#3 一袋鞋子 A bag of shoes (w/ English)
(English below)
你鮮少有機會在路上看人拎著一袋鞋子。那天若你和我在火車月台錯身而過，就會看到我提著一塑膠袋，裝著五六雙鞋子。
年過三十，有一些恍神的時刻，是因為感到人生不過就是不同人走進各種重複的劇情腳本，像是一部部糟糕的電影，不同名字不同背景，卻是各種拼湊大同小異的戲碼。這令人對生活感到麻木，但有時你會看到某些開始偏離劇本的跡象，像是那一袋鞋子。
那一袋鞋子裡有登山鞋、便鞋、靴子和慢跑鞋們。我從他們的主人接收下這袋鞋子，因為她大概沒有機會穿了。和同事聊到，不知道是現代生活有著什麼危險因子，使得越來越常聽到不曾面對的病症出現在周遭，像是突如其來的癌，措手不及的心肌梗塞，可能就是那句不停重複的：上一秒人還好好的，下一秒人就不對了。同事看進我的眼裡說，It is aging. 成人後的人生，必然的就是面對更多苦難，而那完全無關乎公平與否，無關個人努力，死神當前，只能求主垂憐。
聽到她生了病的時候，當下很難確切地掌握那代表什麼，對這個疾病有一種既熟悉又陌生的感覺，知道霍金罹患一樣的病症，看過愛的萬物論，也記得在大學時期有一段時間火熱的冰桶挑戰，但等等，當身邊有一個人，有一個帶我進入滑雪露營健行世界，計畫和同事去跑馬拉松，每週和朋友去攀岩，確診前還在上體操課的的一個人，也罹患了這個病，那到底是什麼意思？那時有著強烈感受到腦袋可以理解，感性無法接受的拉扯。而那噩耗就像夏日假期裡不應該飄起的雪花，一開始融在手掌心裡只是微冰的刺痛，些微令人感到困惑，而漸漸刮起的風雪終究吞噬掉風光明媚的一片澄澈。
或許大部分的悲劇仍多少帶有老掉牙的色彩，像是車禍失憶的遺憾、白髮送黑髮的哀傷、不治之症對家庭帶來的巨變，但就像老掉牙的愛情故事，身為局外人即便重複千遍故事，仍永遠比不上實際經歷一次銘心刻苦的悸動：參與一場悲劇的展演，才能進入真實的悲傷。
Hundred-Day Writing Plan #3: A Bag of Shoes
You rarely have the chance to see someone carrying a bag of shoes on the street. If you and I had passed each other on the train platform that day, you would have seen me holding a plastic bag filled with five or six pairs of shoes.
After turning thirty, there are moments of absent-mindedness, feeling like life is nothing but different people walking into various repetitive scripts, like a series of bad movies. It makes life feel numb, but sometimes you see signs of deviation from the script, like that bag of shoes.
In that bag were hiking boots, sandals, boots, and running shoes. I received this bag of shoes from their owner because she probably wouldn't have the chance to wear them. Talking with colleagues, I wondered what modern life's dangers might be, leading to increasing diseases appearing around us, like sudden cancers or heart attacks catching people off guard. It's that recurring notion: one moment someone is fine, the next they're not. The colleague looked into my eyes and said, "It is aging. Kim" Adulthood inevitably means facing more suffering, and it has nothing to do with fairness or personal effort. In the face of death, all we can do is pray for mercy.
When I first heard about it, it was hard to grasp exactly what that meant. There was a familiar yet unfamiliar feeling about this disease, knowing that Hawking had suffered from a similar ailment, having seen "The Theory of Everything," and remembering the time of the Ice Bucket Challenge. But then, when the person who introduced me to the world of skiing, camping, and hiking, who planned to run marathons with colleagues, who went rock climbing with friends every week, and who was still attending gymnastics classes before the diagnosis, contracted the same disease, what does it all mean? At that moment, there was a strong sensation of the mind understanding what the heart couldn't accept. And that dreadful news was like snowflakes in summer, something that shouldn't happen, starting with a faint icy sting in the palm, slightly confusing, and gradually turning into a blizzard that engulfed the once clear and beautiful scenery.
Perhaps most tragedies still carry a somewhat clichéd hue, like the regret of amnesia from a car accident, or the upheaval an incurable disease brings to a family. But just like clichéd love stories, as an outsider, no matter how many times you repeat the story, it can never compare to experiencing that heart-wrenching beat just once: participating in the performance of a tragedy to truly enter the realm of genuine sadness.