maybe the man had realized he was abrupt, mocked himself, and added: “Pardon, I’m having the same dishes as you.” I smiled and said: “This is seaweed egg drop soup.” The man went to order food and chose some side dishes. When the side dishes came, I giggled without showing it, when I saw the three-color eggs. I was not sure whether it was intentional or coincidental. Two strangers in the city, at a traditional snack shop, by a random table having a meal together, ordering the same sesame noodles, seaweed egg drop soup, three-color eggs, simply that, and eating facing each other. Same table, same food, without a word, like a short scene in a film, a verse in a poem, accompanied by the sprinkling rain, the glamorous tree lights, pedestrians speeding by. This sort of kindness in people, if it weren’t here in Taiwan, my hometown, wouldn’t have been possible. After dining, I was getting ready to go. As I stood up, this man smiled at me and said: “Thanks!” I thought to myself, what he had thanked me for could have different explanations, but without a doubt, this was an interesting dinner, maybe once in a lifetime experience. It was worth writing down.
October 31st, 2013, street food on the streets of Taipei
（十七）
很喜歡看雨下行人匆匆頂著傘走的情景，覺得浪漫，又覺得每個人走在一支傘下，像把自己困住，不論怎麼走，走得多遠，一直走在自己的世界裡，尤其雨天的時候特別顯目。也不知道是自己走不出去，還是別人走不進來。反正每個人都有一個小世界。兩個人若相遇了，也要等一個人先把傘收起，才能夠走到一起。只怕是走沒幾步，又嫌擠了。
二零一三年十一月四日，台北城小雨
17.
I like watching people hurriedly walking under an umbrella in the rain. I feel romantic but also feel that everyone walking under an umbrella is trapping themselves. No matter where they go, how far they go, they always walk in their own world. Especially when it rains. I don't know whether it is because I can't get out or others can't get in. Anyway, everyone has a small world. If two people meet, they have to wait for one person to put away the umbrella before they can come together. I'm afraid that after a few steps it would feel too crowded.
November 4th, 2013, light rain in Taipei City
(未完)
(to be continued)