2011年11月9日 星期三

一隻說不出話的狗 Cosmo



這隻狗叫做Authur(戲外原名Cosmo),
可惜我看的盜版影碟當中,
沒有了導演和編劇給它的字幕對白。

這隻狗的確可愛,
象徵著電影中 Ewan McGregor 對死去爸爸的懷念,
他每次都對狗狗講話,
狗狗卻僅僅無言地看着他。

這隻狗是電影中 Ewan McGregor 死去的爸爸的愛犬。
Ewan McGregor 死去的爸爸是Christopher Plummer演的,
老戲骨在戲裡面等到75歲了才出櫃,自由玩4年以後得癌症死去。

裡頭有許多父子相處點滴,
不幸福婚姻的點滴,
同志愛人的點滴,
還有 Ewan McGregor 筆下速描的 “The History Of Sadness”都令我不甚唏噓。

這是一部安靜得幾乎如同默劇一般的真人真事改編電影,
至於法國女星Melanie Laurent則帶給我無限遐想,
她一開始訓練自己不講話的魅力吸引到了 Ewan McGregor ,
她就像整部戲那樣惜字如金可是我彷彿在哪裡看過她演的戲。
她給我神秘感,
而我就那樣神秘兮兮地看着她完成了整部戲的觀賞。

這裡節錄 Ewan McGregor 和爸爸Christopher Plummer的對話,
也許編劇想說的是,
我們任何時刻開始都不嫌遲,
但是,當你開始了真愛,
你是否懂得把握,
這才是電影的命題。

Hal: Well, let's say that since you were little, you always dreamed of getting a lion. And you wait, and you wait, and you wait, and you wait but the lion doesn't come. And along comes a giraffe. You can be alone, or you can be with the giraffe.
Oliver: I'd wait for the lion.
Hal: That's why I worry about you.

2011年11月1日 星期二

当一个伟大男人与我们告别。

每逢星期天《纽约时报》上的讣文专页极受欢迎,因为,死去的人离开了,活着的人却仍对他充满无尽的不舍与思念,于是活着的人如同在纸页上为死去的人铸造墓碑,以资怀念。

10月30日,星期天,《纽约时报》刊登了一位名作家写给她兄长的悼词,笔触温柔而不煽情,与其说是与兄长道别,不如说是她想为这一位受世人仰望的伟大男人,留下他对世界的最后回眸。
Steve Jobs与女儿Lisa。


周二的早晨,他急电叫我去Palo Alto。他语气中流露几许深情、亲昵和爱意,然而就像一个人的行李已经捆在车子上,他已经准备好远行,纵使他对于自己必须抛下我们这件事,感到真的、真的很抱歉。

他与我话别,但我打断了他。“等等,我马上到。我正坐者计程车赶往机场。你会见到我的。”

“我现在和你话别,是因为我担心你无法及时赶到,亲爱的。”


 A Sister’s Eulogy for Steve Jobs
(点击此处阅读中译文)



