蕃茄 Tomato

這是我2009年寫的一篇文章。我2002年到2012 年住在美國華盛頓州鄉下，在院子裡工作時常受教於大自然。原文是英文，去年回台灣定居後試著用中文重寫, 一方面重新訓練自己中文寫作的能力，一方面希望和更多人分享。


2009年5月15日 天晴

四月買的種在室內的三株蕃茄長得又高又瘦，頗像長手長腳、發育中的青少年。其中一株已經開了小小的白花。今天天氣晴朗，我決定幫它們移植到室外。

華盛頓州夜晚偏涼的氣候其實不利蕃茄的生長，因為蕃茄需要溫暖的夜間温度和泥土。很多有經驗的當地人乾脆在暖房裡種植，或在泥土上加蓋有孔的塑膠布，以維持泥土的恒溫。我剛搬到這裡的前幾年還儍儍地種大種的牛蕃茄。但每年等果實正要成熟時也是雨季了。所以現在我只種生長期短的小蕃茄。今天這三株有個可愛的名字：甜百萬(Sweet Million)。

我小心翼翼地把一盆盆蕃茄搬到菜園裡，費了奌勁兒才把東倒西歪，已有兩、三尺高的樹苗種進土裡。三株蕃茄看起來垂頭喪氣的。我把去年拆下來放在工具間的竹枝拿出來，準備搭些支架。突然，靈光一閃，一個聲音叫我試試不同的方法。

往年我都是在種時就搭一個約半尺長寛、五尺高的竹框，但我發現每株蕃茄有它自已的成長方式。何況每年天氣狀況也不一樣。今年我決定「先觀察，再行動」- 讓蕃茄告訴我它那裡需要支持。

這個意念的轉換讓我想到一個我一直有興趣的話題- 教育。中國式的教育不是就像先搭的框架嗎?父母、師長總會先立下遠大的目標，然後期望孩子長成他們期望的樣子。我沒有小孩但我對我的創意也是如此: 我會先搭一個美麗而宏偉的巨大框框，然後希望我的創意能照著框架長。

鈴木禪師說：「控制牛最好的方式就是給它足夠的牧草地。」由種蕃茄中我領悟到種菜、教育和創意執行的原則是相通的：種要好，土要肥，給它足夠的空間，適時的提供支持，必要時修剪過多的枝葉，适時适量的澆水、施肥。假以時日，加上天氣配合，開花結果是必然的。

好好說再見

 電影「少年Pi的奇幻漂流」裡有段旁白：「人生就是不斷的放下，令人遺憾的是，沒能好好地道別」。

當小船終於靠岸時，那隻老虎在跑入叢林前，竟沒有任何依戀，連回頭忘一眼和他生死與共的主人翁都沒有。

當地人救起奄奄一息的主人翁時，他嘶聲力竭地哭著，大家以為他是劫後重生喜極而泣，殊不知他是心碎Charlie Parker 的無情。

當人生有大轉彎時，總是得向些人、東西、地方說再見，但最不捨的可能是這些人、事、物所編織成的夢。我們總以為這些夢永遠不會變。

有時候夢已褪色了，我們還緊抓著不放。因為沒有了這些夢，我們會是誰?

離開二十年，回來後有些朋友聯絡上了，有些打過一次電話心中就有底了。畢竟大家生活沒有什麼交集，年輕時可能還有體力「應酬」，現在大家就盡量人事精簡，也是無可厚非的。

但心中還是有一絲不捨。也許和Pi一樣， 令我心碎的不是失去的情誼，而是沒有對那段消失的夢、生命好好說再見。

                                                       眾鳥依樹林，

                                                       旦去暮還集；

                                                       眾生業所牽，

                                                       後時還會合。

             

                                                       - 正法念處經

聲音

最近我聽到一些朋友親戚抱怨他人在臉書上的評論，我自己心中也有一把尺，無時無刻都在衡量什麼該說，什麼不該說；什麼可以分享，什麼不能分享。雖然臉書可以設定只有朋友可以瀏覽，我還是把它當成一個公共場所。但這和我個人成長背景有關，因為我從小就被教養「家醜不可外揚」。我了解這個美醜的尺度是主觀的，因人而異，但一不小心這把尺很容易就變成了一把刀。

