Small talk is an art。对于有些人这似乎是与生俱来的本事，而我至今未掌握其奥义。
时常发现自己处于一种detached的状态，在各种需要small talk来维持氛围的场合。比如coffee break，比如无组织的集体讨论，比如聚餐。
一度觉得是自己常识匮乏的缘故，可分析来又不尽然。很多次发现有些高谈阔论的人们的言论并承受不起推敲。可他们那么‘sure’的神态语调，以及他们always处于center of a conversation的架势，让我总又犹豫自己如果公开提出质疑那可不就是很情商低的表现－－我是时常对照网上总结情商低的行为list来检查自己的，我总还不sure自己是不是’about average‘－－不想跟人不一样，这非常中国。况且，总又觉得自己并不很care很多事情的事实究竟如何，各种言论，听听也就罢了。还有更多次惊讶于一些人对某件事情的琐碎细节的关注程度。比如一次有个不很熟的同事做了颈椎手术，pantry里遇到，我们闲聊些工作上的事情，一个插嘴进来的姑娘盯着人家问手术前因后果施术细节，那副刨根问底的认真模样让人觉得一切拽回或转移话题的attempts都将是无用功并且是对她极不礼貌。再想想自己并不想跟那位不熟的同事深交，也无心听更多钉子是如何扎进脖子里的细节，也是找个借口遁掉作罢。说到manners，又还有一种人，他加入small talk的方式是对一切他人观点说no，然后展开自己的论据1234，非常理性的模样，显得非常professional。你会想，这种强入converation的套路也有不work的时候吧，比如话题实在毫无争议的时候？然而如果你多采样细观察－－人家竟是有套路进阶版的－－依然是对一切say no，然后用自己的语言重新组织一遍跟大家一模一样的观点。不得不佩服这种人的思维敏捷能言善辩，因为据我观察总结，他的套路works。
再提一遍我喜欢的detached这个词，很确切地代表了我among people的状态，common people of course －－我对自己喜欢的人，是容易get too attached的－－这个detached，不是indifferent，也不是introvert，它就是指一种不融合的超脱状态：从不主动提出一个话题，因为跟不熟的人我想不出任何除了对天气或伙食简单交流意见外的任何common interests；半途参与正在进行的话题有难度，觉得不该打断别人；即使被别人邀请加入话题，也时常因为之前的意识游离而只能草草应付并期待话题被其他人pick up并carry away；绝大多数时候，我只是聆听，并微笑，或者找个事情假装being occupied，比如再倒一杯咖啡，哪怕之前已经had too much，比如再去一趟厕所，然后对着镜子放空；。。。诸如此类。
一度觉得自己应该live with this，this is who I developed to be。又时常觉得自己应该grow up，特立独行是when still simple and naive时的口号。所以，small talk于我依旧是谜般talent or technique；那些擅长small talk的人们，于我也是people who are ‘about average’－－they are blended in well with each other－－是让我既羡慕又明知难以企及的。

首先，还是要得瑟一下，rainy Bergen于我在的日子里一直都sunny，只在我要走的前一天断断续续抽泣了一阵。Bergen是个地势很好的城市– fjord, warf, 还有环绕市区的seven mountains。依山傍水，房屋都沿山坡而建，有着极好的view。

为了项目而去，每天在公司挺忙的还。Bergen office不比Oslo的小似的，进了主楼我还迷路过一两次。提及重组现状什么的，同事一句we don’t talk anymore道出了人情冷暖，所以这一点在哪都是一样的，又感觉很多事情在这里也还悬而未决，这么一来我倒是释怀了– My moto is “common problem is not my problem” XD

日照时间很长了已经，然而我总也没有熬到半夜去确认有还是没有midnight sun了，睡眠出奇地好:) Floyen是离城区最近的山，极好的hiking starter，据说可以把seven mountains一天之内都走到。沿着林荫道盘旋到山顶，迎着太阳吹着海风，俯瞰沿着山坡就那么延展到海里的市区，心旷神怡。再来一个沾满可可粉的the most lovely ice cream，满足感爆棚。还很神奇地在公司餐厅偶遇故知，约着同去Ulriken (the highest among the seven)，但途中迷路折返，we’ve never made it there – 然而过程依旧美好。人生很奇怪，有时候你得到了你以为你想要的，然后发现好像还不是那么回事。。会不会一直重复这样的怪圈直到死去，这个问题还是不去多想为好。
很享受这阳光灿烂的日子里简单而充实的生活，very peaceful。