I grew up as an only child, with a single mother. Because we were poor and because I knew my father had emigrated from Syria, I imagined he looked like Omar Sharif. I hoped he would be rich and kind and would come into our lives (and our not yet furnished apartment) and help us. Later, after I’d met my father, I tried to believe he’d changed his number and left no forwarding address because he was an idealistic revolutionary, plotting a new world for the Arab people.
Even as a feminist, my whole life I’d been waiting for a man to love, who could love me. For decades, I’d thought that man would be my father. When I was 25, I met that man and he was my brother.
By then, I lived in New York, where I was trying to write my first novel. I had a job at a small magazine in an office the size of a closet, with three other aspiring writers. When one day a lawyer called me — me, the middle-class girl from California who hassled the boss to buy us health insurance — and said his client was rich and famous and was my long-lost brother, the young editors went wild. This was 1985 and we worked at a cutting-edge literary magazine, but I’d fallen into the plot of a Dickens novel and really, we all loved those best. The lawyer refused to tell me my brother’s name and my colleagues started a betting pool. The leading candidate: John Travolta. I secretly hoped for a literary descendant of Henry James — someone more talented than I, someone brilliant without even trying.
When I met Steve, he was a guy my age in jeans, Arab- or Jewish-looking and handsomer than Omar Sharif.
We took a long walk — something, it happened, that we both liked to do. I don’t remember much of what we said that first day, only that he felt like someone I’d pick to be a friend. He explained that he worked in computers.
I didn’t know much about computers. I still worked on a manual Olivetti typewriter.
I told Steve I’d recently considered my first purchase of a computer: something called the Cromemco.
Steve told me it was a good thing I’d waited. He said he was making something that was going to be insanely beautiful.
I want to tell you a few things I learned from Steve, during three distinct periods, over the 27 years I knew him. They’re not periods of years, but of states of being. His full life. His illness. His dying.
Steve worked at what he loved. He worked really hard. Every day.
That’s incredibly simple, but true.
He was the opposite of absent-minded.
He was never embarrassed about working hard, even if the results were failures. If someone as smart as Steve wasn’t ashamed to admit trying, maybe I didn’t have to be.
When he got kicked out of Apple, things were painful. He told me about a dinner at which 500 Silicon Valley leaders met the then-sitting president. Steve hadn’t been invited.
He was hurt but he still went to work at Next. Every single day.
Novelty was not Steve’s highest value. Beauty was.
For an innovator, Steve was remarkably loyal. If he loved a shirt, he’d order 10 or 100 of them. In the Palo Alto house, there are probably enough black cotton turtlenecks for everyone in this church.
He didn’t favor trends or gimmicks. He liked people his own age.
His philosophy of aesthetics reminds me of a quote that went something like this: “Fashion is what seems beautiful now but looks ugly later; art can be ugly at first but it becomes beautiful later.”
Steve always aspired to make beautiful later.
He was willing to be misunderstood.
Uninvited to the ball, he drove the third or fourth iteration of his same black sports car to Next, where he and his team were quietly inventing the platform on which Tim Berners-Lee would write the program for the World Wide Web.
Steve was like a girl in the amount of time he spent talking about love. Love was his supreme virtue, his god of gods. He tracked and worried about the romantic lives of the people working with him.
Whenever he saw a man he thought a woman might find dashing, he called out, “Hey are you single? Do you wanna come to dinner with my sister?”
I remember when he phoned the day he met Laurene. “There’s this beautiful woman and she’s really smart and she has this dog and I’m going to marry her.”
When Reed was born, he began gushing and never stopped. He was a physical dad, with each of his children. He fretted over Lisa’s boyfriends and Erin’s travel and skirt lengths and Eve’s safety around the horses she adored.
None of us who attended Reed’s graduation party will ever forget the scene of Reed and Steve slow dancing.
His abiding love for Laurene sustained him. He believed that love happened all the time, everywhere. In that most important way, Steve was never ironic, never cynical, never pessimistic. I try to learn from that, still.
Steve had been successful at a young age, and he felt that had isolated him. Most of the choices he made from the time I knew him were designed to dissolve the walls around him. A middle-class boy from Los Altos, he fell in love with a middle-class girl from New Jersey. It was important to both of them to raise Lisa, Reed, Erin and Eve as grounded, normal children. Their house didn’t intimidate with art or polish; in fact, for many of the first years I knew Steve and Lo together, dinner was served on the grass, and sometimes consisted of just one vegetable. Lots of that one vegetable. But one. Broccoli. In season. Simply prepared. With just the right, recently snipped, herb.
Even as a young millionaire, Steve always picked me up at the airport. He’d be standing there in his jeans.
When a family member called him at work, his secretary Linetta answered, “Your dad’s in a meeting. Would you like me to interrupt him?”
When Reed insisted on dressing up as a witch every Halloween, Steve, Laurene, Erin and Eve all went wiccan.
They once embarked on a kitchen remodel; it took years. They cooked on a hotplate in the garage. The Pixar building, under construction during the same period, finished in half the time. And that was it for the Palo Alto house. The bathrooms stayed old. But — and this was a crucial distinction — it had been a great house to start with; Steve saw to that.
This is not to say that he didn’t enjoy his success: he enjoyed his success a lot, just minus a few zeros. He told me how much he loved going to the Palo Alto bike store and gleefully realizing he could afford to buy the best bike there.
And he did.
Steve was humble. Steve liked to keep learning.
Once, he told me if he’d grown up differently, he might have become a mathematician. He spoke reverently about colleges and loved walking around the Stanford campus. In the last year of his life, he studied a book of paintings by Mark Rothko, an artist he hadn’t known about before, thinking of what could inspire people on the walls of a future Apple campus.
Steve cultivated whimsy. What other C.E.O. knows the history of English and Chinese tea roses and has a favorite David Austin rose?
He had surprises tucked in all his pockets. I’ll venture that Laurene will discover treats — songs he loved, a poem he cut out and put in a drawer — even after 20 years of an exceptionally close marriage. I spoke to him every other day or so, but when I opened The New York Times and saw a feature on the company’s patents, I was still surprised and delighted to see a sketch for a perfect staircase.
With his four children, with his wife, with all of us, Steve had a lot of fun.
He treasured happiness.
Then, Steve became ill and we watched his life compress into a smaller circle. Once, he’d loved walking through Paris. He’d discovered a small handmade soba shop in Kyoto. He downhill skied gracefully. He cross-country skied clumsily. No more.
Eventually, even ordinary pleasures, like a good peach, no longer appealed to him.
Yet, what amazed me, and what I learned from his illness, was how much was still left after so much had been taken away.
I remember my brother learning to walk again, with a chair. After his liver transplant, once a day he would get up on legs that seemed too thin to bear him, arms pitched to the chair back. He’d push that chair down the Memphis hospital corridor towards the nursing station and then he’d sit down on the chair, rest, turn around and walk back again. He counted his steps and, each day, pressed a little farther.
Laurene got down on her knees and looked into his eyes.
“You can do this, Steve,” she said. His eyes widened. His lips pressed into each other.
He tried. He always, always tried, and always with love at the core of that effort. He was an intensely emotional man.
I realized during that terrifying time that Steve was not enduring the pain for himself. He set destinations: his son Reed’s graduation from high school, his daughter Erin’s trip to Kyoto, the launching of a boat he was building on which he planned to take his family around the world and where he hoped he and Laurene would someday retire.
Even ill, his taste, his discrimination and his judgment held. He went through 67 nurses before finding kindred spirits and then he completely trusted the three who stayed with him to the end. Tracy. Arturo. Elham.
One time when Steve had contracted a tenacious pneumonia his doctor forbid everything — even ice. We were in a standard I.C.U. unit. Steve, who generally disliked cutting in line or dropping his own name, confessed that this once, he’d like to be treated a little specially.
I told him: Steve, this is special treatment.
He leaned over to me, and said: “I want it to be a little more special.”
Intubated, when he couldn’t talk, he asked for a notepad. He sketched devices to hold an iPad in a hospital bed. He designed new fluid monitors and x-ray equipment. He redrew that not-quite-special-enough hospital unit. And every time his wife walked into the room, I watched his smile remake itself on his face.
For the really big, big things, you have to trust me, he wrote on his sketchpad. He looked up. You have to.
By that, he meant that we should disobey the doctors and give him a piece of ice.
None of us knows for certain how long we’ll be here. On Steve’s better days, even in the last year, he embarked upon projects and elicited promises from his friends at Apple to finish them. Some boat builders in the Netherlands have a gorgeous stainless steel hull ready to be covered with the finishing wood. His three daughters remain unmarried, his two youngest still girls, and he’d wanted to walk them down the aisle as he’d walked me the day of my wedding.
We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories.
I suppose it’s not quite accurate to call the death of someone who lived with cancer for years unexpected, but Steve’s death was unexpected for us.
What I learned from my brother’s death was that character is essential: What he was, was how he died.
Tuesday morning, he called me to ask me to hurry up to Palo Alto. His tone was affectionate, dear, loving, but like someone whose luggage was already strapped onto the vehicle, who was already on the beginning of his journey, even as he was sorry, truly deeply sorry, to be leaving us.
He started his farewell and I stopped him. I said, “Wait. I’m coming. I’m in a taxi to the airport. I’ll be there.”
“I’m telling you now because I’m afraid you won’t make it on time, honey.”
When I arrived, he and his Laurene were joking together like partners who’d lived and worked together every day of their lives. He looked into his children’s eyes as if he couldn’t unlock his gaze.
Until about 2 in the afternoon, his wife could rouse him, to talk to his friends from Apple.
Then, after awhile, it was clear that he would no longer wake to us.
His breathing changed. It became severe, deliberate, purposeful. I could feel him counting his steps again, pushing farther than before.
This is what I learned: he was working at this, too. Death didn’t happen to Steve, he achieved it.
He told me, when he was saying goodbye and telling me he was sorry, so sorry we wouldn’t be able to be old together as we’d always planned, that he was going to a better place.
Dr. Fischer gave him a 50/50 chance of making it through the night.
He made it through the night, Laurene next to him on the bed sometimes jerked up when there was a longer pause between his breaths. She and I looked at each other, then he would heave a deep breath and begin again.
This had to be done. Even now, he had a stern, still handsome profile, the profile of an absolutist, a romantic. His breath indicated an arduous journey, some steep path, altitude.
He seemed to be climbing.
But with that will, that work ethic, that strength, there was also sweet Steve’s capacity for wonderment, the artist’s belief in the ideal, the still more beautiful later.
Steve’s final words, hours earlier, were monosyllables, repeated three times.
Before embarking, he’d looked at his sister Patty, then for a long time at his children, then at his life’s partner, Laurene, and then over their shoulders past them.
Steve’s final words were:
OH WOW. OH WOW. OH WOW.
Mona Simpson is a novelist and a professor of English at the University of California, Los Angeles. She delivered this eulogy for her brother, Steve Jobs, on Oct. 16 at his memorial service at the Memorial Church of Stanford University.

2011年10月23日 星期日

Falling

(已刊登於9月號《方向》天主教雜誌)



“只剩下雅各一人。有一個人來和他摔跤,直到黎明。”——《創世紀32章24節》

            小到大,你我一直被人耳提面命,做人一定要成功。坊間一堆成功人士的自傳書籍告訴你,讀我的書你就可以跟我一樣的成功。只有成功人士有資格教育別人,如何把自己變成一名成功人士。

            世俗的價告訴你,成功以後你可以坐擁大豪宅,卻沒有人告訴你一個人站在高處的孤單,實際上比寂寞更可怕。成功是可以擁有世上最名貴的跑車,然而沒有人告訴你大道限速110km,擁有一輛無用武之地的跑車等於穿了一件國王的新衣。很多人教導你在短時間致富可以令一個人風光,沒有人告訴你花錢在窮人身上是一項明智的人生投資。

            大部份時候,當你看到揮汗如雨的建築工人時,你忘了告訴小孩,萬丈高樓都是他們蓋起來的,你只會迫不及待地跟孩子們,將來你不要去當建築工人;你何曾教育孩子如何欣賞梵谷的畫作,你恐怕比較擔心立志當畫家的孩子將來會餓死。車房仔是沒有唸過書的人做的工作,你要做開車的人,不要去做修車的人。

            於是,我們不敢也最好不要經歷失敗,我們只管一股腦兒地追求成功,反正往最多人簇擁而走的那個方向去,準沒錯。


            你心裡時時刻刻記著許許多多人跟你分享過的,成功的果實多麼鮮美多汁,你每日都在望梅止渴或者海市蜃樓,得到果實的那一天就叫做美夢成真。鮮少有人敢大言不慚地教導你,如何“享受”失敗的人生 。


            失敗的人生幾乎等同於做一個平凡的家庭主婦、平凡的秘書、平凡的義工,“平凡”雖算不上是一個失敗的詞兒可是它的定義已經是失敗的,有誰敢在小學作文寫下“我長大之後要當一個快樂平凡的侍應生”?有多少個老師會對這樣的小朋友刮目相看?


