我真的忘了这回事了！我只记得大学的时候我让自己每天写几句话，放在一封email里面发给自己。这件事我做了一年，从最开始的记录各种新奇的想法退步到最后每天只是一句简单的“今天过得还可以”。这时我决定继续做这件事已经没有意义了，就停止了。
我还记得自己很久以前用过MSN Live Spaces，那个是我在初中和高中用了好几年的博客。后来微软把这个服务下线了。对于Blogger，我只记得自己开通过，并不记得自己写过文章。
现在看原来写的东西真是恍如隔世。2012年的时候我才大二呢。这四年之间我已经改变了太多，都不知道从何说起。我想象一个读者如果一直读我的博客，看到这篇穿越到2016年的文章，大概也会不知如何想象这篇文章的context，唉，原谅我这次吧。
我自己原来经常翻看其它的博客。有很多和我一样，记了一两年后就没有下文了，仅存的十几篇也是好几年前的。那些时候我就会好奇，这些人记下了这些故事后，他们又做了什么呢？今天他们又在什么地方过着什么样的生活？我觉得所有的故事都该有一个结局。其实人生里，只有一个个的篇章，永远不会停止的是生活本身。
如果你读到了这里（我不确定我的博客还有任何读者），那我就短暂消除一下关于我后来做了什么的悬念吧！这是我的故事结束之后的故事，这是童话故事里“王子和公主幸福地在一起”后的那段事情。
2012年，我决定了学习CS专业。当我跑到计算机系找到我的advisor登记这个决定的时候，外面开始飘起了雪花。我一直觉得那场雪蕴藏了某些含义。
2013年，我看到身边很多朋友在自己做项目，有些还成立了公司，让我很受启发。我想我也要像他们一样做点东西出来。于是我一边上课，一边和朋友们做了好几个课外项目，主要都是网站。2013年的暑假，我去芝加哥一个很厉害的交易公司做了10个星期实习。2013年末，我面试了许多公司，最后签了Facebook的全职工程师的工作，毕业后开始。
2014年，我继续上课，继续做课外小项目。我写了几个苹果手机的游戏放在了App Store上面，当时每天都有5000用户，平均评分4.5星，我很开心。我上了两门艺术课，学了铅笔和油画。每晚在艺术学院的画室呆3个小时。经常周末也去。2014年顺利毕业，开始在Facebook做事，搬到了纽约。到了大四，我已经不再对纽约有很强的向往，但纽约是我来美国前一直梦想的地方。有时生活就是这样巧妙，我不经意把曾经的梦想实现了。
2015年，在工作上学到了很多。我发现公司做什么事都有一套方法，而且这些方法都很科学。我2015年去了加州5次，出去露营了很多次。我7月去了落基山国家公园，在朗斯峰底下，我意识到自己非常喜欢这种在山里的感觉。我决定把更多的时间放在户外。
2016年，我意识到自己不喜欢纽约的城市生活。我更喜欢自然，于是我决定把生活的重心朝这方面偏移。我算了一下，我累计下来的假期可以让我每个月出远门玩一次，年末还会有很多结余。于是我把美国的国家公园里自己觉得好看的都选了一遍，排了个日期。我还决定这一年内搬出纽约，很可能搬到加州去。那里离自然更近。在工作上，我开始做一半工程师，一半产品经理的活。因为我们组只有我和一位设计师，没有产品经理。
离开学校后，生活就完全变成了自己的。你可以把它塑造成任何样子。你可以走得快点，可以走得慢点。你可以向左走，可以向右走。有些人做了一年后就离开了去创办自己的公司。有些人做了两年就变成了director。有些人决定不喜欢这个行业，辞职去做音乐了。即使在同一条路上，有些人短短几年成就了别人10倍，100倍的东西。你也可以什么都不做，一直把这个工作做到60岁，退休。
从第一次到达美国，到密歇根，到Facebook，到纽约，到朗斯峰下看到的万里壮观的雪山——生活一直在向着我没有想象到的维度发展。如果这篇文章成了这个博客真正的最后一篇，而你读到这里时，时间已经是好几年后，好奇我此时正在哪里，正在做什么，那现在在写这篇文章的我跟你也同样好奇呢。此时的我只有一个简单的想法：在三年内去欧洲生活一年。这对我来说不算什么难事，只是选择时机的问题。这个经历一定会带给我很多新的想法，也许会再一次彻底改变我的人生轨迹。我觉得会很不错的。
而现在，我打算睡觉了。。
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Friday, July 20, 2012
睡不着
多么正常的一个周四晚上。
起来倒杯水，喝了又躺下。
我哪地方出错了啊。快三点了。
明天早上还要听paper啊。
一定是我睡的姿势不对。
一定是我侧的方向不对。
一定是我趴的位置不对。
窗外雨淅沥沥地下。
你妹。
起来倒杯水，喝了又躺下。
我哪地方出错了啊。快三点了。
明天早上还要听paper啊。
一定是我睡的姿势不对。
一定是我侧的方向不对。
一定是我趴的位置不对。
窗外雨淅沥沥地下。
你妹。
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Neither Out Far Nor In Deep
The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.
As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull
The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be--
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
Btu when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.
As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull
The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be--
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
Btu when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?