又去了一趟Trondheim，下飞机第一件事就是跑去吃Solsiden的blueberry pie，然后把久违了的那些地方挨个走了一遍，发现一切都和记忆中一样以后，甚为舒心。
在Trondheim的工作日里熬到了半夜，这里比Bergen北很多，于是就是夜不黑的状态了。就在十二点多暗了那么一下下，太阳很快又把窗外的海水晒得金光闪闪。
在这里确认了新项目，很兴奋。今年三个项目，我感觉我能handle，虽然这些日子里总觉得时间不够用，又开始加班到很晚的日子了，可是我乐意，因为能看见回报:)

这会是一个好忙好忙的夏天，我要是能因此再瘦个几斤那就再好不过了XD

维也纳，Vienna，德文名字Wien更好听似的。在那里从五月底晃悠到六月初，捏着我的navigator，最后干脆也不用了，随性游走。感慨于那相较于挪威的帝王气，那些镶金的古老宫殿教堂，那果真是金色的音乐厅，那些随处可见的街头艺术，那由人声鼎沸处蓦然转角便是静谧的画风突变。。起先还不适应从北京到奥地利的环境感知落差，很快便也开始enjoy那里的闲适－－只要有阳光之处，便有人或坐或卧那么晒着。河畔，公园，露天咖啡，或者干脆当街找一石阶喷泉台。或两三好友，或一人一书一罐饮料。No one seemed busy - why should we? 慌与不慌，事情总还是那些，按部就班去做就好了，人总还是自己，自己舒服了才能做好事情。
萨赫(Sacher Hotel)的Sacher Torte，外加一杯兑了rum的热巧克力，看窗外人来人往，想了些什么，现在也都忘了。美景宫，维也纳华尔兹，金色大厅，百水公寓，Prater的摩天轮，歌剧排演，多瑙河，河畔公园里的picnic。。。一个人，很享受。哦，还有我的正事儿，oral presentation in EAGE，that part went well too :) 越来越少了些紧张和无所适从，翘了好几场报告出去溜达，guilt free ~
注意到维也纳满大街奔驰的出镜率超高，不像挪威，各种经济实用型小van。不止一次听同事说挪威买车超贵，不少人会选择从邻国开一辆回来，然而那笔不菲的税依旧让人抱怨不已。Anyway，维也纳的一切，明显很多multi-cultural的元素了，甚至于downtown开有一条Naschmarkt，各种fusion food from all over the world。从头到尾溜达了一圈，被橱窗里street food的明艳色彩吸引，被三两围(是站着的哦)在餐馆门口高桌边吃喝谈笑食客的愉快精神感染。一个很热情的异域小伙儿叫住我给了我很多免费试吃，各种cheese各种olive各种sauce，买了一种塞满cheese的醃渍红辣椒，滋味很不错。

欧洲，多小的一块地方，虽然现在局势据说很乱，可还是一副引人向往的模样－蓝天，白云，清澈的水，以及阳光下读书跑步的人们。

从最近看的一些书中深深体会到中西文化差异。从未感到过如此失望。有些鸿沟，并不是英语好、读过许多书、看过许多剧、去过许多地方便能够填补的。

The Clash, The Police, The Beatles, The Cure, Simple Minds, David Bowie, Def Leppard, Ozzy Osbourne, Led Zeppelin,…