            有誰敢真實地告訴小孩,你沒錯,當一個餐廳老闆和當一個侍應生的人生是平等的,生而為人的價值與快樂不一定會往餐廳老闆的那一邊傾斜。

我和許多人一樣, 我的大腦裝載了無數的“成功價值”,小腦也裝了一定數量的“成功秘技”,當健康毀壞了、名氣退去了、工作不見了、朋友結婚去了、愛人跟人走了,在這人生中最挫敗的時刻,我的腦袋裡除了成功還是成功,每日想的只有一件事——看老子如何東山再起!

我一夜之間垮台,此時發現書到用時方恨少,原來沒有人教過我如何看待或應付失敗,所以一旦失敗便潰不成軍,完全不懂得享受低潮時浪花與岸石調情的把戲

虔誠信教的人告訴你,失敗是神給你的祝福。所以我拼了老命對神禱告,以為神總會把我從失敗的深淵中救出。我期望隨手一翻,《聖經》中的每一個篇章都會像墊腳石一樣,為我搭一座橋,接我到成功的彼岸。

可是啊可是,當我上多了教堂,做多了彌撒,讀多了神的話語,我才發現每當我向神祈求一個相貌堂堂的愛人,祂給我的竟只是一個長相平庸的伴侶,為什麼往往我們對神祈求自己想要的,神卻執意給你祂認為對你最好的?!

我在人生最潦倒的時刻,翻閱到《荒漠甘泉》書中一文,那一章講述雅各的故事。那時神化作“那人”來和雅各摔跤,雅各一直以為自己會勝利,然而一直到黎明來臨之前,那人(神)終究是在雅各大腿窩摸了一把,雅各的大腿就瘸了。

雅各重重地摔倒,倒在神的雙臂之中。

《荒漠甘泉》說,每個人在領受神的超然能力之前,都必須先付出代價, 對神完全順服,才能得到神的祝福。如同雅各在與神角力的過程中,自己的智慧與能力都死了,他才認識到自己的軟弱,於是他唯有在自己倒下的那一刻,緊緊抓住神的雙臂不放。       
太陽升起,雅各準備前行的時候,他已經成了一個疲弱殘廢的人,不過,此時他終於聽見神對他的祝福:“你的名不要再叫雅各,要叫以色列;因為你與上帝與人較力,都得了勝。”
我不斷向神祈求,讓我重新站起來,然而,神給我的豈止是我一直想要的?祂給我的是比我自己想象中更美好的祝福——我的跌宕還不夠低,祂要我在人生最低潮的時候,緊緊地抓住祂不放,回到祂慈愛的懷抱中。
祂說,“我如鷹將你們背在翅膀上,帶來歸我”




2011年10月7日 星期五

我的偶像vs我的偶像







視頻:往事已矣,Steve Jobs與Madonna通過視頻談笑風生。2005年。





昨天寫了對於Steve Jobs的一點感想之後,
今早才看到這支2005年拍攝的clip。

時序太早,我尚不及認識Steve Jobs,
那時候的他看起來真是一個精神飽滿、魁梧壯碩的漢子,
跟後來我認識的快要燒盡的木柴似的那個瘦子判若兩人。

我夜裡睡得不好,
昨夜乍夢乍醒時分,
我心想Steve Jobs被死神奪走的那一刻,
對於自己被病魔從自己一手創建的王國罷黜,
是否心有不甘?
他心愛的女人和孩子還有朋友,
見着他就快永遠自他們眼前化為灰燼,
是否肝腸寸斷?

我一這麼思量,
心就不自覺地揪了一下,
那是一種如同愛情消失了的失落,
令人極不舒服。
我不敢再繼續任由這種臆測與揣想無限繁衍下去,
就是深怕耽溺與眷戀於一種情緒氛圍中不肯離開,
會導致我的丁點惻隱變淪為廉價矯情。
(褻瀆Steve Jobs會是我極力避免的)

然而有些事情是真的——
我從來沒有對一位與自己毫無交情的人有過類似的煽情,
大概緣於Steve Jobs在我心目中的形象過於強大,
以致如同去巴黎的蒙馬特公墓你必會在一股精神力量的驅使下想要對那些葬在該處的偉大作家獻上敬意與緬懷一樣 ;
對於Steve Jobs,
以後即便只是咬一口蘋果,
我都必以宗教式的莊嚴服用它。

這是Steve Jobs作為一個精神、圖騰、信仰、形象或者時代,
之所以強大之故。


2011年10月6日 星期四

一想起,他。




天才是遭人嫉妒的!
不僅遭人嫉妒,
連老天都看不過去,
醋意大發。
天才早逝,
因為天才的創意令老天嫉妒得打破醋罈子,
決意收拾一下這位天才。

我昨晚工作到半夜,回家倒頭就睡至中午,
其後一名記者打電話來,
要我談談對Steve Jobs的看法。
我問她你們做這個專題的目的何在?幹嘛無緣無故叫我談Steve Jobs,
記者不疾不徐說要大家談談對於Steve Jobs離世的感想。

什麼?Steve Jobs走了?
我那天才不曉得跟誰提過,
說我就跟張愛玲筆下形容的一樣,
是那種看不起自己也不太看得起別人的人,
除了殘綠歲月愛上的偶像Madonna之外,
大概就只有Steve Jobs是真正令我有假若他出自傳我會想要細讀珍藏的人。

我是在買了一部iPod Nano 和Macook Air之後才對Steve Jobs產生興趣與崇拜,
蘋果公司的幾百個專利的發明人都是他,
是他把高科技變成藝術,
同時把藝術變得高科技,
如果“科技始於人性”,
那麼Steve Jobs肯定比Nokia技高一籌,
他把所有高深莫測精緻抽象的藝術和科技,
變得非常人性化。

我是在買了蘋果電腦之後,
才真正認識什麼叫做電腦,
我是在用了蘋果的作業系統之後,
才真正體會什麼系統才是真正的可以幫助人類“作業”,
之前那些什麼Dos啦視窗啦全部充其量只能算是插了電的電池,
而且又不美觀,
簡直侮辱了我的美學鑑賞能力!

正如上述,
我的美學鑑賞能力和領悟力的確教人不忍卒睹,
我是近幾年才開始使用蘋果產品,
對於真正改變世界的Steve Jobs,
我相逢恨晚、後知後覺。
前一兩個月有人挖出Steve Jobs的陳年演講來勉勵年輕學子,
youtube上的這支Steve Jobs給史丹福學子的演講,
點擊率之高,
證明了Steve Jobs給年輕生命和整個世界帶來多少希望,
也是因為看了這支youtube,
我開始對Steve Jobs感到心疼——
我不認識視頻中那個俊帥瀟灑的男人,
我認識的是那個骨瘦如柴看起來比實際年齡老很多的老伯伯。

天才也曾有過何其鮮嫩飽滿的青春,
我卻不認識那個時候的Steve Jobs,
我曉得Steve Jobs這個人的時候,
他已經在跟病魔搏鬥了,
所以今天聽到記者告訴我他敵不過病魔的消息時,
我婉拒了記者的採訪。

我何德何能談論Steve Jobs?
我還沒來得及瞭解他,他就走了,
他走的時候才56歲,
只比劉德華大幾歲。

我何德何能談論Steve Jobs?
我沒有給予這個世界什麼而Steve Jobs不只不斷給予這個世界無窮的創意,
他甚至改變了世界與人類文明,
至少對我而言,
從今以後我看見綠色的或是紅通通的蘋果,
我想起的不會是牛頓,
我會想起Steve Jobs,
一想起他,
我就會很想落淚。

2011年10月4日 星期二

來到未來



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家裡沒有地毯,
飛毯於我而言顯得像有點不切實際的天方夜譚,
倒是一雙會飛的球鞋令人嚮往。

青春期看過這部電影,
片中Michael J. Fox腳踩一個滑板還是一雙球鞋總之我已經印象模糊?!
反正那東西令他磁浮一樣和腳下空氣對抗,
因此他離地飛了起來,
一飛就越過今天去到未來。
時空穿梭、束縛掙脫,
人挑戰這些不可能時,
腎上腺素狂飆破表振奮人心——
說穿了擁抱自由才是人性。

假若真能擁有一雙讓人飛起來的球鞋,
帶住我們迎向未來,
未來到底怎麼樣新鮮美好得如智慧手機上的遊戲或apps?
抑或每一樣色彩都3D晶瑩剔透甚至猶勝Avatar電影空間?
是不是每個人每件物品都無重力地飛翔包括車子和購物中心一如小說中的空中樓閣?