~ Robert Frost
I failed to grab a clear idea of its theme. From my eyes, Frost is describing an attitude, by building scenes.
Look at these words: "A ship keeps raising its hull". A ship is ashore, waiting for next journey. Before the day to set out, it is just there, its hull going up and down with waves of the sea, through day and night. There is a wonderful quiet quality. "Wetter ground like glass, reflects a standing gull." This time a still image, but also wonderfully peaceful. It is a great technique to interchange "moving" and "still" images to avoid being "overly dynamic", which is disturbing, or "overly motionless", which is boring.
Then come my favorite lines:
The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be--
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
Let the land vary, let the truth wander wherever it will -- the water still comes ashore; the people still look out from the shore. Old scripts of Buddhism take Zen as inner peace of heart, not disturbed by the ever changing world. When there is peace, there is content. Why seek the truth? Truth is no more than a contented heart.
The Diamond Sūtra came to China 1600 years ago. It ends with four lines. If I were to translate them, they would be: "All has its way. All is an instant. All is like shadows, dews, or a lightening -- watch them as them are."
Sunday, March 18, 2012
03.18.2012
我为什么会有两个博客呢。这一个博客的最后一篇已经是去年一月的了，头像还是两年以前的。如此不堪，让我有些震惊。然后翻到Wordpress的博客，看到过去一年还是有几篇小文，稍稍松了一口气。并不常写文字，也许是我时常感到寂寥而无所适从的原因。
不管是读文章，还是写文章，还是照相，这些与感受密切相关的活动，我认为都是相当私人的。我喜欢和不喜欢，是唯一的标准。许许多多的文字，永远不会有第二个人看到，在将它们记下来的时候，它们的意义就已经被完成了。如同流淌的日子本身，春雨滴过了，雏菊开过了，就很好了。
在给一个朋友的信件里，我写到自己有的时候会照着一篇文章，把它所有的文字一个一个再敲打一遍。有时打着打着，就会注意到曾经忽略掉的细节。有一篇文章，我总是把逗号给打成句号。原来的作者似乎特别不喜欢句号，总要把句子长长地连起来，让它的内容永远不会有终点。每次我打错的时候，总会在心底轻轻叹一声，带着歉意把它改回来。为什么我总要让故事提前结束呢？
这种文字的搬砖，有一个好处，就是永远不会结束。这让我感到安心。
不管是读文章，还是写文章，还是照相，这些与感受密切相关的活动，我认为都是相当私人的。我喜欢和不喜欢，是唯一的标准。许许多多的文字，永远不会有第二个人看到，在将它们记下来的时候，它们的意义就已经被完成了。如同流淌的日子本身，春雨滴过了，雏菊开过了，就很好了。
在给一个朋友的信件里，我写到自己有的时候会照着一篇文章，把它所有的文字一个一个再敲打一遍。有时打着打着，就会注意到曾经忽略掉的细节。有一篇文章，我总是把逗号给打成句号。原来的作者似乎特别不喜欢句号，总要把句子长长地连起来，让它的内容永远不会有终点。每次我打错的时候，总会在心底轻轻叹一声，带着歉意把它改回来。为什么我总要让故事提前结束呢？
这种文字的搬砖，有一个好处，就是永远不会结束。这让我感到安心。
Saturday, January 29, 2011
The Highwayman
Alfred Noyes (1880-1958)
PART ONE
I
THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
II
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
III
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
IV
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
V
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
VI
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.