一整个月一晃就过去了，又仿佛过得无比漫长。没有想写东西的欲望，今天也没有。不过是风大雨大，无法出门。

这一个月一得空便会出门溜达，经常计步器能刷出两三万步开外。Wandering about，roaming the city。其实是要遛遛妈妈。妈妈日渐老去，近几年变化得尤为明显，我想她自己也觉察到了，很恐慌。想带她到处走走，目光开阔没准心情也会跟着明亮。可是看她总是低垂着的眼神耷拉着的双肩拖沓的步伐，我又完全失去耐心，好想捉住她使劲摇晃：你给我精神点啊！那么颓废做什么？！她还会在比较平和的气氛下突然提起我爸，很气愤地，把那些事情拿出来说了又说。我依旧是越来越没有耐心，可我也很无奈，我无法在此时教唆她跟我从前的一次又一次那样狠心离开，“向前看”。很多事情，我也不知道正确的做法；很多决定，做了就是做了，我是不愿再回头去思量的。可是妈妈跟我不一样。我们什么都不一样，从长相到性格，从经历到环境。我不知道如何告诉妈妈该怎么做才会开心，我一开始认为这是我的职责，可渐渐越来越觉得那是只有她自己才有权做主的事情。

这个月吃了好多家餐厅，各种网络热推同事亲荐。我依旧以为美食是人类幸福感的一大重要来源。还去体验了一把油画临摹，技艺拙劣而终归演变成创作，还是挺有意思的。去了一家温泉汗蒸会所消磨了一整天，也是惬意。我对这种程度的无所事事思想放空已经越来越习惯了，想当初无论去哪都要带几张paper作心理安慰，现在已经不需要了。各种逛街游园，购物和赏花。昨天气温有三十几度了，户外溜达的季节就要过去了。

公司里，又少了一个人，还即将再离开一到两人，虽然跟我没什么关系，可环境变动还是让人挺在意的。重组的余波还没有过去，我依旧不太淡定，但也只能静观其变。从前对于学业，现在对于工作，我从来都有一种未曾全力以赴的心虚感，可总又能从貌似过得去的状况里得到自我安慰。这个月有一半的时间在忙着为欧洲travel做准备，终于拿到了两年期的申根签证，可预见到未来的travel应该不会有以前频繁了，又觉着pointless。这次出去有点目标不明确，因为项目本身还是悬而未决。我貌似被给了很大的自由度，可我还是不自信有独挑大梁的科研能力－可是，不试试又怎么能知道呢，who knows, maybe I’m ready. 中间team building了一次，集体爬山，天气很好，还是挺有意思的。我越来越喜欢户外运动了，想要尽早买车，期望办证摇号的运气好一些。

说到这里就又是北京，北京，条框限制过多生活各种不易的北京－已不再需要向人解释我为何来北京，可要不要继续在北京，什么时候离开北京，去哪，这些都是需要提上日程的问题。阿瑞说我应该可以考虑别的出路了，我不知道什么意思，隐隐地觉着不淡定，依旧不敢多想。Expectation makes me anxious. 可是，也真该考虑了。最近还跟人说，18岁离家上大学，那之后从没在同一个地方待超过四年。我在北京就要满四年了，没准也是该离开了。

这个月要去Vienna，下个月Bergen，姑且可以有借口忙一阵子而不去思考将来了。

厦门有好多好多好吃的，作为一名尺蠖，这一点完全冲淡了整个假期满满雨水带来的忧伤😄 有土笋冻（里面的沙虫看得一清二楚，咬起来是QQ的），花生汤（香甜软糯），各种鱼干（还有鲨鱼骨，一种酥酥的零食），虾面（虾头虾籽熬制的汤头异常鲜美），沙茶面（配料内容丰富），拌面（简单却美味，比武汉热干面好吃多了），扁食（就是厦门版馄饨么。。面皮比较特别），海蛎煎（鸡蛋土豆粉炒牡蛎），金包银（一种形似鼠标的带馅儿小吃），麻糍（原料就是芝麻花生糯米粉，貌似我可以尝试复制一下..），海苔角（海苔包裹肉馅做成三角状），各种海鲜（鲍鱼，虾蛄，海蟹，烤生蚝一块钱一只！…），各种虾丸鱼丸，各种台湾小吃（闽南肠粉，大肠包小肠…），各种肉干肉松，各种馅饼（怎么全国各地都有馅饼作特产，绿豆馅红豆馅各种馅，很酥），各种热带水果（芒果，莲雾，释迦，鸡蛋果／蛋黄果，百香果，杨桃，番石榴，山竹…）