《Back To The Future》是一部80年代的電影,
電影中的未來是2015年,
彼時看似何其遙遠,
不料,2011年也就是今年Nike已有能力生產1,500雙電影中的紀念鞋款,
拍賣收入捐給電影主角Michael J. Fox的帕金森基金會。

驀然,
未來不再遙遠,
未來正是此時!

Michael J.  Fox和我們說好的未來無法完美兌現,
他在未來降臨前自己先變成廢人一樣的帕金森病患。
我們和Michael J.  Fox都飛不起來,
還要每天被嚴重堵車困在路上,
痛苦得跟便秘一樣。
未來世界沒有多好,
地球上空的臭氧層破洞比從前更大了,
你我吃進肚子的肉類蔬菜水果飲品幾乎都含毒。
原以為Apple是我們未來的一線曙光,
可惜Steve Jobs最終還是患癌退下陣來令我們失望他向未來說了掰掰。

自從說聲再見揮別奢華的80年代,
90年代至今經濟海嘯一浪接一浪迎面打了過來,
困苦的生活一直持續到今天困苦還在生活之中,
然而我們竟然好樣地一路走來而且一路活了下來,
這一路走著不知不覺地就走到了未來。

NewImage

2011年9月30日 星期五

難忘




今天到戲院觀賞《Warrior》,心情非常激動。
2個多小時的全man拳擊劇情片,
我整個臉龐溼了整一個小時。

三個拳擊手,
三人是父子,
兩人是兄弟,
愛、誤會、虧欠與衝突,
最後要送上拳擊台,
用暴力來化解。

本年度令人難忘的好戲,
我其實難忘的是我和父親的過去。

一切都不曾過去。

2011年9月24日 星期六

認識新爸爸


一直喜歡閱讀Salon.com的文章。
今晚讀到一篇關於父親的書寫,
令我想起自己的父親。

我記憶中的父親,
與真實世界中的他是兩回事。
他有自己的生命,
我有我的。

看似血脈相連,
然則又一點都不相干。

也許要在很多很多年之後再重新陳述父親,
角度才能顯得較為客觀,
仿如談起後來跟我們漸行漸遠的朋友;
曾經要好,
而今陌生。

值得慶幸太久沒親近,
對他的感情全放下,
於是無論後來談起他的什麼不過就是一些幾乎遺忘的關於他的塵封瑣事,
拍拍往事,塵埃飛揚,
父親煥然一新,好像一位剛認識的新朋友。


(作者剛出生時,父親懷抱她的照片)

BY PAT MACENULTY
Neither of my older brothers nor I have many fond memories of our father. My brothers, who are 11 and 12 years my senior, tell me that when I was 3 years old I was so terrified of him that on the rare occasions he would come home I ran out into the woods behind our house and hid. They had to come out and find me.

My brothers remember waking up to the sounds of drunken men brawling in the living room -- my father and the husband of some woman. It's no wonder why someone else's husband would be trying to beat up my father; he was a notorious womanizer. He even lost his job at a women's college in South Carolina for having an affair with his student.

Dad left when I was 3, and he rarely paid any attention to us kids. He was a musician, but he took no interest in my two brothers who both played in one of the country's best high school marching bands. One brother got a full scholarship to Eastman School of Music; the other ended up playing trombone in the prestigious Navy band. My father never attended a single one of their performances.
My father was stingy with both money and affection. I can sum up the things he gave me over the years as follows: a child-size lounge chair when I was 7, two books he no longer wanted when I was around 15, a check for $75 when I turned 17, and two ratty little stuffed lions for my daughter when she was a baby. He never saw me in any of my plays or ballet performances. We never did anything together.
As adults, my brothers and I tried to cultivate some kind of relationship with him. Whenever we would see him, he would make a vague reference to our inheritance. "When I die, whatever I have goes to you three children," he said over and over. I figured he was trying to make up for the fact he never gave us anything when we were kids.
But, even if he'd intended to atone for his treatment of us, he grew completely senile in his last years. So we were disappointed but not surprised when upon his death everything he had (which was not all that much) went to his widow. We were more surprised when she refused to allow us even the smallest token -- a book or some other memento or our father. When I was younger and knew I wanted to be a writer, I would gaze longingly over my father's extensive library during my rare visits, afraid to ask for one.
But the biggest shock of all came at his memorial service. The man who played the piano during the service wept copious tears. He was about my age, maybe a few years older. My brothers and I had no idea who he was. After the service, we mingled with the guests downstairs. Several had been friends of both our parents. There were pictures posted of my dad in his jazz combo. He looked cool with his black goatee and sideburns; he could have been one of the Beats. I felt a sense of loss that I had been so shut out of his life.
Then the man who had been playing the piano came up to us and, after explaining that my dad had been his piano teacher for many years, said, "He was such a wonderful man. He was like a father to me, and he told me I was like a son to him."
My brothers and I were speechless. I finally stammered, "I'm glad he had that experience with someone."
He told us how Dad and his wife Mary had given him several hundred books they no longer had room for. He hadn't known what to do with them so he gave them to the library.
My brothers and I turned away from the man. We were a bitter three, and now we understood how my mother must have felt that one time before I was born when she was taking my brothers to the beach and she looked over at a car next to her at the stoplight. There was my father with another woman and her children, heading to the beach.

2011年9月22日 星期四

The best comedy as yet in 2011

"Bridesmaids" is hilariouly funny and down to earth.
The ladies had a great chemistry on screen with one and another.
The best comedy so far this year perhaps?

2011年9月18日 星期日

孤獨比死亡更寂寞



去年某個時候,
教會的一個關於禱告的活動上,
來了一名婦人。
婦人頭髮掉光了,
她遂戴了一頂棉質呢帽。
我們歡迎新朋友加入時,
她身體虛弱得必要朋友攙扶才站得起來。
聽說她沒有多少錢,
漸漸地也無法去上班工作了,
我們為她禱告,
求神給她精神力量,
同時醫治她。

每當遇到重病患,
我不僅一次捫心自問,
到底是我無法根治的過敏性皮膚病比人家的絕症嚴重,
還是人家隨時會死去的絕症更讓人頓感絕望?
唯有一個答案是一樣的——我們一樣痛苦、寂寞,
以及想死。

一個病人內心的煎熬與苦痛,
實非一般正常人所能感同身受,
纖細溫柔之人頂多深懂陪伴與傾聽,
可是人家終究無法體會你的痛有多痛?你的苦有多?
好比你明白女人生小孩非常痛,
然而你不是女人便終究不會明白那是一種怎樣的痛?


