The afternoon sun shined through the pollution, gently and weakly reaching my living room.
I stood up and walked to the window, thinking that there was something different about today’s sunlight. Then I saw the moon blocking the sun, making it a perfect crescent-shaped burning fire. I found my camera quickly, trying to record this significant moment with insignificant man-made technology.
I looked down. On the street people were walking fast in the cold; in the school field several students were playing basketball. I then thought of the ancient time when people ran and screamed and prayed in extreme fear during an eclipse. Science made us secure, or did it just make us feel secure? I wonder if modern knowledge has given us more fear and respect for the unknown or made our confidence expand to a dangerous level.
Things that happened in my recent life have brought this heavy layer of unidentified fear and doubt and unpeacefulness, hovering over my heart for days. Tim’s grandfather passed away just a few days after we returned to China, just a few days after he held me with one arm, and said with effort, “…Bye!” I’ve only met him several times, but right now I feel this big empty hole in my heart.
I never had my own grandfather. My mom’s dad passed away when I was little, leaving me nothing but very vague memories. My dad’s dad died during Cultural Revolution; I know him through many stories told by my dad and this confused angry feeling toward that historical time. But about this granddad, this American granddad, my feelings are more normal and real. He had a stroke in his forties and barely talked since then; he didn’t walk much either in recent years. His wife and children took care of him for fifty years. Everyday, he would get up and dress up: shirt, pants, belt, shiny leather shoes. Tim told me what granddad taught him without words is dignity, one’s attitude when facing the world, which has nothing to do with your living status.
Tim said he misses him, but he knows that he’s free now. I then thought of my grandmother and the morning when I escorted her body back to her hometown. It was cold, the red sun was rising behind tree branches from afar. I felt this weird sense of release and whispered in her ear: can you see this? You are free now. Her face looked peaceful, her skin felt cold.
We can’t control things that happen in our lives. They can be as beautiful as a sunrise or as horrible as an earthquake. The universe has a sense of humor and wisdom that we cannot perceive. But what we can do is to put on our shiny leather shoes and confront them with dignity.
I put down the camera, watching the half-sun going down. Without the everyday routine look, it is grinning at me with a giant smily face.







暖
有一次我离开了中国,第十天的时候,我开始想家。当我闭着眼睛想,家是什么样子的时候,后海就浮现了出来。
我不怎么爱喝酒,不怎么爱泡吧,在那一瞬间搅动我思乡之念的,是后海的一湖绿柳轻舟。我记忆中的后海总是夏天,清晨有遛鸟的老人,自行车铃和着安静的嘈杂,商家尚未醒来,湖水默念旧时钟鼓楼的叮叮当当。夜色中,这里的灯红酒绿为素颜的城市化上妖艳的唇膏,半张着口,等候许多未知的可能。
后海就像我们,还来不及思考,就已经成年。在胭脂和杯盏间,祭奠自己的童年,这种祭奠并不悲凉,这种祭奠在觥筹交错中显得悲壮,一来一去中喝不尽的,是这个城市的情怀。
眼下是冬天,北京灰蒙蒙的冬天。冬天里最容易感到的,不是寒冷,是温暖。我又来到后海,抬眼望去,厚厚的冰上,阳光柔弱,人影飞舞。我喜欢看冰上玩耍的老老少少,他们全都裹得严严实实,踩着冰刀,划着冰车,他们哈着白气,穿过卖糖葫芦的三轮车,满满一车的糖葫芦,在太阳下闪着红光,飘着童年的味道。
这是2010年的北京,这也是1980年的北京,在后海的冰上,古老的温暖穿越时间,一路传递给我们,于是有人在浮躁的人群中,听到了召唤,停下茫然的脚步,享受片刻的温暖和安宁。