Chapter 17 silent curse

superior That's just an optical phenomenon produced by the optic nerve on its deathbed: What they saw was not what they imagined. The secret is: if you know the secret, You become an accomplice to darkness.You can never go out again.You have only silence. I haven't received your email since then.You end up having to break your promise. You say: Always answer emails.It seems to say: always have something to say. I said what does it mean.Because you are never willing to bear the silence. In the end, the burden of silence was still given to you.It is you who are silent, not me.I think I should be very happy.I was too happy to sleep that night.

The little boy who came to study in the summer asked me: How high is the responsibility of keeping secrets?Can you talk about the case of the parties?If I have a legal question, I have to ask my brothers and sisters, can I tell the facts of the case?Can I talk about my work with my friends?I said, it depends on how high your requirements for integrity are.This is an industry with strict ethical requirements.I personally don't say anything, so I rarely see friends.I only have work every day, facing the parties and their cases. I have no other content in my life, but I can’t say anything, and as a result, I have nothing to say. After work, I don’t want to see anyone, what to say I don't even want to say.

Look at Chapter 8 of the 'Code of Practice for Solicitors': Confidentiality. Since I didn't say anything, I came to a, dark room. I heard a lot in many, many cold rooms, and took notes on paper.The pen scratched the paper.This is how familiar I am.I hear my own questions, and strange minds come very close. I think of you when I get close to a strange heart in a small space. So every time I feel that the client is really like you. How could it be, they are so different, the same thing is abandoned by others. I would feel that prison is like an orphanage. I must be so old and pretending to be naive.

I stop.Actually had to stop. Destiny means that circumstances choose you over others. It must have been moving in a certain direction until it stopped.No matter how chaotic it is, it is always moving in some direction of bruises, spins, or butterflies.This way I understand hope.Hope is often associated with youth. ' And thus into silence. 'she says.I imagined the entrance of this silent space. Different people's lives come to a point where they have to stop, and the movement continues to move, with its blindness, reasonlessness, repetition and persistence, ignoring those who leave: the direction is so noisy, they can no longer hear the silence the sound of.

He no longer listens to my calls.Since he was in jail, he stopped listening to my calls. I don't mind being abandoned.In the first place, it's not that complicated whether you abandon people or people abandon you. Then I thought, maybe it must be so.He and he and they exercise, hope, there are so many injustices, there are poor countries with children who never have enough to eat, there are World Banks, nuclear power plants, and dams.I was so annoying to say: How I envy you can still believe it. If you can't believe it, you will inevitably come to the entrance of this silent space.

But different people came to this entrance, but never met. For various reasons, each bears the silence. I imagined her awkward posture; no matter how much she tried to look up and smile, all her wrinkles and sagging weight gave her away; she couldn't take another step.So she put the pen on. 'I dream about someone I used to have a crush on.He is very old.He wanted to pee, so I turned him over, took his penis out, and peed on him. ’ I said: ‘Oh, the old is old, the dead is dead. ' She blinked her little eyes. (I don't know when, the eyes are so small.) Didn't even say goodbye.She never said leave.She has already gone to that no-man's land.She doesn't need me, and I can't get close to her anymore. (And I don't want to be near her either.)

Simply put, it is because of time and direction.and all stop. Close the door, in that dark room. I used to think it would end up in a monastery. (As I used to think about fate...) (You don't have to be what you think. You can overcome what is given to you.) (You are what you want to be.... If I'm selfish If I get hurt, it's because I choose vanity or weak) (if you can hurt me just because I want you to hurt me) (if I'm silent or dance) (I'm so persistent... persistent... like a mad dog chasing the shadow of the evening I know you're scared I) Also really in a monastery, a dark room.The room was cold, with only a table and a few chairs, and the walls were always white.If the entire prison, or office, or hospital or police station is old in color, but this room is always bright and white, and the paint is always new, there may be a prisoner or a sick person or a confessor who oils and cleans it every day. White paint, sing, believe in love and redemption (that could be me).