我在美國上過一堂人文課程，它應用蘇格拉底精神，那就是允許和尊重不同的聲音同時存在。老師鼓勵大家討論和激辯，但要尊重每個人享有同樣的權利。這對我們在儒家思想制度下長大的人是個挑戰，我們根深蒂箇地但毫不察覺地就有上下、尊卑、男女之別。我從這個經驗學習到的是，真正的民主精神是不論你同不同意，喜不喜歡，每個人聲音都是有價值的。有一本書的英文名字是「You don't have to wrong for me to be right」很精確地表達了這種精神，但翻譯成中文「你不一定要錯我才可以對」有點僵硬。我雖然了觧，但和人有磨擦時還是很容易陷入「我是人非」的陷阱。

㐧一次去社區大學教中文時我非常焦慮，那種焦慮不光是因為我沒經驗，我自己都很納悶。上課前一天晚上我決定還是要去聽一個我喜歡作者的演講。他的開場白是，「有人作過調查，人類最怕的東西，㐧一名是死亡，㐧二名是公開演講。」我當下就開悟了。我突然了觧我怕的不是教書，而是在公共場所說話。我真正恐懼來自怕自己說錯話、當眾丟臉。

母親八十幾歲開始唱卡拉OK, 我有次問她那來的勇氣一個人去社區中心唱，她說，「一天看電視也挺無聊的，何況我想聽聽自己的聲音，我想知道我到底能不能唱」。我聽到這句話時整個人背脊一陣麻，我們每個人是否與生俱來就擁有這種渴求，我寫作的動機不也是來自一種深層的慾望。可以肯定的，如果父親還活著，母親不會去唱歌，她會壓抑自己的慾望，父親不一定會反對，但她會自認父親會不認同。這一種「自限」由上一代傳到下一代，我在我家三代女人和很多女性朋友身上都看到這種壓抑，這個壓抑有另一個耳熟能詳的名字 - 三從四德。

開始寫這篇文章是因為年節期間大家互動多就會出些問題，常常問題出在誰又說了什麼。但寫著寫著外在的聲音延伸到內在的聲音。我自己有很大的智障和字障，希望新的一年即使達不到耳順的境界，可以少造些口業。少浪費心力在口舌上，多花奌時間做正向的發聲 - 創作。祝大家新年有新聲。

Who Would You Be Without Your Stories? -- Random thoughts of one Sunday morning

We make up stories every day, about ourselves, others, the world, the planet, the universe, this life, past life, after life. We make up angry stories, happy stories, sad stories, personal stories, group stories. Why do we make up stories? To feel real, to get ground under our feet.

If we strip off all our stories, our relationships, our work, our bank balance, our emotions, our race, our gender, our dreams, our addictions, our illness, our worries, Who would we be?

Once we asked a 6-years-old child if we are all different, she said, "We are not different, we are not the same, we are nothing." I later found out the child had Asperger Syndrome. I can't help wondering whose perception of the world is more true, and why it is that we need to put labels on people and things which are too big for us to understand.

Most of the time, our stories don't start with us, they started with our parents, our teachers, our ancestors....it is called history. But would histories be histories if we stop telling them? What would the world be without literature, art, movies which are all forms of story-telling?

So maybe the point of my story today is not that we should stop telling stories, it is impossible anyway, but to have the awareness when our minds are making up stories. I guess some people call that meditation. And if we can't stop making up stories we might as well make up good ones, so they are transform into literature, poetry, paintings, ceramics, sculptures, dance, music, instead of rants on Facebook, soap operas, reality shows and trashy magazines?

Have a nice Sunday, end of story.