病讓人感到萬分孤獨,
病人彷彿被包覆在一個千刀萬剮的油鍋內,
沒日沒夜地被病毒萬箭穿心,
而在這個煉獄之外,他眼睜睜地看着外人憐憫的眼光,
但那只是憐憫的眼光,眼光之外他們愛莫能助。
病人被隔絕起來,
外人進不去他的內心。


說回那位婦人,
已經一年了我沒再見到她,
也不便向別人打探她的消息。
至於她是否病情好轉還是已經到了天國,
我希望她在信主之後內心最好感到比較寬慰一些。

病時或生前感到無助,
身邊無論家人醫生朋友巫師沒有一個幫得上忙的,
但起碼在闔上眼睛的那一霎那,
病人死後的世界將不再孤獨,
因為信了主,天堂那裡有一道光,
有許多翱翔圍繞守護在身旁的天使,
以及永遠慈愛的天父。

這些生前一絲看不到的,最終在死後看到了希望。
(我們不害怕死亡,我們實則恐懼死後會跟生前一般寂寞。)

謊言的善與美

愛美麗的老媽以為有男人寫匿名情書給她,
她像一朵萎靡的花臨死被澆了一頭春水,
整個人活了過來。

於是她走在大街上。
雙腳迎風自然而然就踢踏了起來,
那雙被沉重歲月壓得走不動的雙腿,
一時跟上了音樂的節奏,
明快飛揚得好似一雙忽然找回歌聲的雙腿。

導演的鏡頭只拍中年婦女的這雙美腿,
我喜歡這一幕喜歡得不得了。

2011年9月17日 星期六

"You And Me" but what about Us?

Finally watched this movie . Good sad movie.

You always take the sweetest rose, and crush it till the petals fall. That's what all I can say about love that turns sour at the end.

2011年9月16日 星期五

The garden of leaflessness

太久沒有接觸導演大師阿巴斯的片子了。
看完他的近作《Certified Copy》,
隨他他的鏡頭與他漫步了一個充滿哲學性的托斯卡你午後,
處處是關於原創與拷貝的辯證,
辯證如托斯卡你風土一樣令人如沐春風。

久違的朱麗葉畢諾許演技精湛,
所謂的精湛充其量就是不必以文字贅述,
生活化得一點都沒有讓我有在看戲的感覺,
彷彿在看她說着自己的故事。

喜歡這部片子太多太多,
尤其那幾幕透過鏡子反照的辯證,
還有在洗手間的個人獨處時間,
以及,
很多很多有價值的對話。




james – not sad, its just the way it is. i which i could tell that couple not to climb the branches of the golden tree or to their promises… the only thing that would keep their love in marriage is care. care and awareness.
elle - awareness of what?
james – that things change. everything changes and promises wont’t stop that. you don’t expect a tree the promise of keep the blossom after spring is over, because blossom became fruits and… after, trees loses all those fruits.
elle – and then?
james – and then… “the garden of leaflessness”.
elle – the garden of leaflessness?
james – a persian poem – “the garden of leaflessness, who dares to say that it isn’t beautiful?


2011年9月8日 星期四

性謊言錄影帶之後得病

《性、謊言、錄影帶》原來是Steven Soderberg 的成名作,
猶記得當年這部片子全球鬧得沸沸揚揚,
“議題搞手”似乎是Steven Soderberg的正字標記,
他還喜歡膜拜大牌演員,
什麼Ocean 11啦112啦13啦的系列電影,
堪稱大牌明星校友會似的。


新作《Contagion》更誇張,
大明星校友會跨國舉辦,
紅人委身演病的病死的死只求在跨國校友會亮相給名導Steven Soderberg一個面子。

要好好寫篇影話褒揚推薦《Contagion》,
我看我辦不到,
這是一部個人認為很難拍的電影,
要我寫出電影的手法、符號、政治,
三天三夜講不玩,更怕褻瀆了大導的心意。
總之,若不介意導演冷靜處理世紀大病變的主題,
不介意大明星三三兩兩隔幾分鐘就死去,
不介意香港明星淪為路人,
不介意沒有特效或音樂,
不介意沒有撒狗血流鼻涕濫用激情,
《Contagion》絕對是本年度必看的電影。

不是好看,而是必看!
就像由不得你批評國歌好不好聽,
尊敬一個國家那國歌就是必唱的啦!


2011年8月25日 星期四

叫我Auntie Jenny



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Auntie Jenny 今年72歲,她老公10年前過世。
說起她老公,她說是高大威猛的菲律賓帥哥,每天到Auntie Jenny在新加坡工作的化妝櫃台來找她吃飯。
風雨不改,每天一起吃午餐吃了3年,兩人交往了10年才結婚。
“我老公可是真正的gentleman,結婚前沒碰過我一下。”
我說Auntie Jenny妳騙我,男人怎麼可能忍這麼久,反正戴保險套不就行了?
Auntie Jenny說從前哪有甚麼保險套,而且以前的男人比今天的男人還要gentleman。
她觀察這男人許久,有一天她跟男人說我要你帶我去菲律賓見家人。
Auntie Jenny自稱聰明伶俐,她叫男人買了來回機票交給她自己保管。
“我怎麼知道他在菲律賓是不是已經有家室。我很直接告訴他,如果我在機場看到有別的女人來接你,我不會給你難堪,我會默默拎了回程機票坐上飛機走人。”
還好菲律賓男人家室清白,兩人回國後猴急地成親。
Auntie Jenny現在也不打算找老伴,自己都照顧不暇了還要照顧另一個老人,她連自己的孫子都懶得理。
“我跟我兒子說,你千萬不要叫我抱孫子,我想四處遊山玩水。”
Auntie Jenny三天兩頭就上雲頂、去馬六甲,到吉隆坡找朋友去。
我說妳都一個人嗎?不怕危險嗎?我叫Auntie Jenny荷包得藏好,防人之心不可無。
Auntie Jenny比我還精明,她說她把錢分散藏在衣服不同的暗袋裡,安全無虞。

那一天Auntie Jenny穿得一身萬紫千紅,她說她喜歡把自己打扮得美美的,“你看,我腳上穿的可是高跟鞋喔!”
Auntie Jenny伸出桌底下的一雙美腿,她所謂的高跟鞋其實不過就是一雙鞋跟兒比較高一點的鞋子。
我想幫Auntie Jenny拍一張照片,在Facebook上昭告天下,人要活到老、美到老。
我當面告訴她,我欣賞她即便是人生餘光也要綻放得如煙火般燦爛的氣魄!
Auntie Jenny看了照片,怕自己不上鏡,又怕自己顯老,遂戴上墨鏡叫我再拍一張。
她還囑咐我鏡頭拉遠一點,不要大特寫。
我們兩人都對她戴上墨鏡的照片感到比較滿意,因為她看起來時髦多了。

人與人的緣分有時候就像黑夜裡螢火蟲的相遇,
你和她各自發出短暫須臾的光,
也許只是一個眼神、一個擦肩甚或一頓飯的時間,
你不可能永遠記得對方,
可是你記得你們交會時互放的光芒。
我是去觀賞SeasonDouglas的講笑會舞台劇表演前,在演出地點底層的food court吃飯時,
因為找不到座位而剛巧老太太一個人獨佔偌大的座位便斗胆地跟她同桌吃起飯來。
我離開前,
老太太說她年紀大了,記性不是很好,
她說如果有一天我再遇見她,
“你要叫我Auntie Jenny!”

2011年8月21日 星期日

誰才是真正可怕的老闆?


(此為未經星洲日報刪改的原文。事先聲明,我素來歡迎編輯刪改本人文字,貼出原文只為讓讀者比對其中差異性,炮火猛烈的原文只饗網路讀者喔!
還有,真的,大馬的朋友真的不必進戲院看這部片...)




這件事情你我談了好多年,就是大馬電檢局何時才能把電檢尺度放寬一點。你我每日向上帝禱告,無非希望電檢局的情緒化老毛病早日痊愈,未料禱 告尚未應驗,電檢局的病情硬是再惡化一點。

 《Horrible Bosses》是一部大牌雲集的電影,Jennifer Aniston演一個 熱衷非禮男下屬的女老闆,Kevin Spacey則是一個神經質又愛欺負員工的男上司,Colin Farrell最讓人跌破眼鏡,禿頭大肚的化妝技術幾可亂真,令人差點 認不出他的帥哥原貌。如此新鮮滿貫的組合,可想而知,觀眾多麼期待大明星 們在銀幕上擦出激烈火花,可惜,進到戲院才發現根本不是這麼一回事! 