Could you please turn the air conditioner up a bit.If anyone speaks. I'm cold. I'm on one side of the monastery room not the other.The speaker is on the other side. Talking live.Silence bears death. That's really the biggest and biggest secret.Someone named Shakespeare said it. Those who go never come back.Those who came back said that there was nothing there, only very light.But people who did medical research later said that it was just an optical phenomenon produced by the optic nerve before death: what they saw was not what they imagined. The secret is: if you know the secret, you become an accomplice in the dark.You can never go out again.

You have only silence. —But I saw that they were all talking about the client's case.They all say that lawyers are the most gossipy people.The little boy said a little confused.And whenever a person is criticizing another person, or a client is criticizing his or her other lawyer, I always stop them and say: I am not fit to hear these things, nor am I fit to make any comments, please understand . I come to one side of the dark room, not the other: the other speaks the confession, this one listens. It's so hard to bear. (Small, are you still there? Can you still talk? Are you still so thin and delicate?) (Oh, 'Old old, dead dead' (When she really understands 'A Dream in the Garden', she The mood and age of leaving Yuyuan Jingmeng are already far away.)

Start in a crouched position.I remember that I was in Westwell at that time, a certain holiday should be in October, Thursday is off, Friday is a holiday that should have been the next week, and the weekend is a weekday weekend, a total of four days off.The students all went out of the city to play, and those who lived in Europe even went home. They say you don't write, readers don't understand what you are writing.You should think more about your readers. I feel very hopeless.I heard this sentence twenty years ago, and I have been hearing it for twenty years.I don't have any people or things to hate, everything is gone, leaving no trace.What I hate the most is that they say they don't understand and want me to accommodate.If you read, you will read, if you don't read, you will fall down.I want to give in a long time ago, why bother to sell half-dead books one by one.

