Together

穿過妳的黑髮的我的手

穿過妳的心情的我的眼
如此這般的深情若飄逝轉眼成雲煙
搞不懂為什麼滄海會變成桑田

牽著我無助的雙手的妳的手
照亮我灰暗的雙眼的妳的眼
如果我們生存的冰冷的世界依然難改變
至少我還擁有妳化解冰雪的容顏

我再不須要他們說的諾言
我再不相信他們編的謊言
我再不介意人們要的流言
我知道我們不懂甜言蜜語

留不住妳的身影的我的手
留不住妳的背影的我的眼
如此這般的深情若飄逝轉眼成雲煙
搞不懂為什麼滄海會變成桑田

穿過妳的黑髮的我的手

― 羅大佑《穿過你的黑髮的我的手》

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Dear Kate,

You don't know how much solace this song has given me lately, even as I started to hum the first line, which is the title that will certainly be lost in translation (and lost I will get as you shall see), the speaker piling one attributive adjective after another to make repeated attempts to possess what he will surely be dispossessed of repeatedly and finally.

The mass disintegration that has been happening in our society is getting ever more massive.  If you ask me, I really can't say why anyone would want to build a family--or build anything at all.  The only thing we are sure of is that everything is dubious, if not questionable tonight it will surely be by sunrise.  We can affirm each other of nothing but our shared repudiation of anything that looks half trustworthy and our common hatred of anyone who suggests we should pledge our allegiance to a collective destiny.  We are in nothing but this together: breaking things.

I was reading this news about my provincial government being "slammed" for giving us some mental health self-care tips in form of a bingo card.  Knowing that anything I am going to say here is going to be slammed unless I am to add to the slamming of what the news piece called our government's "tone-deaf, condescending, callous, dumb, shockingly bad" misadventure, I am just going to say, Kate, why don't you read the piece and paint yourself a picture of what you are seeing here?  Make sure you take a good look at the "alternative bingo card" one slammer suggested, and see to the full extent of his suggestion.  My thinking is, even if our government is really as stupid as the news piece suggests it to be, I do trust whoever came up with the idea didn't mean to harm.  The person(s) might have done a bad job at helping, but helping was their good intention.  Now, to be slammed over their heads, I wonder, what good would that do to their mental health?  Unless the slammers weren't aiming for goodness.  It is one thing to express our disagreement, frustration; it is quite another to starting breaking things, hurting people, endorsing contempt.  If a person feels she is hurt, then isn't it all the more important for her to stop perpetuating the hurting?

But you see, first and last, it is about trust.  If I believe no one has my back, then why should I preserve any semblance of goodness and grace, defend it against cynicism and corruption?  If nothing is trustworthy, then what is stopping me from breaking everything?

Mine is the hand that is going through your black hair, the song's title, its first line.  Mine is a night that is not long and soft enough to translate more than this one line.  If I am to tell you how this song has pulled me together as I found myself disintegrating with this world I will only be giving shape to a fur-ball that is the misadventure of mine that is an old heart.  Maybe another night.  I know you know enough Chinese to understand at least half of what he's singing about.  Ask your heart to show you the other half.  Your heart knows a lot.

Yours, Alex

PS. Just for fun, compare the above version of the song's writer Lo Ta-yu (the best songwriter but a barely adequate singer) to that by the best singer Jacky Cheung, and see--hear, what is missing from Cheung's rendition.  I am telling you again: the heart knows a lot.