《Horrible Bosses》影片裡老闆們的惡行縱使令人咬牙切齒,卻萬萬不 及大馬電檢局的卑鄙劣行。大馬電檢局更像一個沒有原則、情緒病至人格分裂 的重度精神病患,它拿著一把大剪刀,每隔5至10分鐘就向影片開刀,令人搞 不清楚大馬電檢局剪的是髒話或畫面,還是意識形態? 總之,我坐在戲院裡,每隔5至10分鐘就跳片一次,我從來沒有看過一 部被剪得如此頻密的商業片,它尚且不是色情與血腥暴力充斥的片子,它充其 量只是一部隱晦黑色的成人喜劇。

 《Horrible Bosses》被剪得傷痕累累,根本不成一部完整的片子,可是 它竟然獲批在院線上映。從電影院走出來,自己都不敢相信或確定,這叫不叫 做“看完”一部影片。內心最強烈的感覺僅剩下——電檢局和片商認為大馬觀眾 都是傻子,花錢買票看一場支離破碎的影片也不會吭聲?! 因此,我決定成為第一個發出不平之鳴的觀眾。

如果你尚未進戲院觀賞《Horrible Bosses》,請你就此打消念頭,這部影片像是一個被手法粗劣的整型醫師動過刀的人工美女,極不完整更不完美。 同時,我要控訴片商和戲院公映支離破碎電影的罪行,這等同於斂財!

花錢看 一部每5分鐘挨刀的影片,那種感覺猶如被惡棍騙了一次又一次,這就好比我們 每年繳了路稅,可是道路依舊坑坑洞洞、四處埋伏柏油補過(沒多久又破了) 的痕跡,令人不禁搖頭興嘆,而且心裡不得不萌生邪念——官商是否暗度陳 倉?商業牟利的背後,道德一點都不值錢,不負責任的片商才是最大既得利益者? 

英國作家王爾德說過:假如你聽到一段難聽的音樂,你有必要用大聲談 話的音量來蓋過它(If one hears bad music it is one's duty to drown it by one's conversation.),這篇文章於是敲鑼打鼓登高一呼,我們是時候重視自己的觀 影權力,請你把手上的一票——鈔票,花在其它地方吧!

2011年8月15日 星期一

城市老了以後

一位好友自台北遊學兩個禮拜回來,

她說回國看到自己的城市,

老覺得整個城市好舊。

我愕然,

吉隆坡不是一個比台北還要新一點的城市嗎?

曾經被英國殖民的我們,

建築群不是比台北更加洋化、都市規劃得更整齊?

我們有更多的摩天大樓,

有更大的外語環境...

 

原來,一個城市的魅力,

不在于城市有多年輕,

城市的魅力源自於城市的活力,

一個缺乏活力的城市如同被被掏空了靈魂的人工美女,

美得毫無靈氣。

 

假使吉隆坡有機會來一場更新,

我希望看到城市給藝術家更多的機會,

以及城市裡住著更多的生活家,

生活家是懂得欣賞與重視藝術的人,

他們比藝術家更為重要!

 

 

2011年8月2日 星期二

不加特效鏡頭的愛

已刊登於中文天主教雜誌《方向》









我們終究是被形式養大了胃口,抑或缺乏安全感是人的天性——唯有形式上的豐盛饗宴,才能填滿人類那口破了一個洞的心靈。例如成就必須有洋房和名車證明,愛情最好是套上戒指才值得相信,分手時一定要有大雨配合才顯得悽慘,好像看電影一般,所謂的戲劇張力就是要來點動畫特效,至於天主的愛,我們選擇相信奇幻神蹟。


神蹟也許是一道令人暈眩的光,可能是金色的,各人說法不一;我還聽說有人見過耶穌,只有非常幸運的人見證過如此神蹟。很多人說他們聽見神在對他說話,那當然亦是神蹟,不過,關於神的嗓子是低音重一些還是祂其實是男高音,這一點從未有人說得準。


我自己的故事真的也沒有什麼特效,自從我休克躺在醫院裏神父爲我傅油的那一刻直至我甦醒後在慕道班上課的整個過程,期間沒有打雷也沒有閃電,連天使羽翼掉下一根羽毛我都沒碰過,更遑論感受自己被神觸或看見神的榮光。


有一次慕道班進行神療,我聽說神的榮耀會藉由神父的雙手傳達到信徒的身上,那大概就如人被雷電打到突然倒下那樣,不同的是,你不會燒焦變成黑炭,相反的你可能感覺全身一陣暖熱,甚或帶着笑意暈了過去,醒來時感到無比幸福。我暗暗囑咐自己必須放輕鬆,內心儘量魯鈍如小孩,我猜唯有單純空曠如白紙,天父才有辦法在紙上作畫。


可惜,當神父手觸我的天眼並唸唸有詞,十秒鐘然後又十秒鐘過去,我還是屹立不倒。看着有些人如大地驚雷一聲幸福地倒下,還有人突然喃喃自語,那多像談戀愛時的美好感覺。雖然神蹟沒有降臨在我身上,還好我也曾有過愛一個人的轟裂,也就不難體會那些倒下的人的感受。


上了一年的慕道班行將結束,眼看洗禮儀式即將舉行,我非但感受不到神蹟,人生際遇也並沒有明顯好轉。我的健康狀況不見改善,只是沒有更差;經濟狀況沒有大壞,不過工作合約到期不再續約。眼前排山倒海而來的是生命自安全區脫軌的未知和未來,往後每日充斥了許多不確定和變數,可惜千鈞一髮的此時,神蹟既讓人看不見聞不到亦觸摸不及,即便戴上3D眼鏡感官也是麻木不仁的——神啊!你在何處?


我想起美國名記Lisa LingLisa的妹妹就是曾因誤闖北韓禁區而被當局囚禁的CNN記者)的紀錄片《Our America With Lisa Ling》之其中一集,她深入某基督教爲期三天的神療體驗營,意圖揭開神療的神秘面紗與真相。那一集節目名爲《Faith Healers: Will Steve walk?》,顧名思義,癱瘓人士Steve是那一集的主角,Steve被醫生判定爲終身癱瘓,即便醫生都認爲Steve若然重新站立,除了神蹟顯現,別無可能。


Steve非常期盼神蹟顯現在自己身上,神蹟體驗營裏和他狀況相若的人大有人在,不過紀錄片鎖定他爲焦點,因爲他說這是他參加了無數次的體驗營後的最後一次,這一次他非常確定自己很有可能會在體驗營的最後一天的最後一刻,站起來走路。


紀錄片尾聲,主持人Lisa Ling躲在一旁啜泣,她跟拍Steve三天三夜,她實在不忍心看到Steve失望的眼神。最後,鏡頭下的Steve在衆人的禱告與攙扶下,勉強站起來片刻;當大家的手放開,Steve隨即永遠的倒下了。


觀看紀錄片的我內心不斷吶喊——是吧?如果神蹟顯現在鏡頭前,那也太扯了吧?神蹟不在,這個紀錄片怎麼收拾燙手山芋?神啊!你又如何收拾殘局?鏡頭前,只見Lisa忍不住跪倒在Steve的輪椅面前,試圖安慰失落的Steve,忽然,Steve竟把雙手放在Lisa的頭上,他說,我要把所有神對我的祝福,轉讓給妳。


原來,Steve是很虔誠的教徒,從前如是,而今如是,往後亦是。


我的病依舊不癒,我也還未找到新的工作,更不清楚人生下一步會坐看雲起還是俯瞰險境峽谷,不過,昨天我在教堂做彌撒時,所翻讀的第一篇《以西結書》經文卻着實醍醐灌頂、甘露滋心;我的民哪、我開你們的墳墓、使你們從墳墓中出來、你們就知道我是耶和華。 我必將我的靈放在你們裏面、你們就要活了。我將你們安置在本地、你們就知道我耶和華如此說、也如此成就了。


我仍每日禱告,照例每個禮拜的彌撒和去慕道班上課,我相信,神必定正在考驗我對祂的信仰與堅信。白雪紛飛看不清前路的此刻,神蹟不可能以大地融雪或春發新芽的戲劇性形式躍然眼前,反之,雪地裏只看得見孤獨的兩個腳印,不會有四個。


