我們，活在更大的延綿裡（We Live in a Greater Continuum）

發表於 由lulincheng撰寫

化療第九天，上午看到Shawn Ryan訪問副總統蕭美琴的影片，1個小時20分鐘，沒有冷場，好幾段問答，我們的蕭副總統，誠懇、精準、大方、理性，流露出讓人動容的領袖氣質，看底下老外的留言就知道—是許多國家的羨慕與臺灣人的驕傲。

訪談逼問的內容核心圍繞著戰爭的各種可能的場景，臺灣與國際社會必要應對的冷冽現實與嚴峻挑戰，我覺得臺灣人也值得仔細觀看，危急存亡之際心裡會更有底氣，希望有中文翻譯版，讓更多國人可以看到（連結放留言）。

看完後，想到難得回國，離開臺灣已經10年，7歲以前臺灣的童年記憶幾乎不存，只會講英文與臺語的姪女愛裡（大弟的女兒）。臨時起意，打了電話回老家，約她跟老爹一起看《看不見的國家》（Invisible Nation），對移民海外的臺灣人第二代是很難得的記憶回補，尤其是跟著兩代老臺灣男人在臺灣的戲院裡一起觀看。影片內容也是很好的人格養成教育，可以激勵下一代骨氣與志氣，努力學習成長成為受人受世界尊重的臺灣孩子。

今天體力很虛，無論如何還是要完成這個突發的重要事，網路上預訂了票，在離家不遠的新光天母Cinema，很難得三代同堂，一起重溫臺灣重要的一段民主路與過去現在面對的挑戰。

美國導演非常用心拍攝剪輯，給了國際社會理解臺灣、支持臺灣很好的媒介，臺灣人的故事老外說得動人，畫面、剪接、收音、配樂都很到位，即便是臺灣人早知道的臺灣事，看起來還是津津有味，數度為重溫的歷史情節濕了眼眶，因為夾雜太多老驥伏櫪與時不我予的慨嘆吧？

明天是這一輪化療最後一天，疲累到了極點，早點睡覺，一早起床繼續fight!

默默許下小小的願望，7月26日大八免的臺灣命運之日前，可以挺胸站直撐住自己，上街舉牌，盡微薄的一份公民力量。

我跟父親都屬兔，差了兩輪24歲，今天他帶愛裡到我家來會合，被問到歲數，聽他回答我突然非常惆悵，Kaya有默契地眼神交會，「比我的16年還多了好多….」他脫口而出，接著輕輕跟我說了一聲：「Daddy，加油！」

我現在只能想到多活一年，幸運的話跨過五年。24年，是我似乎永遠追不上的遙遠距離，想都不敢想的數字。我應該冒著挫敗的風險，期待claim自己24年「多出這麼多的」歲月嗎？多餘的念頭只會增加此刻專注活好的負擔，不會允許自己。

我只希望自己，活一天是一天，盡好我這「夾心一代」的接棒/交棒責任。還有一點倒數前的機會，可以避免在懊悔自責中，成為「在你們手中亡國」的「失職一代」。

想到一段往事。

民主前輩盧修一過世那年（26年前的1998），我看到一則回顧他一生的報導，提到如果不是為了臺灣民主，可以在自由的國度裡自由選擇，他原本心願成為一位小提琴音樂家！我清楚記得，讀到那一刻，無比虧欠內疚，跟自己說：「盧先生，我會帶著感恩，如同代著您的第二生命，用力不抱遺憾、瀟灑自由地活！」

轉眼輪到我了，想好好燒完最後一點蠟燭芯，就算只能多活一天，如果一個老朽臺灣人存在的多一點助力，可以為孩子的臺灣再爭取未來24年，夕死可矣我歡心願意。這樣對上一代、下一代都可以放心無愧的一輩子，夠了，畢竟，入土為安是最終的人生幸福，不是嗎？

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“We Live in a Greater Continuum”

Day 9 of chemo.

This morning, I watched an 80-minute interview between Shawn Ryan and our Vice President, Hsiao Bi-khim. Not a single dull moment. In segment after segment, she came across as sincere, precise, poised, and deeply rational — a kind of leadership that moves you not by performance, but by presence.

Just look at the comments beneath the video: so many voices from other countries — voices of admiration, of envy even. And then our own voices, from Taiwan, full of pride.

The core of the interview was brutally clear: the many possible scenarios of war, and the sobering reality that Taiwan and the international community must face. It’s the kind of conversation that gives you a fuller sense of gravity — and, perhaps, inner strength. I hope a subtitled version is released soon. More Taiwanese need to see this. (Link in comments.)anese need to see this. (Link in comments.)

Afterwards, I had a sudden thought. My niece, Aili — my younger brother’s daughter — has just returned to Taiwan after 10 years abroad. She was born and raised overseas, and doesn’t really have memories of Taiwan before age seven. She speaks English and Taiwanese, but not Mandarin.

I called home on a whim. Asked if she and my father could come watch Invisible Nation with me.