厦门岛的街道错综复杂，鼓浪屿上更甚，这一点跟横平竖直南北方正的北京截然相反。我喜欢中山路步行街的布局，主路以外如蛛网一般散开的各条小街窄巷里都有逛头，很多门面不起眼的老字号店铺分布其中，矮矮的老式居民楼和菜市场跟热闹的沿街店铺不突兀地融合在一起，是不纯粹的商圈，很有生活气息。环岛路修得很好，从厦门大学出发，沿环岛路一面是海一面是亚热带雨林类植物，可以一直走到曾厝垵。曾厝垵据说是个村儿，而商业气息很浓了，可见很多民宿小旅社隐藏在很多的店铺夹缝中，据说在曾厝垵住民宿是很文青的事情，我不是文青😁 相比鼓浪屿曾厝垵这样的游客必去，我更喜欢狭长的铁道公园，一条废弃的老铁路被很有创意地利用起来，长约四五公里，沿途穿越厦门老城区，很有意思－－厦门的沿街底商都给修了连在一起的门廊，下雨逛街不用打伞，晴天不怕晒；厦门的老楼都是开放式阳台，想来是因为潮湿，便于通风晾晒？看见了硕大的芦荟状植物，有着硕大叶子的树木，想到曾经在香港生活的日子里见过的硕鼠和硕壮小强，猜测在厦门这种南方，是不是各种虫豸也会很硕大呢？这里榕树很多，阴森森的，据说榕树的须须落地生根，我见到有人用空竹管套住一束垂下来的须须插在地上，是不是在人为帮助其生根呢？

厦门是个不错的地方，我总是向往海边的生活，在这里的几天小住让我的憧憬多了一些。偶然得知厦门的英文名叫Amoy，莫名觉得很美。

多年以后当我想起“一个人的朝圣”这本书，记忆一定会把我带回这间被阳光洒满床头的卧室，这样静且暖的下午。

放假这几天室外的蓝天阳光，以及室内卯足了劲儿给的暖气，是特别理想的北方冬天该有的样子。喜欢现在住处的卧室，大大的西向窗户，从午后直到日落，整个房间随着照进来的阳光变换着色彩。比如现在，床头的壁纸被阳光染成玫瑰金色，竖起一只枕头当靠背，一口气把书看了小半本。

是的，我还没看完，所以这并不是什么读后感。我读的是中文译本，书面上却也印了英文原标题“The unlikely pilgrimage of Harold Fry”。让我特别留意到的词是“unlikely”，翻译中没有体现。Anyway，我不是在写读后感，我想写一写刚才看书时想到的一些东西。

我习惯于忘记不好的事情。从小我爸就说我性格“不记仇”，跟他一样。可是我想应该还是不一样的。他是会真的忘记，他像我奶奶，我奶奶总是活得很自在，并长寿。而我，更贴切的说法应该是掩盖－－把不好的事情遮起来看不见。这其中的区别在于，那些事情并没有被忘记而消散不见，它们被藏在复杂的记忆储层里的某个小角落，盖得严实，并注明“假装看不见”的标示提醒自己这一块的不可触碰。我基本上是能做到不去揭开看的。所以表面上来看，这跟真的忘记也是没有差别的。Harold Fry本就是一个再普通不过的退休老头，有着再普通不过的人生。可是他这一路步行穿越英格兰，他记忆深处的那些东西一点一点被揭开，让我看着都有些意外，觉得在他身上原来发生过这个那个事情，他也渐渐变得不普通起来。然而，是什么事情区分了普通与不普通呢？并没有。只是每个人一生中都会发生好多好多事情，而当这个人被外界感知的时候，却只能被有限的几个表象特征去概括形容－－茫茫众生，又有几个“不普通”的人呢？于是几乎所有的人又都是普通的。普通人Harold回忆起跟妻子儿子父亲母亲的过去，回忆起关于那个同样普通的奎妮的点滴，让他自己都惊讶居然注意到并记住了那么多场景细节。我知道在我的记忆中也有这样的碎片，它们时不时地－－不经常－－也会在我做日常琐碎的时候突然冒出来，让我陷入一阵思量，然后很诧异为何它们会偷偷跑出来。我不知道故意选择忘记的事情是否有必要再去挖掘一遍，所以我很期待继续看下去，想知道Harold在他自己的朝圣中找到了什么，最后如何。