默默且不着痕跡,神必然把我一肩扛起,背着我度過。

2011年7月11日 星期一

請跟我來

(凌晨三點,有感而發寫下)

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人民走上街頭,非常不好。

全世界很多國家,人民一上街頭不是爆發流血衝突就是有人趁火打劫​,從前最有名的是韓國人每次羣起上街就往自己身上澆汽油點火;在​南美洲或歐洲,即便只是看不過敵對足球隊粉絲,都可以上街全武行​,那僅僅是發泄情緒,稱不上示威的名堂,更沒有什麼政治正確的力​量。

馬來西亞有示威當然不好,可是若果馬來西亞人每次上街都是處處和​平有秩序,人人化干戈爲玉帛,甚至情不自禁愛國地唱起國歌,如此​祥和而莊嚴的精神,是不是值得馬來西亞驕傲地向國際展示人民民主​思想穩重成熟,社會運動流露的君子風度呢?
下一次馬來西亞人再度走上街頭,請執政者不必武裝

戒備或用催淚彈​對付我們,因爲,陸續曝光的畫面證明了,馬來西亞人民擅長散步情​願,人民已經走在文明的道路上。

執政者,跟上來吧!

2011年6月24日 星期五

美丽心机

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(7月号Citta Bella)




























活在过去,对某部分女人而言,不失为一项成就。


刘晓庆最近一次亮相,整个中国都震动了,因为年过何止半百的她,从头到脚不见老人折痕,她看起来就跟她18岁时一样;有人怀疑她动了整形手术,在我看来她更像是打了防腐剂!


活在过去的女人很多,从玛丹娜到雪儿几乎大半的好莱坞女星,都洗脱不了整形嫌疑,然而,嫌犯之中,整体看起来最浑然天成的,刘晓庆莫不是当中佼佼者。假若她真的动了整形手术,那么,她给世人的教化意义就是——整形手术之发展已然跃进到令人匪夷所思、鬼斧神工的境界。


很少女人愿意承认自己动了整形手术,更少人愿意接纳动了整形手术的女人,原因恐怕是你我都不太愿意对“假货”买单,一如包装饮料即便是人工合成的,也一味地标榜本身的天然纯正,无非就是要对整个社会的 “处女情结” 叩头,既然爱好先天与纯正是人类的洁癖,那么为了迎合大众被逼编织美丽的谎言,便是绝无仅有唯一的途径了。


对整形手术引以为傲的女人,放眼望去只有一位,此人非但肯定整形手术为她挽回了至少20年的青春,她甚至企图以此事改写家国历史。


Dilma Rousseff堂堂60多岁高龄,她拉了脸皮和眼皮,还请国际知名发型师为她头发增添艳丽亮泽,服装打扮亦打蛇随棍上,追捧明亮色彩与利落剪裁,她同时丢掉高跟鞋,用平底鞋唤回足下马力,从此她走在路上犹如舞动森巴,活脱脱变成一个年轻人。


Dilma Rousseff是巴西的新总统,这个女人即将代领巴西冲向2025年这个关卡——根据全球经济体的预测,巴西极有可能在2025年成为全球第五大经济体。今年的卖座电影《Rio》动画片和《Fast Five》夏日动作片,率先对巴西行注目礼,让全世界见识到巴西燃烧不尽的热情与活力,2014年的世界杯足球赛,巴西则摩拳擦掌、大兴土木,等着给全世界焕然一新的舞台,紧接在后的是2015年的奥林匹克世运会,世界各国抝手瓜的竞技场也在巴西!


不必苦等到2025年,巴西如今每一个动作,无不在扭转世人认为巴西人只会跳舞的颓废印象,他们似是把舞功变武功,要将花拳绣腿练得虎虎生威,每一出击都打算取人性命!


“女为悦己者容” 真的只是一句跟不上时代的古话了,艺人整形无非为了争取更多的表演机会,巴西女总统拿自己开刀更不是为了男人,她有更大的使命——配合国家的发展,一个看起来年轻的女总统能为举国带来阳光与希望。


对Dilma Rousseff而言,整形一点都不难以启齿。人民素来支持政治正确的行动,更何况还有什么潮流美事,会比巴西女总统 “为国牺牲” 而整形,显得更伟大?!

2011年6月14日 星期二

罌粟盛放的人生

前幾日因爲朋友一句訕笑有感而發寫下


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我全身長滿一朵朵鮮紅欲滴的罌粟花,尤其我的前胸鮮花綻放,兩條大腿和小腿也是花開並蒂,腳丫子也無可倖免,尤其左腳丫子凋謝了的罌粟花,還會移植攀附到右邊的腳丫子上,罌粟花生命力之頑強,不見任何凋謝的蹟象。

每當花季來臨,我除了把自己包得比平常還要密不透風,我還會選擇當上數日的宅男;我羞於讓人看見罌粟花全體盛開流出濃稠毒液的樣子,那個景象一點都不養眼。

我以過分豐富的想象力,試圖夢幻美化自己的身體。世俗易懂的說法比較難聽,語氣聽起來跟人家宣佈你得了絕症大同小異——這位仁兄,閣下患上了溼疹,這是一種難纏的過敏症,也和免疫系統失調有關,就像愛滋病人免疫系統潰敗脆弱一般,您的病情屬於危險等級,也就是說您全身上下密佈着數不清的火山口;那些可不是死火山喔,而是隨時都會爆漿的活火山!還有還有,火山口平日張大着嘴,隨時都會有病菌入侵,也就是說您時時刻刻都要與病菌搏鬥,遇上感冒或發燒照顧不週的話,您的免疫大軍很可能打敗仗,屆時您不幸就下地獄當魔界的值日生,幸運一點則昇天當比較受人歡迎的天使。

我現在唯一不怕公諸於世的,只剩我那巴掌般大小的瓜子臉,從前因病爛成血肉模糊的臉,慶幸已經痊癒了不少,無論是罌粟花還是火山口,老早從我臉上轉移陣地到衣服遮蔽得到的身體其他部位繁殖去了。這算是不幸中的大幸嗎?一塊黑布遮頭遮臉裹住全身,我想只有中東回教婦女願意這般忍辱負重,還好我不必過這種見不得人的日子。

大部分時候,我總是穿着長袖衣衫和長褲,不讓人看穿我那罌粟花盛開的人生。從外觀上來判定,人家多數認爲我是衣冠楚楚的那一類男人,有些人可能無法自拔地猜測我出身書香世家。人靠衣裝、佛靠金裝,我猜想我掩人耳目頗見成效,年前一場飯局裏的某一位陌生人,完全無法看穿我脫下衣服以後,可能是衣冠禽、斯文敗類,他對我應該是動了情,話說大半年後的近日,他終於按耐不住慾火,託我一位朋友向我打探是否有交往的意願?

我當下”忍痛“回絕。

實不相瞞,我自己看到自己,都不想和自己做愛,敢問還有誰可能有勇氣愛撫我一身的傷口?隱疾畢竟是難以啓齒才須隱蔽之,故我並未向我這位朋友詳述箇中原因,我的身體狀況我自己瞭然於心足矣——我在寬衣解帶之前,看似微恙,可是我一旦什麼都不穿的時候,身上一株株花枝招展的罌粟花,無一不在嘲笑我病得不輕,人或動物看了都要退避三舍!

聽說愛情回來過,充其量不過是一首令人難忘的情歌,愛情死灰復燃這等浪漫的事,這輩子大概很難發生在我身上。我曾暗戀過一個人,我對他思念成癡,最後好不容易在facebook上找到他,不過,我僅止於與他透過whatsapp噓寒問暖,我打死不可能衝動到與他再見,再續前緣更加是大忌,故此,我又”忍痛“不將他加入我的好友名單,爲的就是不讓他見到我而今憔悴的病容。

我癡傻的笑容,從前在他眼裏脫俗如三歲小孩,我縱使頭髮染成金黃庸俗,從前這樣的我在他眼裏竟也好比豔光四射的太陽;一個這麼有眼光賞識過我的人,我再卑鄙無恥,都不應該對他回憶裏那個生病前的陽光美少年,也就是鄙人在下我,趕盡殺絕!