For a second-generation Taiwanese immigrant, it’s rare to have this kind of memory “patched in” — especially side by side with two older Taiwanese men, in a local cinema, watching a documentary about the country they came from but never really left.

The film itself is beautifully made. A quiet triumph. It’s more than just a documentary — it’s a vessel for history, emotion, and education. Even for those of us who already know these stories, it stirs something. The editing, music, cinematography — all done with care. At several points, I found my eyes welling up.

Maybe it’s the fatigue. Maybe it’s age. Maybe it’s that feeling — that we’ve done what we could, but still, not enough.

Tomorrow marks the end of this chemo cycle. I’m beyond exhausted. I’ll sleep early tonight. But before sleep, I made a silent wish:

To stay strong — just enough — until July 26th.

The day of the referendum. The day that may yet define our island’s future.

If I can still stand, I want to go out and hold a sign — even if it’s just a small, quiet gesture of citizenship.

My father and I are both Rabbits, born 24 years apart.

Today, he brought Aili over to meet us.

When asked about his age, something suddenly hit me — a pang of helplessness.

Kaya and I exchanged a glance.

He quietly said, “That’s… a lot more than my 16 years, huh?”

Then he looked at me and whispered, “Daddy, hang in there.”

What can I say?

Right now, my only goal is to live one more day, then another.

I don’t dare think about 24 years. I don’t dare dream of catching up.

Even hoping for one extra year already feels like a gamble.

But I do know this:

If I can pass the baton,

if I can play my small part in making sure we — this in-between generation — do not become the ones who lost the country on our watch,

then that’s enough.

I remembered something today.

When democracy pioneer Lu Hsiu-yi passed away in 1998, a tribute article mentioned that had it not been for Taiwan’s struggle, he might have chosen a quiet life as a violinist — free and unburdened.

That line hit me like lightning. I remember whispering then, “Mr. Lu, thank you. I will live my life with gratitude. I will live freely, with no regrets, as if I’m carrying the second half of your life for you.”

Now, it’s my turn.

If I’m burning the last bit of this candle —

then let it burn with clarity, with warmth.

Even if I only live one more day,

even if that day is small and ordinary,

If the mere existence of one old, stubborn Taiwanese soul can help win back 24 more years for the next generation —

then I can go in peace.

In the end, isn’t that the quietest, most profound happiness?

To return to the earth, with no debts left behind.

一直都在（Still Here）

發表於 由lulincheng撰寫

抗癌312天，化療241天，第16輪化療第二天，今天過後還有八天共32顆化療藥在等我。今天胃腸有比較緩和，但眼睛乾澀一直掉眼淚流眼屎，未來8天估計哪裡都不會去，頂多附近走走，把有氣力的清醒時間拿來充實一個人的居家生活。

剛剛無意間打開Notability，發現到非常潦草筆跡的記錄，時間是得知罹癌後的第三天，想起來是300天前的一個深夜，睡不著想著癌、死亡與生命，乾脆起床開小夜燈，拿起iPad順手打開很久沒用的軟體書寫。總共五頁mark了編號12點。

第二天後就沒有再打開app看，事實上忘了這回事，直到剛剛。我試著辨讀自己那夜的塗鴉，300多個日子態度原來一直沒有改變，果然是個讀書人，以為在無奈的重複治療流程中，思緒已成灰燼裡模糊的瑣碎星火，原來理念與精神始終都在暗地裡默默支持著骨肉之軀。

讓我覺得驚訝的是，塗鴉裡快筆記錄下的12條孤寂暗夜裡的微弱絲/思緒，竟然比10個月飽受折騰後的此刻還要神智清明（或許，這是當然的事，身體的殘廢苦痛一旦習慣了，人的心思也跟著付出代價變得遲鈍），對於癌細胞的描述，對於時間=存在的敏感，尤其纖細。

時間不早了，明天再來一句一句謄寫出來，好好跟抗癌最初起跑線上的自己敘舊，回憶這段時間不堪回首的點點滴滴，讓他在我身上振作甦醒，精神煥發地一起繼續走下去！

===
“Still Here”

Day 312 of Living with Cancer
Day 241 of Chemotherapy
Cycle 16, Day 2

There are still eight more days ahead. Thirty-two pills waiting for me.
My stomach felt a little more settled today, but my eyes are dry, leaking tears and sticky discharge. I probably won’t be going anywhere this coming week—at most just a walk nearby. I’ll try to spend whatever lucid energy I have filling my days with a quiet, solitary kind of home life.

Just now, by pure chance, I opened Notability and stumbled across a string of notes written in an almost unreadable scrawl. The timestamp said it was the third day after my diagnosis. That would be over 300 days ago—deep in the night, when I couldn’t sleep. I remember: instead of tossing and turning, I got up, switched on a small night light, grabbed the iPad, and opened an app I hadn’t touched in years. I began writing. Five pages, twelve scribbled lines of thought.