永恆的戀人

「我們每個人肯定都有一肚子的故事，可以告訴別人，只不過，我們未必清楚我們有那些故事，以及為什麼這些故事對我們而言很重要，寫作能夠幫助我們了解這點，以及幫我們搞清楚為什麼有必要趕緊將這些故事跟別人分享。只要我們認真想想，說不定我們的故事能幫助我們了解此生應修的課題。」- 瑪莉.派佛，用你的筆改變世界

記得我從小就喜歡作文課，功課常都得甲。現在想想不是我會寫，而是我會寫老師想聽的。一般，老師出了題目，例如「我的志願」後，通常都會給個「引子」， 擧些例子。我很小就學會了「順者昌、逆者亡」的道理。

直到初二（我下兩屆才有九年國教），有天不知為何作文功課竟然是自由發揮。我記得那是個周末，我也不知那來的靈感，竟寫了我這輩子第一篇小說，關於一個小孩離家出走，最後飢寒交迫死在外面，臨終時想著他的家人，懊悔萬分。我自己都感動的哭了，結果我得到的是「丙」，記不得是那位老師和實際的評語了，大約是「胡思亂想、誇張不實」之類的。從此我沒寫過小說。

大學我唸的是德文，但我最喜歡上的課是劉光義老師的國文課。喜歡老師冷面笑匠的幽默和憂國憂民的情懷，當然還有常被老師讚賞我「文筆犀利」的虛榮。 大學時代開始寫日記，飄泊這麼多年後，母親姊姊還幫我保留著，很感激。後來翻閱，全是令人汗顏的少女情懷，每篇都像剝玟瑰花辨一樣：他愛我?他不愛我?看完領悟到其實那份與生具來的不安全感並未因歲月而減少。

大學畢業後不久我就結婚去了澳洲。兩年後回到台灣在不同雜誌社(2001, 薇薇）做過編輯，但那時只覺得是我的外文能力和我在國外居住旅行的經驗讓我受雇，完全和文筆沒関係。後來在一個很偶而的機緣下受雇於一家美商公司的臺灣分公司，這是我人生的第一個大轉彎。
它開拓了我的視野，也讓我有機會在美國住了二十年。回想一下，那時工作領域中我最喜歡
的，除了產品開發，還是做公司和廠商的溝通橋樑。

後來重新開始寫作是2001年9/11世貿大樓事件後搬到華盛頓州鄉下的事了。鄉居生活其實很適合寫作，有一年我每天早上都寫三四個小時，但我不知道該如何和人分享，寫的東西也沈封箱底。後來很幸運的，免費的有機會上了六個學分的大學人文課程。這個課程譲我覺醒，發現自己對西方文化的認識竟是如此的膚淺和扭曲。另外一個收獲是課程中交的寫作作業都受到老師的嘉評，這是莫大的鼓舞，使我對自己英文寫作的能力愈加有信心。

2010年無心插柳，由圖書館借來一本傻瓜部落格指南，沒想到十分鐘我就變成部落客了。去年我又來了個生命大轉彎，搬回台灣定居。經過九個月的身心安頓最近在才在家𥚃裝了WiFi, 目前我是用我的iPad在寫。

最近我告訴一位朋友，情人來來去去，事業起起伏伏，唯一不離不棄，多次把我從絕望、悲傷、鬱悶中解救出來的是閱讀和寫作。她們才是我永恆的戀人。

後記：現在再加上新歡：畫畫

回家 Homecoming

我又回家了。 回到我長大的新竹，住在母親眷村改建的新公寓，離我出生已被拆除的空軍五村只有十分鐘。舊家部分變成了停車場，不久前搭了個牌樓。它一夜間出現，好像UFO。後來有演歌仔戲，聽說還是明華圓的，也有議員來演講。

十八歲離家去台北上大學好像飛出籠的鳥， 萬萬沒想到四十年候我又回到原點，想的還是同樣的問題，我是誰？

我過去二十年住在美國，過去的部落格是用英文寫的。不光是語言文字，我的思考和夢也不是單語的。這一奌就令人抓狂了。用英文寫還是中文寫?我的讀者是誰?著名而且是我崇拜的作家哈金在「他鄉寫作」一書中寫到，＂作家在開始其職業寫作生涯時往往反覆自問亞里斯多德提出的問題：為誰寫?以什麼身分寫?為誰的利益而寫?在這三個問題中，「以什麼身分寫作」最令人困惑，因為涉及到作家的身份認同及傳統，而這兩者往往不以人的意志決定，隨時都在改變。"