PART TWO
I
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.
II
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
III
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
IV
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
V
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
VI
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
VII
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
VIII
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
IX
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
* * * * * *
X
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
XI
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
PART ONE
I
THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
II
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
III
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
IV
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
V
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
VI
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.
PART TWO
I
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.
II
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
III
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
IV
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
V
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
VI
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
VII
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
VIII
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
IX
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
* * * * * *
X
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
XI
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Lounge
Ah,
How I wish You could Hear what I Hear,
and See what I See ...
if there is one person who understands
the falling rain,
the changing tone,
and the trembling leaves,
in the night breeze.
(PS. My teacher read this poem, and kindly suggested an ellipse would end it better than a period. Readers may choose whatever form they want for this poem, or create new ones. Poem is just a way to rouse feelings, and it serves differently for everyone. How it should be written, in this sense, is not confined to a single individual's understanding.)
How I wish You could Hear what I Hear,
and See what I See ...
if there is one person who understands
the falling rain,
the changing tone,
and the trembling leaves,
in the night breeze.
(PS. My teacher read this poem, and kindly suggested an ellipse would end it better than a period. Readers may choose whatever form they want for this poem, or create new ones. Poem is just a way to rouse feelings, and it serves differently for everyone. How it should be written, in this sense, is not confined to a single individual's understanding.)
Sunday, November 28, 2010
磨指甲
感恩节一下子过大半圈了.
昨日去Briarwood, 本来是要去买食品和日常用品(牙膏和伞), 结果却是扛了几袋衣服, 差点没回得了宿舍. 在Briarwood有一位女推销员, 看着我, 一位黄皮肤的人, 提着大包小包, 于是在我经过的时候问"你庆祝圣诞么?"
我回过头, 差点没停得下脚步, 不知来者何意, 于是说: "也许吧, 不过这不是个传统的项目." 作为身在异国经常被白人抓着探讨东方文化的华人, 我习惯性地以为她会接下来说"我来自XX地方, 那里庆祝XX节日". 然后咱们会有愉快的文化交流, 然后满载笑容离开.
结果她说: "那你一定有对你特别重要的女人吧? 女朋友?" 听到这个我思维掉了个大弯, 心里想"靠, 女朋友?! 俺光棍们正纠结孤单寂寞的精神和本质呢!" 然后这女推销员, 怕是看到了我奇特的神情变化, 马上接着问: "那你母亲?" 我没法说不, 于是说, 有啊.
然后她马上把我引向柜台, 等我反应过来她是要给我推销东西的时候, 已经来不及转头了. 她把我左手抬起来, 马不停蹄地讲: "你想在圣诞的时候给她们送一份最不错的礼品么? 我们现在有一款XXX, 效果很好." 我没听懂她想要说什么, 但她继续滔滔不绝"能够让她们的指甲保持两周的亮白, 不论她们做什么事情. " 我恍过一点神来. 然后她摸了一下我拇指指甲, 说"你看你的普通指甲外表有棱面, 不光滑", 她把一个盒子形状的东西按在我指甲上, 快速左右摩擦, 一边继续"这东西效果持久, 而且操作方便, 你准备好了么?"