After that night, I never opened the app again. In fact, I’d completely forgotten it existed—until now.

Reading it again, trying to decipher my own fevered scrawls, I realize something unexpected: my attitude hasn’t changed. Not really. Even after all this time, even through the grind of treatment, the exhaustion, the slow erosion of self, something fundamental has stayed with me.

I suppose I had thought that my ideals, my inner clarity, had long since crumbled into ash—scattered among the endless repetition of hospital routines. But it turns out that the core of my thinking, the spirit that quietly anchors this weary body, was always there, working silently in the background.

What surprises me most is this: those twelve quick-fire lines written in the solitude of that night are, in some ways, more lucid than how I feel today—after ten months of this journey. Perhaps it’s only natural. The body adjusts to pain, becomes numb. But the mind pays a price for that numbness. It dulls too.

The lines I wrote about cancer, about death, and about time-as-existence… they were delicate, yes. But also sharp. Uncompromising.

It’s getting late.
Tomorrow, I think I’ll transcribe those lines one by one. Sit with them. Talk to the version of myself who stood trembling but unbroken at the starting line of this long, impossible race. I want to remember what he felt, what he saw, what he believed.

And maybe—just maybe—I’ll let him wake up again inside me, and walk beside me for the rest of the way. Strong. Clear-eyed. Undaunted.

疲累的要退不退

發表於 由lulincheng撰寫

我最近經常處於「疲憊」的狀態，不是失眠或者過勞之類的原因，我逐日感覺自己的老化，感覺自己跟這個世界越來越無涉。

不要誤解了，我的個人生活可能處在這輩子的最佳狀態，要說無入而不自得好像也真的不遠，固定的生活作息，很友善的工作團隊，生活環境有山有水，家庭生活融洽愉快，不需要與世界他人爭，有時間與空間可以做自己，性格思緒都已經熟成，我的生活幾乎沒有什麼可以埋怨的，純然不消耗多餘力氣的幸福。

「疲累」，是出於一種不斷被自我提醒該上路前進，事實上卻還是還在月台上懸置的無奈，車輪順暢滾動很好，只是沒有著地，日夜在無謂空轉。或許，那是生命走到一個需要換殼階段的跡象，需要蛻變了但現實上卻還是一成不變的規律與踩空，因此疲憊。

早晚都要退休的，但這個動作不會是明天退休今天踩煞車的事，你要提前很久就開始下決心，然後跟著分段卻堅定地踩下檔門，最終才能通過完美的坡度在適切的定點進入新的軌道。

卸下所有的牽掛留下沒有身分的唯一身分，讓自己爽快瀟灑地清空退場。退休是人生旅程中與求學、就職相較如典範翻轉的巨大變動，所有之前的所謂「人生新階段」都是在用新的有換上（或者疊加在）舊的有，但退休是擁抱無的開始，而下一站已經肯定就是虛空再也無涉時間的絕對歸零。

今天跟學校問到了退休的條件，評估了我的位置，果然是可以現實盤算的日子到了，算是正式面對一個行為決斷的選項，心思上我已經為此想了很久，內在有種urge自己快快為下一個也是最後一個人生階段提前（或者已經遲了）做準備的聲音。

退休的生活，我不只不排斥而且日益嚮往，那是一種純粹為己的積極人生吧？無所為的為，能夠提前開始，是為奮鬥一輩子的人生多兌現些最後的紅利，退休了才說得上「活得越久領得越多」吧？哈哈。

離開中研院很多人當年覺得我很天真魯莽，但它們不知道我思索許久絕不莽撞，第一天到SCID報到就開始了往下看到的八年進度，每一年都是評估前一年有沒有達到設定目標才走的一開始就計畫好的下一步。

那年，一旦確定中研院社會所不必有我，空出個位子可以活絡比我更適合的下個人的機會，就跟著無憂地安靜離開。八年後，我似曾相識確定無我的SCID沒有損失，或許還可更一致地走符合她本性的軌道，從「成功不必有我」的欣然，再次開始我的轉軌細算。

「退休生活」在我眼前有好幾條可以規劃的路線，目前腦中假想的路徑沒有一條合乎實際，那是正常的，人生規劃也需要Weber式的理念型來操作具體唯一的人生小徑，但最後它們會變成一絲絲最終被保留的元素，交織在一起後就會是我退休後那獨一無二屬於Jerry的生活方式。

人生，死那個點之後再無法選擇，但死之前的退休生活卻可以有絕對的自由，這是健康合理老天寬厚仁慈的安排，我給自己列了要儘快學著放下的清單，心態準備好了，條件都到齊了，那就是我最終證明自己可以「生命在己也為己」（a life in itself and for itself）成為真正自由人的開端。

講到底，或許所謂的「疲憊」只是快速縮小打包俗世自己的必要心境，是進或出人生一段大隧道前的視覺適應，暗之後的亮，或者，亮之後的暗，怎麼說都可以，總之，用呵護自己的心，迎接它吧！