所以，身分的問題就留給時間吧。為誰寫和為誰的利益而寫比較好回答?誠實地說，為我自己。但是我希望，由閲讀中你偶而找到自己的答案。

I am back home again, back to Hsinchu, living with my mother, at an apartment 10 minutes from my birth place, an air force compound. Part of it has been converted into a parking lot. Awhile ago, a ceremonial temple-like structure was erected overnight, like an UFO. They invited a Taiwanese opera troup to perform and some politicians gave speech at the show.

When I left home at 18, I was like a bird out of a cage, 40 years later, I am back to where I started, asking the same question - Who am I?

I lived in the United States for the past 20 years. My past blogs were written in English. To write in Chinese or English has been always an issue. Ha Jin, a Chinese writer who writes mostly in English, wrote in his book "The Writer as Migrant" , "When a writer started his writing career he repeatedly asked himself three Aristotlen questions: Writing for whom? Writing from Whom? Writing for
whose benefit? ...Among these three questions, Writing from Whom is the most difficult to answer as it involves the writer's identity and tradition, neither was a matter of will, and it changes with time."

That being said, I will leave the question of identity to time。Whom am I writing for and for whose benefit? Honestly? I am writing for myself, and hopefully once in awhile you find your own answers from reading my writing, like I have done with gratitude from many, many of the writers before me.

In the Family of Things

Just finished reading Anne Morrow Lindbergh's "Gift From the Sea".  Her name came to me because she was quoted by Erica Bauermeister, a wonderful Northwestern author I recently stumbled on. I didn't realize Anne was Charles Lindbergh's wife until I read "About the Author" at the end of the book. Knowing that didn't change anything, in fact ignorance is a bliss in this case, my mind wasn't contaminated. Her writing "stood on its own feet" as she encouraged women to do in their relationships, and she claimed that it is essential women carved out time for solitude, because "women need to come of age by herself - she must find her true center alone." 


I was shocked to learn that Gift from the Sea was written in 1955, 56 years ago. It boggled my mind that while Ann Morrow Lindbergh was an American mother of five who lived in the suburb of Connecticut, I was a tiny-winy one-year old girl living with my Chinese parents in Hsinchu, Taiwan. Neither of us knew our paths would cross one day and there existed a kinship between us.    


Yesterday I stumbled on another book by accident(or was it?), "They Say I Say, the Moves that Matter in Academic Writing." I was actually using the book as a prop in my Chinese Language class at the Y, and the page opened to a hard-to-ignore paragraph highlighted in dayglow orange, "Writers who cannot show that others should care and do care about their claims will ultimately lose their audiences' interest. This answered why Ann Morrow Lindbergh's book captivated my interest 56 years later - she cared and she convinced me that I should care too. 


It's not the first time that books show up in my life and answer the questions I happen to be asking at the time. I have not written for a while and the blog has become a place for announcements. I'm going back to Taiwan for three months this winter and I've been thinking whether I should continue writing.  Ann Morrow Lindbergh convinced me good writing transcends time and space; and the They Say I Say book reminded me I should only write what I really care about and write it well.


This morning I saw one of my niece in Taiwan thanking my other niece on Facebook - "Thank you for being in my life." It made me so happy and proud to hear that, not only because I am their aunty but because I felt this ageless bond between women.  In the past year, I've been reflecting on the legacy of women in my family; I was thinking more about older women like my mother and sisters, how they live their lives before and after their men are gone. Today seeing my nieces comments and sisterly bond on Facebook reminds me again why I love and care about women. Before I become the next Amy Tan, here is a great poem to share with you. May you find your place in the family of things. 


Wild Geese


You do not have to be good
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting .
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting ---
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


- Mary Oliver