恩爱

厕所外的阿公,
拎着不搭配的粉红色的包包,
静静地站在女厕外等着。

厕所内的阿嬤,
如厕后紧张地找
口中喃喃含糊说的不知道什么。

若不是一道墙之间的有心人,
他会继续耐心地站在厕所外等着粉红色包包的女主人,
她会继续慌张地找厕所内忘了放在那里的粉红色包包。

这就是大环境给他们的缘分,
许许多多有心人把他们带回彼此身边,
让他们继续能紧紧地手牵手走。

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分享:一包饭

李邪
恶女论
剧场恶女,过气DJ,身患末期镜头恐惧症。

我住的地方,因为是老区,除了风情万种,还会遇见一个印度老汉。他衣衫破烂,肮肮脏脏,已经在神游状态,一直傻笑。我经过他,他好像在叫我要什么,可是呢喃太小声,我也不肯定。然后,另外一个壮丁经过他。我看见壮丁很懊恼,不断打发他走。

约一个星期后,我去遛狗,又见到他盘坐在组屋楼下五金店门口边。一样的神游,一样的傻笑,一样的流浪相。反正我要去买晚餐,突然就萌起,哎,也给你买一份吧。回来时,他却不见了,问五金店的老板娘,她却很紧张,反问我,你给他买吃的啊?哎呀,千万不要啊!她很焦虑嘱咐,不行啊,不能啊,否则他会一直缠着你的,这个人是酒鬼,喝了酒就失心疯,会乱来的,记得不要啊!

我正在想,多出来的这包饭,可以给谁?(其实也不难,我们那里,餐风露宿的流浪老人也不少。是的,不要怀疑,不要给我烂数据,因为,新加坡是有有有穷人的。)

这时,五金店的老板娘身边,站着一个印度老妇和一个弱智女孩。她说,这是那个酒鬼的老婆和女儿,不如你给他们好了。我很高兴,就给了。她们却似乎不太明白缘由,也傻傻看着我。

五金店老板娘跟着解释,她们才感激收下。我看了那个弱智女儿多一眼,不知道为什么,竟有点担忧。也许是社会新闻看多了,也许是女性课题做多了,也许是老板娘那句“他喝多了就失心疯”,如果,如果,她因为弱智,无法自保对抗,那到底谁能保护她呢?

离开时,我一直回头望,一直担忧着。本来,不就是多买一包饭的举手之劳,竟变成纠结的不简单。于是,我想,好吧,那在最无力的情况下,试试发愿吧。。。您不要笑,呵呵,笑个屁啊,不然当下要怎么样?于是,集中念力,发愿她们安好。

哦,我叫你不要笑,写到这里,我自己都觉得不好意思有点好笑,哈哈。诶,可是,谁知道呢?

本来,那包饭是买给他滴,结果,冥冥中的强大盘转,误打误撞,阴差阳错,却给了也许,反而,此刻最需要这包饭的她们。

不要低估,冥冥中的正面力量啊啊啊。我开始有点明白因缘这两个字了。有因,只是起头,还要有缘。缘,成熟了,该发生的,自然会完成,甚至和你计划的不同。

下次,但愿,还有下次。下次,如果是你,你会做什么呢?

但愿,还有下次。

剪自:i周刊,No.847, 95页,2014年1月 23日。

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Protected: 大舅舅,一路好走(二)

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转发:Emma

2014年01月12日
劉若英:
Emma

曾幾何時,在醫院,在公園,推着老人輪椅的是一個個膚色黝黑的女子?曾幾何時,學校門口,接送上下學的不是爸爸媽媽,而是小朋友口中的瑪利亞,或者Auntie Lisa?

我的家裏,因為長輩年齡都大,我的工作也使得我無法就近照顧他們,請外籍看護是唯一可行的方式。

多年前來家裏的第一個菲律賓看護是為了祖父。當時祖父已經快九十歲,意識與身體都不行了。剛開始家裏要住個完全不認識的外人,其實非常不習慣,也想不通祖父的湖南話跟菲律賓英文怎麼溝通。沒想到,後來祖父只聽得懂看護的語言,他們的溝通比我們順暢。人的密切相處本身就是最精確的語言。

祖父走了以後,原本完全看不出年紀,身體硬朗的祖母,也因為失去一輩子的伴侶,急速邁向銀髮族的狀態。過去天天要出去散步,但現在腿沒力了,精於作畫的手開始彎曲。於是,我們替她也申請了一個名叫Emma的印尼看護。

一開始,的確像是打仗一樣。印尼人連英文都不懂,祖母的英文根本派不上用場。仲介說,看護都是專業訓練過的,但Emma連作飯打掃都不會,吸塵器,電飯鍋等等,都需要姐姐一樣一樣的教。聽說來了幾天,就偷偷在房間哭了,姐姐問她怎麼了?她說「手痛」。