Anger is short lived.I am so familiar with the crouching posture. The tears kept flowing.Tired, sleep on the bed for a while.When I woke up, I felt that it was so difficult.I only want to be very small, even if it is slightly laissez-faire, but I will not disturb anyone's life, no one wants to persecute me, and no one wants to isolate me, I am not that important, but it is so inexplicable Survive the way I want to live. or leave.Either change myself. Three days later, I left that room.I decided to get a job.Be a lawyer.Everyone says it's a good job. Like me every day, there are at least two million people who get up at 7 o'clock to squeeze the bus and the subway to work. I have no right to feel that there is anything wrong. Arrive at the office at nine o'clock every day.If you are late, you can trot back home. I trot every day. I have practiced the ability to trot in high heels. Also learn to listen.Say very little, just listen.Be careful with every word, because the responsibility is heavy. Speaking starts like writing.Not so easy. I started to sound strange.Why is it so easy to have so many words.Why talk can turn into a show (so crude and casual) like Americans do what they call 'talk shows' (that hamburger country that many people love). When everyone is vying to talk. (It's good to be silent and still) When I leave work every day, it may not be me, but most of the time I am the last one to leave.Turn off the computer, turn off the photocopier and the air conditioner, and turn to look at the dark office. The phone no longer rings, and no one will answer it.The elevator corridor is also black and gray.With a ding sound, I was the only one who stepped into the elevator, and the gray and black sank down silently. I saw my own gray and black face with no expression on the mercury wall, and every morning, every train crowded to work. The faces of people in China are the same; nothing worthy of expression happens, and the most expressive is the face of the advertisement, because it is an imaginary world. Walking out of the dark and gray streets of Wan Chai, there is a garbage station opposite, emitting a stench that I suspect; but I am used to it, I can no longer smell the stench, but my mind is still half-conscious and tells me: it must be very smelly. There are so many noises in the street. Somewhere on the other side of the street, on the tenth floor, there is a group of dogs barking wildly, every day. But I feel very quiet.I can't hear anything at all. It has ears inside.Only the sound of silence was heard. If I dance, I don't need music anymore. 'Because I was very happy, I forgot that I was sick. ' She started writing after my sister lost her voice by having her vocal chords cut. 'I just felt tired and thought I would be fine if I fell asleep. ' When she had just finished the operation, she had a handwriting tablet for children in the hospital, which was given to her by the hospital.Not only her, because the ward is an ENT department, and the patients all cut off their throats, or noses, or a small section of the esophagus, so all patients have such a writing tablet. It's a really nice room, very quiet. After the wound healed, she took a small notebook with her to write. 'I have a hole in my throat. ' she wrote.I stole and made a little poem. because of too much sound she has a hole in her throat plug in while smoking they all say it's sexy 'Do you still smoke? 'I asked. She smiled and shook her head.How to draw?If she could tell. She has nothing to say.So just smile.I've never seen her smile so much. It's like going back to her younger days.She is a woman who loves to laugh. (to be continued) (Down) Silence is not so tearful and pathetic as my vulgar novels imagine. My sister always smiles slightly.After she lost her voice, she often smiled. She gets what she wants.Poor her all her life.It is not silence, wisdom, or worldly beauty and wealth that she seeks. She can still make calls without the sound.Another sister of mine called her long distance.I said: How do you pick it up.She has a megaphone that can be amplified by pressing her cheek.But she can't speak, and she doesn't want to go to the vocal meeting to learn.Patients who have lost their vocal cords have a voluntary organization called the Voicing Society, which teaches the patient vocalizations twice a week.My sister went there twice but didn't go. 'Voice is hard. ' she wrote.So there's no use for the amplifier, just some low-bass wah-wah like weird noises like frogs.But she also held the microphone to make long-distance calls with my other sister.Asked at the other end, she would slap the phone, once if yes, twice if not, or three times if she didn't know, the phone slapped like a password. Once she had a high fever and pneumonia, and refused to be admitted to the hospital or see a doctor. I was crazy busy at work, and when I called her to ask her to go to the hospital, she patted her and said no.I talked for half an hour. It turned out that I could talk for half an hour on the phone with a person who had nothing to say. I really didn’t want to talk. It was useless. You didn’t understand that I was still at work. She was very angry and hung up the phone. . Later she was admitted to the hospital.When I went to see her she wrote, 'I really don't want to go to the hospital again. ' He also opened his throat to play mahjong.I gave her a little money to make a mahjong book.Go for it, I said.Do whatever you like, eat whatever you like. After talking to her, I thought back, why don't I need to do this. How can I play mahjong without sound?how?How? She patted her face up and said: touch.Needless to say, if you turn over the cards, you will get muddy. Another sister came back from the UK to visit her, and they went shopping hand in hand every day.After my sister left, my sister became ill and was hospitalized again.After I was discharged from the hospital, I went to her house to see her, and she showed me some letters