人类是社会性动物，群聚而生，不小心也总在通过别人的眼光对待着自己，为人处事无不受影响。这新的一年，我期望能够做到与自己和平共处，不再害怕和焦虑。我也需要一次朝圣，心灵上的。

今年又是选择独自过年。有些事情一旦开了头，仿佛就会一直这么继续下去似的。
我想我还是个注重仪式的姑娘，早在一周前便开始陆续为我这一个人的春节做着准备，挺大一冰箱被我塞得满满当当。然而我是并不能一下子吃这许多的，比如现在我就撑得好难受，本早该上床躺着去的，现在只能抻直身子这么坐着。听着外面远远近近的鞭炮烟火声，年味儿便也这么被渲染出来了。

今天一天都在准备吃的。一个人，摆满一桌并不明智，所以我采用了流水作业消耗的方式－－做着吃着，吃完再做。上个月买的烤箱让我的业余生活丰富了不少。之前坚持了好久的手绘手记就这么被烘焙轻易取代了。作为一只并不喜欢西式餐点那种计量模式的菜鸟，我感觉自己还是蛮有烘焙天赋的，😳


除了甜品们，我今天还做了几样菜，其中最让我骄傲的是那一锅鱼汤。You see, 考虑到一个人吃不了太多，但又要考虑过年的讲究，我这一锅心机鱼汤则涵盖了三重意义－－年年有余（鱼），有福（豆腐），安康（豌豆苗，扬州话中谐音‘安‘菜头）。不光作了这样的心思，味道也是超棒，买到了满肚子鱼籽的鲫鱼，炖出这一锅奶白色带着豌豆苗清香的汤，很是满足😄

今天阳光很好，天蓝蓝却并不显得泠冽，午后我略微收拾了一下本就还算整齐的小家，之后站在阳台体会了一下这特殊日子里的平静－－都在家准备年夜饭呢。楼下交错的铁轨，时不时还有火车通过，安静的阳光下显得慢腾腾的。给家里打了电话，爸妈跟大姑一家今年又去饭店吃，节日里也一个个显得喜气洋洋的，给老妈秀了我的手艺，想想这些年每次我自己做了好吃的都给她发过去用心摆拍的照片，而每次她来看我的时候我就突然变成了连碗筷都不摆的公主就等着饭来张口，真是个怪现象－－明明是个无所不能的独立女人，到了妈妈跟前就一下子变回18岁没离家之前的那个小女孩。下次老妈再来看我，我一定要给她尝尝我的手艺。

到了晚上，微信里各种互相拜年互相红包。春晚时间到了，但从微信里持续热闹的程度推断，今年春晚又不好看。索性不看，找了赏心悦目的美女正太剧来养眼，本想自斟自酌一杯红酒，又觉得过年应该喝点自己爱喝的东西，于是换成了一杯奶。很惬意，很安心。还有半个多小时就是猴年了，the Year of the Monkey. Monkey symbolizes cleverness and a vibrant character. I wish for an intellegent and vibrant new year !!

##The Moon and Sixpence (William Somerset Maugham, 1919)

1. Civilised man practises a strange ingenuity in wasting on tedious exercises the brief span of his life. It was the kind of party which makes you wonder why the hostess has troubled to bid her guests, and why the guests have troubled to come. There were ten people. They met with indifference, and would part with relief. It was, of course, a purely social function.

2. “Why do nice women marry dull men?”
   “Because intelligent men won’t marry nice women.”
   I could not think of any retort to this, so I asked if Mrs. Strickland had children.

