文字
我有的時候會想，到底什麼樣的語言什麼樣的文字才能表達我心中所想的？將近有20年的時間，我使用著漢字這種文字來書寫。廣東話是我的母語，但我卻從來沒有用它來寫過文章。是一種非常奇怪的感覺，明明心裡想著的句子，卻無法用文字表達出來。這樣說來，在文字上，普通話才是我的第一母語。再後來，我學了英語和日語，並開始使用它們。
對我來說，在使用某一種語言說話的時候，有一種情不自禁地被這種語言所影響的感覺。也並不是刻意要裝出來，配合哪個語言的氣質。只是每當不假思索的開口，都聽到不一樣的自己。廣東話的時候很隨便，普通話的時候很緩慢，英語的時候抑揚頓挫，日語的時候特別嬌羞。哪一個才是自己？還是哪一個都是自己（笑）。
不過如果是用文字的表達又不太一樣。特別像日記這一種書寫的方式。大多都是把心中所想的直接表現出來，並沒有經過太多的潤色。奇怪的是，有時候心中想的一個事情，只能由特定的一種語言表現出來。例如，心裡會突然出現日語的句子，想法。所以如果在那一刻要把那個想法原原本本地記錄下來的話，就必須使用日語的文字了。
這樣看來，文字不僅僅是載體，而是也有自己不同的個性的。只是要怎樣才能通過語言文字來最真實的自己呢？我一直在想這個問題。從我說的話，寫的字裡，你們看到一個怎樣的我？
對我來說，在使用某一種語言說話的時候，有一種情不自禁地被這種語言所影響的感覺。也並不是刻意要裝出來，配合哪個語言的氣質。只是每當不假思索的開口，都聽到不一樣的自己。廣東話的時候很隨便，普通話的時候很緩慢，英語的時候抑揚頓挫，日語的時候特別嬌羞。哪一個才是自己？還是哪一個都是自己（笑）。
不過如果是用文字的表達又不太一樣。特別像日記這一種書寫的方式。大多都是把心中所想的直接表現出來，並沒有經過太多的潤色。奇怪的是，有時候心中想的一個事情，只能由特定的一種語言表現出來。例如，心裡會突然出現日語的句子，想法。所以如果在那一刻要把那個想法原原本本地記錄下來的話，就必須使用日語的文字了。
這樣看來，文字不僅僅是載體，而是也有自己不同的個性的。只是要怎樣才能通過語言文字來最真實的自己呢？我一直在想這個問題。從我說的話，寫的字裡，你們看到一個怎樣的我？
PR
Start over
Maybe I should start to write here again, before I finally forget the password of this blog.
It has been at lease a year since I last logged in and wrote. How did I manage to lock all my thoughts inside me for this long? Ah, I forget I have another way to find the exit now. I can draw and paint, with all my emotions and darkness that haunt me at nights. They flew with my pencils, brushes and paints, and refilled my heart very soon. Is it because now I have half of my brain unfilled with the busy projects that I used to have? Drawing isn't enough to be the gateway. I have to open the old path, the one I used to rely on. A house I filled with junks and trashes and treasures. And memeries.
I do not fear to expose myself. Artist and writers do that. Forget, should we forget the beautifulness of the blossom, even thought it is now cover with dusts and dirts? Let me follow you, brightness, until the last moment of my life...
It has been at lease a year since I last logged in and wrote. How did I manage to lock all my thoughts inside me for this long? Ah, I forget I have another way to find the exit now. I can draw and paint, with all my emotions and darkness that haunt me at nights. They flew with my pencils, brushes and paints, and refilled my heart very soon. Is it because now I have half of my brain unfilled with the busy projects that I used to have? Drawing isn't enough to be the gateway. I have to open the old path, the one I used to rely on. A house I filled with junks and trashes and treasures. And memeries.
I do not fear to expose myself. Artist and writers do that. Forget, should we forget the beautifulness of the blossom, even thought it is now cover with dusts and dirts? Let me follow you, brightness, until the last moment of my life...
Teresa (Eng226 hw)
A little girl was sitting quietly in the room, like a puppet,
her face is pale as paper; lip is red as plum.
Looking through the sprawling iris,
She finally set her eyes on the blue frame windows
gazing at the world on the other side.
She was there before, she knew.
The suspicious man
with the olive stains on his cap
the red girl who is always playing with keys in her hands
tree has the shape of a big mushroom
old truck that is running inexhaustibly like a horse,
toward the eternal glory.
Sign, she was losing sight of the sun
the town was swallowed by the dark bit by bit,
only the leftover of the golden one
danced quietly on her eyelashes, like fairies.
Silently, a transparent drop twinkled on her face
formed a delicate pearl
her face is pale as paper; lip is red as plum.
Looking through the sprawling iris,
She finally set her eyes on the blue frame windows
gazing at the world on the other side.
She was there before, she knew.
The suspicious man
with the olive stains on his cap
the red girl who is always playing with keys in her hands
tree has the shape of a big mushroom
old truck that is running inexhaustibly like a horse,
toward the eternal glory.
Sign, she was losing sight of the sun
the town was swallowed by the dark bit by bit,
only the leftover of the golden one
danced quietly on her eyelashes, like fairies.
Silently, a transparent drop twinkled on her face
formed a delicate pearl
wanderer
-- it is one of those times, you start to wonder if what you've done so far is worthy. And you start to look into future, beyond the moment -- you start to think if those that you are doing will be appreciated by yourself at the very last moment of your life. you are getting doubtful about everything. your mind is clouded and worn by the miserable interactions and conflicts between thoughts. It is hard to decide what you should really do without external assistants now. --
Changing major into minor is hard: It is like you pretend to be friends for so long. And one day, one of you decide to follow your heart, not to make any compromise that affected by outside forces. You try to break up but finally realize that -is difficult. Because once you choose to do that, the years that you spent together will be a waste and meaningless. At least that is what it seems like.
Changing major into minor is hard: It is like you pretend to be friends for so long. And one day, one of you decide to follow your heart, not to make any compromise that affected by outside forces. You try to break up but finally realize that -is difficult. Because once you choose to do that, the years that you spent together will be a waste and meaningless. At least that is what it seems like.
reality
growing up is like building a house. The apprearance can still be changed easily after it built. But if you are not satisfied with the inside structure, you have to give up the whole completed piece and startover. "Change yourself" is "easier said than done." I admire those who brave enough to give up what they have so far, in order to be a better one. Yet, "Life is short." Try new thing before is too late. One can be either success or fail, but "we never know what is waiting." :D
about Me
人格のテスト