她把盒子拿开. 我果然被震撼到了. 我指甲不仅平滑, 还有多得吓人的光泽. 我第一反应是这真不像男人的指甲, 第二反应是完了, 这下怎么摆脱这位推销员. 她继续滔滔不绝, 但我还是很快想到敷衍一句, 谢谢你, 不过我真的需要走了. 她说, 噢, 好吧, 然后背过头忙自己的去了. 行动之快之流畅, 一如她的连珠话语. 我又被震撼了, 不是吧, 蛇尾都这么有水准.
我还几乎抱歉一样加了句, "但是谢谢!"才仓皇逃走.
走了没几步, 我才回过神来, 她当初为什么问我庆不庆祝圣诞, 为何问我"重要的女人", 为何会在人流中挑选我这个其貌不扬的亚裔人. 我开始责备自己, 怎么不反应早一点呢, 应该马上向她学习哪. 那么咱们就可以在另一个层次愉快地技术交流, 然后满载笑容离开了.
很多时候, 我以为自己太敏感. 挺多时候, 我还是不够敏感.
昨日去Briarwood, 本来是要去买食品和日常用品(牙膏和伞), 结果却是扛了几袋衣服, 差点没回得了宿舍. 在Briarwood有一位女推销员, 看着我, 一位黄皮肤的人, 提着大包小包, 于是在我经过的时候问"你庆祝圣诞么?"
我回过头, 差点没停得下脚步, 不知来者何意, 于是说: "也许吧, 不过这不是个传统的项目." 作为身在异国经常被白人抓着探讨东方文化的华人, 我习惯性地以为她会接下来说"我来自XX地方, 那里庆祝XX节日". 然后咱们会有愉快的文化交流, 然后满载笑容离开.
结果她说: "那你一定有对你特别重要的女人吧? 女朋友?" 听到这个我思维掉了个大弯, 心里想"靠, 女朋友?! 俺光棍们正纠结孤单寂寞的精神和本质呢!" 然后这女推销员, 怕是看到了我奇特的神情变化, 马上接着问: "那你母亲?" 我没法说不, 于是说, 有啊.
然后她马上把我引向柜台, 等我反应过来她是要给我推销东西的时候, 已经来不及转头了. 她把我左手抬起来, 马不停蹄地讲: "你想在圣诞的时候给她们送一份最不错的礼品么? 我们现在有一款XXX, 效果很好." 我没听懂她想要说什么, 但她继续滔滔不绝"能够让她们的指甲保持两周的亮白, 不论她们做什么事情. " 我恍过一点神来. 然后她摸了一下我拇指指甲, 说"你看你的普通指甲外表有棱面, 不光滑", 她把一个盒子形状的东西按在我指甲上, 快速左右摩擦, 一边继续"这东西效果持久, 而且操作方便, 你准备好了么?"
她把盒子拿开. 我果然被震撼到了. 我指甲不仅平滑, 还有多得吓人的光泽. 我第一反应是这真不像男人的指甲, 第二反应是完了, 这下怎么摆脱这位推销员. 她继续滔滔不绝, 但我还是很快想到敷衍一句, 谢谢你, 不过我真的需要走了. 她说, 噢, 好吧, 然后背过头忙自己的去了. 行动之快之流畅, 一如她的连珠话语. 我又被震撼了, 不是吧, 蛇尾都这么有水准.
我还几乎抱歉一样加了句, "但是谢谢!"才仓皇逃走.
走了没几步, 我才回过神来, 她当初为什么问我庆不庆祝圣诞, 为何问我"重要的女人", 为何会在人流中挑选我这个其貌不扬的亚裔人. 我开始责备自己, 怎么不反应早一点呢, 应该马上向她学习哪. 那么咱们就可以在另一个层次愉快地技术交流, 然后满载笑容离开了.
很多时候, 我以为自己太敏感. 挺多时候, 我还是不够敏感.
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