from my sister to my sister.My sister wrote: I kept thinking about you on the plane, you don’t know what you are doing, you don’t know if you have more phlegm after sleeping, can you sleep for two or three hours at night.I got off the plane and took the bus to go home. I think it's two o'clock in the middle of the night in Hong Kong, and you may have just fallen asleep.I was very tired when I got home. I packed my luggage, did my laundry, drank a glass of whiskey, and fell asleep.The next day I was busy with school, and when I got out of class, I received a call from Hui Ning, knowing that you were admitted to the hospital again.Good sister is really my fault, shopping with you every day makes you sick like we used to.It turns out that you may have been admitted to the hospital while I was taking a shower when I got home, but I can no longer take care of you.The second letter was a few days later, reporting on the school and the students. She wrote: Good sister, dear good sister, you must take good care of your health. I will save money and come back to Hong Kong to celebrate your 60th birthday Big birthday. We have lost our beauty and youth, but our dear feelings are still the same.Believe me, I told my sister's daughter, Huining, and she later said, I had a dream.I dreamed that Mommy was celebrating her sixtieth birthday wearing an orange cheongsam. Another letter reported the little things in the family, what her daughter said and did, what the parents of the students said and did, and so on. I folded the letter and suddenly thought, I am not like that.My two sisters only went to elementary and middle school, and they never talked about art. One likes to play mahjong, the other can make clothes, and likes to watch TV series. They write, as if they are writing the novels I have written again.use their lives. If things in life seem familiar, like a novel I wrote, it's not because I'm smart or possessed by witches, but because I had a face-to-face with fate long ago. I know.I know this is bound to happen and write it down. I wrote a story called 'Uzilis of a Dancing Girl' in 1987.It was a story about the death of a mother who was based on my sister.At that time, I only took a few dance lessons, and I stopped when I felt that I was not interested. More than ten years later, my sister's death was just as I had revealed.I somehow started dancing very seriously. I have never wished to imitate fiction, nor am I good at prophecy.In life, I always feel that every step I take is in a daze, I work hard but still can't help it. If I should ever be free, freedom shall be my curse. The apocalypse of fate made me fear my future life. (It is the situation that chooses you and not others) (No matter if you are talented or not, silent or not, you can’t help yourself.) (It is you who decide to be silent, not me. I will give you the final burden.) but not.Silence is not so tearful and pathetic as my vulgar novels imagine. My sister always smiles slightly.After she lost her voice, she often smiled. She gets what she wants.Poor her all her life.It is not silence, wisdom, or worldly beauty and wealth that she seeks. After getting old, she wore the same pair of black trousers every day.My sister scolded her, you sort out your life experience, look at you, you don't dye your hair when it turns gray.She dyed her white hair black, but still wore the same pair of black trousers every day.At that time, she had just been ill and received electrotherapy, her neck was burnt, but she could still talk, so she explained, "It's not the same pair of pants, but several pairs of the same pair of pants, and I change them every day." She doesn't care what she looks like in what she wears. Sad is a man.When death was imminent, when the man broke her heart, she drank a bottle of brandy and cried all night. Regardless of age.A strong woman no longer loves beauty. She is old and wilted and has cancer cells on her body. The days left are limited. The doctor said: Maybe just watch; she is still a strong woman. that georgeSpencer Road.I die to see what happens to him.She cried and counted the men. I get better when I get better, and get sick again when I get better. It's like rehearsing, repeating, rehearsing what must come. A death that frightens people is always a little romantic.It is the death experienced and imagined by young people. Ordinary, everyone's death, there is nothing romantic; back and forth, hospitalization and discharge, 'the family is mentally prepared, the situation is very dangerous' 'can be discharged but come back for follow-up in two weeks'.I don't feel sick even if I've been sick for a long time. 'I just felt tired and thought I would be fine if I fell asleep. ' she wrote. 'It has been six months since the operation was performed on December 7 last year. ' She counted the days. The house is the property under her name. The man lives in one room, and she lives in the same room. The two have lived separately for many years.She was still very concerned, he went out, he didn't come back until four o'clock in the evening, had he eaten yet?The man pays her rent every month, writer's and petty expenses, and she gets angry when he doesn't pay the rent. The two of them have lived together for twenty years, and they quarrel for three or five days. One day I received a call from a man, saying, Your sister has failed electrotherapy and needs an operation. His voice was so deep I could barely recognize it.I said, oh.when. The gash ran from one side of her throat to the other, like a chicken. She is in pain.The man stood by the hospital bed, pressed my sister, teased her to talk, and asked her from time to time if she was hot or not, and if she wanted this or that.My other sister said, hey that George.Spencer, I don't know if he was trying to get his sister's inheritance, so he changed his sex and treated her so well.I said, let it be, it doesn't matter what is true, it doesn't matter what is fake, if the