Life of recluse

隱逸的生活似乎在傳統(tǒng)意識中一直被認為是幸福的至高境界。但這種孤傲遁世同時也是孤獨的，純粹的隱者實屬少數(shù)，而少數(shù)者的滿足不能用來解讀普世的幸福模樣。

有道是小隱隱于野，大隱隱于市。真正的幸福并不隱逸，可以在街市而不是叢林中去尋找。

It seems that, in the traditional sense, a life of recluse has long been considered as the supreme state of happiness. However, this kind of proud withdrawal from the world is meanwhile lonely. In fact, there are few unadulterated recluses. And the satisfaction of the few cannot be used to interpret the universal condition of happiness.

As the saying goes, “the inferior recluse hides away in the wild; the superior, crowd”. Real happiness, which does not live in seclusion, can be found in the downtown rather than in the forest.

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Morning glow

晨光，透過古色古香的雕花窗欞，給庭院里精致的盆景慢慢地化上一抹金黃的淡妝。那煎雞蛋的“刺啦”聲裊裊升起，空氣中開始充斥著稚嫩的童音、汽車啟動的節(jié)奏、夫妻間甜蜜的道別，還有鄰居們簡單樸素的問好。巷陌中的這一切，忙碌卻不混亂，活潑卻不嘈雜，平淡卻不厭煩。

Rays of the morning glow, penetrating the quaintly carved window lattice, little by little, put on a stroke of light make-up in golden yellow for the delicate potted landscapes in the courtyard. With the sizzling sound of frying eggs curling upwards, the air begins to be filled with various sounds: the tender voices of children, the starting-up rhythm of cars’ engines, the sweetly-said good-byes between couples, the simple greetings among neighbors… All these things in the alleys are busy yet not chaotic, lively yet not clamorous, plain yet not boring.

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Wait till I meet you

巷尾的綠地雖然沒有山野的蒼翠欲滴，但是空氣中彌漫著荒野中所沒有的生機。微黃的路燈 下，每一張長椅都寫著不同的心情，甜蜜與快樂、悲傷與喜悅，交織在一起，在靜謐中緩緩發(fā)酵。誰也不會知道在下一個轉角中會是怎樣的驚喜，會是一家風格獨特食客不斷的小吃店？是一家放著爵士樂的酒吧？還是一家擺著高腳木凳、連空氣都閑散的小小咖啡館？坐在戶外撐著遮陽傘的木椅上，和新認識的朋友一邊喝茶，一 邊談著自己小小的生活，或許也是一種愜意。

While the green plots at the end of the alleys are not as verdant and juicy as those in the wild, the vitality that overflows in the air can never be found in the latter. In the pale yellow light of street lamps, every settee is inscribed with a different mood- sweetness, happiness, sorrow, or delight- which mingles with each other and slowly ferments in placidity. Who knows what surprise will crop up at the next street corner?

An eatery with an exotic style and ceaseless flow of customers? A bar with jazz on? Or a small café with high-legged wooden stools and a leisure atmosphere? To be seated on a wooden chair under a parasol in the open air, talking with newly-acquainted friends about one’s own trivial life over a cup of tea, is probably a pleasure, too.

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We are a family

一切，被時間打磨，被時間沉淀，終于形成了一種習慣，一種默契，一種文化。

和來家中做客的鄰居朋友用同一種腔調巧妙地笑謔著身邊的瑣事，大家瞇起的眼睛都默契地閃著同一種狡黠；和家人一起圍在飯桌前，銜滿食物的嘴還發(fā)著含糊的聲音，有些聒噪，但沒人厭煩。

小巷雖然狹窄，卻拉不住快樂蔓延的速度……

Everything, polished and deposited by time, eventually becomes a habit, a mutuality, a culture.

At home, together with visiting neighboring friends, people joke about trifling matters around in the same clever manner, everyone’s narrowed eyes glimmering with the same craftiness in tacit agreement; at the family gathering around the dining table, stuffed mouths mumble, somewhat noisily, yet no one is bothered.

Cramped as the alleys are, happiness there pervades regardless…

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Loneliness

隨著城市里那些密集而冰冷的高樓大廈拔地而起，在擁堵的車流中，在污濁的空氣里，人們的幸福正在一點點地破碎，飄零。大家住得越來越寬敞，越來越私密。自我，也被劃進一個單獨的空間里，小心地不去觸碰別人的心靈，也不容許他人輕易介入。可是，一個人安靜下來時會覺得，曾經(jīng)厭煩的那些嘈雜回想起來很溫情很懷念。

As the dense, cold high-rises sprout up in the cities, the traffic congests, the air fouls, and bit by bit, people’s happiness is tattering and dying away. People’s living space is becoming more and more commodious, yet less and less communal. One’s self, enclosed in an exclusive space, carefully avoids touching other people’s hearts while forbidding their rash access. Nevertheless, the time when one quietens down and thinks back, one would miss the cozy racket that used to be so annoying.

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Take me home

比起高樓聳立的曼哈頓，人們更加喜歡佛羅倫薩紅色穹頂下被陽光淹沒的古老巷道；比起在夜晚光輝璀璨的陸家嘴，人們會更喜歡充滿孩子們打鬧嬉笑的萬航渡路。就算已蒼然老去，支撐起夢境的應該是老房子暗灰的安詳，吳儂軟語的叫賣聲，那一方氤氳過溫馨和回憶的小弄堂。

Compared with Manhattan with all its towering buildings, people prefer Florence, under whose red domes ancient alleys are submerged in the sunlight; compared with the radiant Lujiazui at night, people would prefer Wanhangdu Road, which is brimming with playing children’s boisterous laughter. Even when we are advanced in years, what constitute our dreamscape should be the unruffled old dark-grey houses, the peddling bawls in soft Wu dialect, and the tiny alleys where tender, warm recollections linger.

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Ivy garden

如果用一雙細膩的眼眸去觀照，其實每一片青苔和爬山虎占據(jù)的墻角，都是墨綠色的詩篇，不會飄逸，不會豪放，只是那種平淡的幸福，簡簡單單。

幸福是什么模樣，或許并不難回答。幸福就是一本攤開的詩篇，關于在城市的天空下，那些尋常巷陌的詩。

夜幕籠罩，那散落一地的萬家燈火中，有多少尋常的幸福正蝸居在巷陌……

When seen from an exquisite eye, actually every corner occupied by green moss and Boston ivy is a poem written in blackish green, which, being neither elegant nor powerful, just reveals that plain happiness, plain and simple.

It might not be difficult to answer what happiness is like. Happiness is an unfolded collection of poems about those ordinary alleys under the city sky.

The curtains of night have descended. Amid the scattered twinkling lights of myriad families, how much plain happiness is dwelling in the alleys…

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