3. “You certainly have less vanity than any man I’ve ever known.”
   “I love her so much better than myself. It seems to me that when vanity comes into love it can only be because really you love yourself best. After all, it constantly happens that a man when he’s married falls in love with somebody else; when he gets over it he returns to his whif, and she takes him back, and everyone thinks it very natual. Why should it be different with women?”
   “I dare say that’s logical, but most men are made differently, and they can’t.”

4. I was not so much puzzled by Blanche Stroeve’s action, for I saw in that merely the result of a physical appeal. I do not suppose she had ever really care for her husband, and what I had taken for love was no more than the feminine response to caresses and comform which in the minds of most women passes for it. It is a passive feeling capable of being roused for any object, as the vine can grow on any trees; and the wisdom of the world recognises it's strength when it urges a girl to marry the man who wants her with the assurance that love will follow. It is an emotion made up of the satisfaction in security, pride of prperty, the pleasure of being desired, the gratification of a household, and it is only by an amiable vanity that women ascribe to it spiritual value. It is an emotion which is defenceless against passion.

5. I could not believe that Strickland had fallen in love with Blanche Stroeve. I did not believe him capable of love. That is an emotion in which tenderness is an essential part, but Strickland had no tenderness either for himself or for others; there is in love a sense of weakness, a desire to protect, an eagerness to do good and to give pleasure – if not unselfishness, at all events a selfishness which marvellously conceals itself; it has in it a certain diffidence. These were not traits which I could imagine in Strickland. Love is absorbing; it takes the lover out of himself; the most clear-sighted, though he may know, cannot realise that his love will cease; it gives body to what he knows is illusion, and, knowing it is nothing else, he loves it better than reality. It makes a man a little more than himself, and at the same time a little less. He ceases to be himself. He is no longer an individual, but a thing, an instrument to some purpose foreign to his ego. Love is never quite devoid of sentimentallity, and Strickland was the least inclined to that infirmity of any man I have known. I could not believe that he would ever suffer that possession of himself which love is; he could never endure a foreign yoke. I believe him capable of uprooting from his heart, though it might be with agony, so that he was left battered and ensanguined, anything that came between himself and that uncomprehended craving that urged him constantly to he knew not what. If I have succeeded at all in giving the complicated impression that Strickland made on me, it will not seen outrageous to say that I felt he was at once too great and too small for love.

   But I suppose that everyone’s conception of the passion is formed on his own idiosyncrasies, and it is different with every different person. A man like Strickland would love in a manner peculiar to himself. It was vain to seek the analysis of his emotion.

6. There is no cruelty greater than a woman's to a man who loves her and whom she does not love; she has no kindness then, no tolerance even, she has only an insane irritation. Blanche Stroeve stopped suddenly, and as hard as she could slapped her husband’s face. She took advantage of his confusion to escape, and ran up the stairs to the studio. No word had passed her lips.

7. We took a fancy to one another. I was very young, and perhaps she liked the idea of guiding my virgin steps on the hard road of letters; while for me it was pleasent to have someone I could go to with my small troubles, certain of an attentive ear and reasonable counsel. Mrs. Stickland had the gift of sympathy. It is a charming faculty, but one often abused by those who are conscious of its possession: for there is something ghoulish in the avidity with which they will pounce upon the misfortune of their friends so that they may exercise their dexterity. It gushes forth like an oil-well, and the sympathetic pour out their sympathy with an abandon that is sometimes embarrassing to their victims. There are bosoms on which so many tears have been shed that I cannot bedew the with mine. Mrs. Strickland used her advantage with tact. You felt that you obliged her by accepting her sympathy. When, in the enthusiasm of my youth, I remarked on this to Rose Waterford, she said: “Milk is very nice, especially with a drop of brandy in it, but the domestic cow is only too glad to be rid of it. A swollen udder is very uncomfortable.” Rose Waterford had a blistering tougue. No one could say such bitter things; on the other hand, no one could do more charming ones.