fake is as true as the real, then it is true.It is said that money can't buy love, if money can buy love, what's wrong? If money can't buy love, maybe the fear of death can.Maybe time can, will can. Time, will, fear, the sum of everything can no longer be the so-called love that is illusory.She was only close to him. The end is near, so there is compassion and kindness in my heart. Discharged, re-admitted, discharged and re-admitted.When we lived at home, my sister simply lived in the living room. She got the space she wanted.The man huddled in the room, watching TV and surfing the Internet.My sister slept on a sofa bed with her big TV at the end of the bed, her phlegm extractor and throat steamer next to her bed; her living room became a sick room.The man would come out and tell her a few jokes while watching TV, pretending to be Jiang Zemin or Dong Jianhua, clapping his hands and talking to make her laugh. Once I went up to see my sister, and my sister wrote to me happily: He gave me a birthday present. She smiled happily.Not a pink diamond ring or a dozen roses or something, my sister lay on the bed and pointed to the toilet.I went to the toilet to look for it, and the toilet was in a mess, all of their sanitary products.When I came out my sister revealed: he gave her a new pink toilet bowl.The toilet bowl has been cracked for a long time and has not been replaced. That is a beautiful toilet bowl, your sister likes it very much.said the man.The two of them looked at each other and smiled. Hey, lovers finally get married. I asked my sister: What's the matter, did George pay you the rent?She nodded and said yes.He mouthed again, roughly saying: 'Very punctual. 'She spoke with mouth shape but no sound, what she said I guess. Did not call her again.In order not to pat and pat the password and everyone gets angry. But I always feel that one day I will receive a call with no sound.She might pat twice and say no. by that time.I now know that any last words are lies. Where will there be last words.All that has to be said has been said.My sister was lucky, she ended what she was going to say early. have nothing to say.After she lost her voice, she probably realized that she had nothing to say.Even such an important quarrel as playing mahjong can be kept silent, and it will be confused when the cards are flopped. If fate is irresistible, greater than our will, greater than our being, if fate cannot be overcome, at least, we can only bear it silently (I listen. On this side of the confession room.) (After I listened, There's no other way, can't explain, can't say.) (I just say, um, I know. Oh. I get it) I used to imagine that the direction in which butterflies fly must be beautiful and diverse.Where there is sunshine, there must be land. I imagine Meixing: You have to care for the weak and suffering, you have to believe in love, you have to walk across the fields where mines and sunflowers are buried and blooming at the same time. I used to be irresistible to something great and passionate: the fabled revolution. After he stopped listening to my calls, I continued to see him protesting in the streets, storming police lines, being tried and jailed.He is the same as before. I guess I'm the same as I was before.He forsook me may be he found that he did not find before.Or maybe he thinks I'm not that woman who can't resist great things. (Small things, how small and quiet.) But I'm still the same.Whether I like it or not. So back to the physical body.I no longer believe in words and history. One person can only take on one person.I could not understand and was unwilling to understand things that had to be explained in words: the history of the Palestinians, the founding of East Timor, the end of capitalism? Come to the silent dark room, if I can understand this space. Honest and courageous to know: I am alone in this room.nothing else. so quiet.No matter how smart and wise I am, I have learned to be gentle and compassionate, I know the pain of the Palestinians, share the carnival of the newborn country, and oppose the economic and cultural environment of the capitalist dictatorship to the small poor country with the masses and students, but I never and never will It will be the one who suffers, who revels, who is exploited.The more I believe that I'm only approaching them because of my ability to pretend and engage. If I feel miserable and exploited, it is only because I squeeze the subway every day until my ribs hurt, and I only get a very meager salary every month, and I am oppressed by serial life-threatening calls from my client every day. It's just that real.Coughing every day is due to air pollution and not a disappointment to humans. Open an honest book and have to close it with a headache.I'm so tired, I can't read any more. Sleepy when awake.When dealing with thousands of things at work, the soul is asleep and not awake. It is only possible to live in the bewildered state of the soul's slumber. that's it.Life is so big that it can crowd out any words.Anything that is great and false. close the door.I bowed down in humility. (Oh, I know. Oh. I get it.) Situation picked me and won me with less effort.I can't resist living in situations.Because I can't speak, I am very focused.Space is felt because of darkness. Because of the death of butterflies there are big birds flying. Death is less romantic because it is so close. I listen. I heard my sister's silent smile.your stay away.A slight dada typing (I write) is heard.Strange souls approach quietly, green and black like ghosts, one by one in the midst of ignorance, approaching the tiny things of life, the inevitability and absoluteness of loneliness.A woman was visiting a garden.The civilization of Bangzi a few centuries away is always in my memory. 'The old is old, the dead is dead. ' (Through: If you are still able to live honestly and bravely.) (If you are still.) 'I just felt tired and thought I would be fine if I fell asleep. '