病、老的實相比生、死更殘酷,我寧可讓我愛過的人得知我的生死,也千千萬萬個不願意讓他看到我被病魔拖垮,一夜之間蒼老了數十載的年月;我就站在你面前,而你卻認不出是我,世界上還有什麼情,比此更傷?

現在的我,如無必要則儘量不要面對自己。攬鏡自照擠暗瘡已成絕響,我照鏡子都是站得遠遠地,和自己保持一種距離的美感;我亦鮮少與人合照,以避免自己成爲健康人羣中最與衆不同的病人,我恨不得在被迫拍下的合照上寫下 “千萬不要勿忘影中人、最好把我的影子都忘掉”。我放在facebook上的個人profile照片,則是今年某時尚雜誌專訪我時,爲我精心攝製的沙龍照,那張照片含蓄的黑白兩色,讓人看不出我病懨懨的氣色,電腦修圖也一筆勾銷掉我臉上爛過的烙印,彷彿照片裏的人根本不曾病過——完好如初,就像我所認識的,生病前的自己。那是這幾年以來,我難得鍾愛的個人照,所以我把它用作facebook個人照。

不過,前兩天一名朋友突然叫我換掉我facebook上的個人照;“照片裏的人美得不像我認識的你”,他是這麼不經意地開出這個玩笑話的。

對於不明就裏的朋友無心的一句話,我不覺備受侮辱或侵犯,甚至更沒惱羞成怒,可是,我黯然神傷倒是真的。我要如何道人長短一般輕鬆地對他講述我這罌粟盛放的人生?健康無恙的他如何明白我是幾經煎熬才鼓起勇氣拍攝沙龍照的?我是多麼幸運才能遇到一名貼心的攝影師,爲我搜捕回那個走失了健康的自己?

看山是山,看水是水;看山不是山,看水不是水;看山還是山,看水還是水。個人修爲,境界不同,但願有朝一日別人遇見我或我遇見我時,眼中所見的罌粟花就只是華美的罌粟花,而不是有毒的鴉片。

若然那一日到來,我在facebook上的個人照,將不再是黑白的人生。


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2011年6月2日 星期四

阿練與馬修?


我想我明白了,
阿練阿姨大概類似這樣,
愛上馬修底迪的。

任何人不一定非得是Bradley Cooper,
法文說得好再加一點胸毛的男人,
絕對會讓女人很想大叫:
不要、不要、不要停止說法文,
性感法文會令人全身發瘟!

(我要學葡文,聽說這個世紀下半葉會由性感巴西人統領半邊天下)


2011年5月10日 星期二

魏家祥比短片更加令我不舒服!



我今天第一次從電視新聞上關心這起校園霸凌事件。

魏家祥的談話令我不關心都不行,
我覺得他的言談處處有破綻,
例如——
~你看,13歲的霸凌學生之一受不了壓力申請退學了,
這是你我樂於看到的結局嗎?
~孩子們還小,他們又不是犯了諸如偷竊之類的嚴重案件,
學校不是法庭所以不能審判他們。
~除了停學兩週,難道要把他們關進感化院嗎?
他們年紀這麼小,應該要給他們第二次機會,
無論反對聲浪多大,我自認沒做錯事情;
大家爲人父母應該將心比心,若是自己女兒犯錯,
你願意看到自己孩子被送到感化院或被開除學籍嗎?

我忍不住上網找出霸凌片段,
終於驚覺副教育部長此番處事言行是多麼的不妥啊!
魏家祥,我看了片段之後,我在想那名受霸凌的女生,
身心的創傷恐怕是一輩子的,
你怎麼會在言談中把誰是弱者、誰是施暴者搞錯了呢?
你帶領家長去受害人家裏道歉,還要顧及施暴者家長的顏面,
另外安排一場閉門致歉儀式。
電視畫面上只看見沒有誠意的家長們握手,而已。
你不是知識分子嗎?怎麼你的記者會不像知識分子應有的態度與格局?
你變得跟那些不懂事的低受教家長一般見識,
讓記者拍到的畫面如同“對不起,我家小狗昨晚撒尿在你家門前,請閣下包涵”,
這叫大事化小,抑或是非不分?

你不認爲應該擴大調查甚至嚴懲十三歲的女生嗎?
他們真的不小了,我當年未及13歲已經文章投報成功,
正規教育下家教優良的小孩很多在那個年齡已是全球青少年的偶像,
男孩女孩到了那個年紀也足以生小孩了。
他們真的不小了,
就像這件校園霸凌事件,它不是偷竊事件不過它的影響層面與之比起來猶有過之而無不及,
真的不小。

你的身份地位更不小,
然而你的作爲和對校園文化的導正與貢獻,
太小!

兩個星期,霸凌兇手翹課願望得逞,
休息是爲了走更長遠的路,
兩週后又是一條活龍,
再找下手目標!
魏家祥你對霸凌兇手的姑息養奸,
很大。

社會充斥太多沒有浮出檯面的受虐小孩,
他們羸弱的身心是無法支撐他們跟整個不公來對抗的,
美國多少被欺凌的小孩自殺身亡?
魏家祥,你對受虐家庭與和小孩的二次傷害,
很大!

魏家祥,輿論都認爲你處事不當,
但願你虛心反省,改過自新。
最必須改過自新的是你,
難道你還需要我們給你一面照妖鏡,
你才看得出你自己是這起校園霸凌事件的加害者嗎?



2011年5月1日 星期日

跟自己学习


5月份Citta Bella
93011166




为了逃避自己,你把每日行程排得满满;白天和同事开会,午餐时间见客户,晚上偶尔要应酬,没有应酬的日子就赶紧约三五良朋吃喝玩乐互道近况。

一个月没有多少天待在吉隆坡,从曼谷到雅加达到新加坡而最近公司生意还扩展到中国及欧洲,“最讨厌吃飞机餐了”;仿佛不满意政客表现般满口都是怨言,其实内心潜台词无不对自己“充实”的成就,万分佩服。

连睡觉的时间也没有,一逮到假日尽可能飞去一座小岛,除了睡觉与吹海风,什么都不做。即便购物,都是在过境机场的免税品商店速战速决。

直至有一天,你突然发现,自己身体和心灵出现对生活环境适应不良的状况了。

身体某个器官功能衰竭,身体对吃喝甚至空气里的微尘过敏,每晚睡不着的证据开始显现在双眼四周;最难受的是心灵,你发现自己遇到逆境时,只一味地期望逆境快点过去,除此之外,你想不到自己为何值得拥有顺境?人生失去方向时你该往哪一条路走?你一直在追求的是自己真正想要的吗?抑或你真正需要的是什么?

关掉iPad,不看高清电视,音乐也免了,最好也不要有人陪伴。一辈子以他人为圭臬,汲汲营营向别人学习,唯独忽略了和自己相处。

从来不晓得呼吸是值得观察的,观察那一口气如何扩大你的胸腔,横隔膜随之像海浪一般澎湃。
你觉得盘腿而坐什么都不想是更很难办得到的事情,思绪像脱序的毛线不由自主地延伸到那些还未完成的计划还没买的东西还没间的人;可是静坐像是一面镜子,你竟是很久之后才愿意直视镜中人,好好反省自己。

你从缓慢呼吸感受器官的律动,进而感觉自己的存在,脑袋好不容易才清理出一张空白的画纸,你必须把握机会,认真的填上自己想要的人生色彩。

从前向别人学习不一定错,可是不曾跟自己学习确实不对,不然,自己和自己面对面而坐,和自己对话怎的如此困难?从今天开始,你不再邯郸学步了,你要学习牵着自己的手,学习走自己的路。

开始学习真诚地认识自己。