Nowhere
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Nowhere « 木遥的窗子
「中国是一个过程。」
脑海中一直在想着洁平老师的这句话。
洁平老师是一个生活在中国边缘处的人。我们都是。当你需要每天理解和思考在地与他者的关系，当你一遍遍追问自己如何理解或者不理解、执着或者不执着于自己的身份，当你试图在 nowhere 与 now-here 之间找出一爿安身立足之处，你就在边缘，时间和空间和观念和社群的边缘。
站在边缘最能理解为什么中国是一个过程。边缘是变化，是导数，是昨日到明日的联结，边缘在提醒你，一切都还未完成，可能永远不会，脚下的土地和头顶的天空都是流动的。
周六去听了洁平老师和周成荫老师的对谈，题目是「全球华人」，一个很难相信在2022年还能心平气和完成的话题，但神奇的是它真的稳稳当当聊了下来。洁平老师讲自己十余年来在两岸三地辗转的滋味，成荫老师说这一切都是百年来一遍又一遍重复在讲但还是讲得不够的故事。你明白这一切都是政治，但你几乎忘了政治。听到后来，几乎觉得有点 sublime。
可能因为台上台下在彼时彼刻分享着一个心照不宣的背景：世界危如飘萍，而我们都只是有血有肉的自己。
洁平老师最后说她相信这一代人的故事要靠去中心化的方式来讲（web3？）。我其实对此不大相信。但我同意，我们不是观念统御下面目模糊的个体，而是未完成的波涛尽头自我探索的支流。Nowhere 也是 now-here。我能建筑的，就是我的历史。
一个过程。
This entry was posted on Monday, September 19th, 2022 at 9:52am and is filed under Diary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.
One Response to “Nowhere”
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north sleepping
September 19th, 2022 17:38“North”
We will call this place our home,
The dirt in which our roots may grow.
Though the storms will push and pull,
We will call this place our home.We’ll tell our stories on these walls.
Every year, measure how tall.
And just like a work of art,
We’ll tell our stories on these walls.Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind.
Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide.
Settle our bones like wood over time, over time.
Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.A little broken, a little new.
We are the impact and the glue.
Capable of more than we know,
We call this fixer upper home.With each year, our color fades.
Slowly, our paint chips away.
But we will find the strength
And the nerve it takes
To repaint and repaint and repaint every day.Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind.
Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide.
Settle our bones like wood over time, over time.
Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.
Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind.
Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide.
Settle our bones like wood over time, over time.
Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.
Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.Smaller than dust on this map
Lies the greatest thing we have:
The dirt in which our roots may grow
And the right to call it home.
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