8. Mrs. MacAndrew shared the common opinion of her sex that a man is always a brute to leave a woman who is attached to him, but that a woman is much to blame if he does. Le coeur a ses raisons que la rason ne connait pas.

9. It is not true that suffering ennobles the character; happiness does that sometimes, but suffering, for the most part, makes men petty and vindictive.

10. The writer is more concerned to know than to judge.

11. When a woman loves you she’s not satisfied until she possesses your soul.

12. Here lies the unreality of fiction. For in men, as a rule, love is but an episode which takes its place among the other affairs of the day, and the emphasis laid on it in novels gives it an importance which is untrue to life. There are few men to whom it is the most important thing in the world, and they are not very interesting ones; even women, with whom the subject is of the paramount interest, have a contempt for them. They are flattered and excited by them, but have an uneasy feeling that they are poor creatures. But even during the brief intervals in which they are in love, men do other things which distract their mind; they trades by which they earn their living engages their attention; they are absorbed in sport; they can interest themselves in art. For the most part, they keep their various activities in various compartments, and they can pursue one to the temporary exclusion of the other. They have a faculty of concentration on that which occupies them at the moment, and it irks them if one encroaches on the other. As lovers, the difference between men and women is that women can love all day long, but men only at times.

13. I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers in their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever known. Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves. Perhaps some deeprooted atavism urges the wanderer back to lands which his ancestors left in the dim beginnings of history. Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest.

14. I wondered if Abraham really had made a hash of life. Is to do what you most want, to live under the conditions that please you, in peace with yourself, to make a hash of life; and is it success to be an eminent surgeon with ten thousand a year and a beautiful wife? I suppose it depends on what meaning you attach to life, the claim which you acknowledge to society, and the claim of the individual. But again I held my tongue, for who am I to argue with a knight?

15. The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small.

Big Fish，我以为就是近期看到的最诡异的电影了，然后我看到了Inglourious Basterds，然后我看了The Grand Budapest Hotel，再然后看了个Bird Man，以为再不过如此了吧，期待一下The Hateful Eight好了，结果就看到了The Lobster.

这又是一部反乌托邦题材的作品，最近刚看完了1984那本书，前不久又偶然跟H哥还有C讨论了大逃杀、饥饿游戏、分歧者这几部电影的共性，倒也没有故意在选择这类东西看。龙虾（The Lobster）这部电影讲的是一个虚构的未来，在那里，单身有罪！根据规定－－单身的人必须要被逮捕并移送到一个酒店内。在那里，他们必须要在45天之内找到一个匹配的伴侣。如果失败了，那么他们将被用手术转化为他们选择想要转化成的动物。而找不到伴侣又不愿变成动物的“孤独者”则要被追杀。一个绝望的男人在试图遵从配对规则未遂后从酒店逃去了森林，来到了孤独者叛逆势力躲藏居住的地方，在那里，他反又恋爱了，但却又违反了孤独者的规则，于是，他再一次成为了忤逆之人。。。

电影的名字叫龙虾，是因为Colin Farrell饰演的主人公说想要被转化为龙虾。还记得老友记里面菲比说：Beacause she’s your lobster! … It’s a known fact that lobsters fall in love and mate for life. You can actually see old lobster couples walking around their tank, holding claws, like… 主人公说想做一夫一妻制的龙虾本也象征了对那种强行配对或反配对制度的反抗吧。

电影拍摄手法一般，让我感到些许共鸣的是这样一个概念－－在现实生活中，单身未尝不是被认为“有罪”。其实每个人都有自己的选择，婚否单否，都是一种生活方式，本也该有先来后到，本也无所谓对错优劣。可人都是社会性动物，无法逃避的大环境让单身者总是处于一种恐惧状态，可恐惧的对象不是孤独－－孤独也是一种与自己相处的模式－－大多数情况下，恐惧的只是“别人以为你孤独”。

尽管现实残酷，我还是相信爱情。婚姻只是形式主义的标杆而已，为何那么多人都看不清呢。也许不需要看那么清，好比你有一个checklist需要逐项去完成，每tick一项之后收获的成就感就是回报。。。我也想不清楚了，睡觉去。