我總覺得那淚水不是因為身體的疼痛,而是陌生的環境與更多離家後的鄉愁。

終於,兵荒馬亂、雞同鴨講、手忙腳亂的三階段都過去了,迎接來安逸祥和的歲月。三年來,Emma沒有請過一天假,甚至星期天,她都說她也沒有地方去,就不出去了。她總是很愛捂着嘴笑,可能她覺得自己的大白牙襯上瘦弱深色的臉龐顯得誇張。她不吃豬肉,每回大家去餐廳,她都只點蛋炒飯,或者炸雞肉,然後安靜的坐在祖母旁邊,將祖母盤子裏的食物一一切成小塊。祖母並不察覺自己的記性衰退,每天重複的問題不下五十次,有時親人都失去耐心時,Emma還是笑笑的重複回答「是的,門鎖了,鑰匙帶了,燈關了……」。有一陣子,祖母開始幻想我們時時刻刻在樓下等她,Emma拗不過,只能陪着祖母站在家的樓下,望着巷子口,一站就是幾個小時。

祖母後來依賴Emma,哪兒都不去了,吃Emma做的飯,如廁淨身靠Emma,最後連頭髮也讓Emma剪。

一開始,Emma就告訴我們,她只來三年。當時覺得三年還長,直到她通知一月就要離開時,我們完全不知所措。雖然也馬上申請新的看護,但是對於她的離去,還是很多的惆悵。我不止一次在廚房低聲懇求她留下,說要給她加薪,或者讓她回去探親再回來,甚至威脅她,她走了,我就完了。她總是笑笑操着她自創的國語說「要回去了,要回去了」。

祖母曾經送她一個小猴子翡翠,我曾故意吃醋說,為甚麼給她不給我?也許旁人會擔心老人家意識不清,不知節制把所有家當都給了看護,但我明白祖母為人,老人家是心疼Emma辛苦。我們這些不在身邊的晚輩,更應該心懷感恩。

Emma早早打包好行李,當年來的時候只拎了一個小包包,走的時候兩大箱。我問她全年無休,何時去逛的街?她說每天去菜場時,總是忍不住撿些便宜貨,想帶回去給兒子。這時,我才驚覺,當她全心照顧我家人的同時,她心裏還有無盡的掛念,那掛念在遙遠的家鄉。

我在想,離鄉背井的女孩,與我們萍水相逢,又朝夕相處,然後離開,可能再也不會見面,她們來時的心情是甚麼?離開時又是甚麼?是甚麼力量支撐着她們消解那無邊的寂寞,每天看着他人一家團聚,同時忍受自己親人離散的淒楚。

今天Emma終於要離開,為了轉移氣氛,我跟姐姐早早到了祖母家,先幫她偷偷把行李搬到門口,然後要Emma跟祖母道別。我說「Emma,抱抱婆婆」,祖母突然推開了她,說「她老早就把行李理好,要走了,她不回來了,她不回來了……」。祖母重複這句話,就像她平常的那接近無意識的反覆,但我知道,祖母這回言之有物,她清楚這是別離、是剝奪她生活的支柱。

Emma站在她每天開開關關的家門口,掉下了眼淚,然後重複的說「謝謝你們,謝謝婆婆……」。這是她的第二次眼淚。一次她來,一次她走。

今晚,祖母必是不安,Emma也須適應吧。半夜三點多,祖母想去洗手間時,她還會喊Emma嗎?而Emma,在家鄉安靜無事的夜中,會突然醒來應她嗎?

我想謝謝所有的Emma,不管你的膚色、你的語言、你的信仰;不管你照顧的是我們的老人家或我們的小朋友;不管你是在去市場的路上、隨侍床邊或在車站和老鄉聚會,我通通要特別感激。所有的Emma都曾經是我們的家人,也會成為我們思念的遠方親人。

劉若英

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NYT newspaper clipping: Ducking Grief

MY STORY
Ducking Grief

Katherine Streeter
By K. A. LEDDY
Published: October 22, 2013

In the months following my daughter’s death, there were times when I left my house that I could barely breathe.

My pain and grief were reflected in the faces of friends. In the presence of others I teetered on the brink of being overwhelmed. Where once I had enjoyed shopping and running errands, these activities now jeopardized my fragile attempt to hold myself together. Home was the only safe place. But, of course, in time one must go out.

Tentatively, I learned to duck and to weave my way through life. If I was in the grocery store and saw a neighbor or someone from my children’s school in the cereal aisle, I would rush down another aisle. Then, if I saw the person again two aisles over, I would head for the deli section. If I was clearly cornered, with no possible retreat, I would bend and pick up whatever item was close at hand, perhaps a can of green beans, and appear to be engrossed in its label. I did my best to make myself unapproachable. If that didn’t work I sometimes abandoned my cart mid-aisle and darted for my car. My husband would have to do the food shopping that week.

Avoidance wasn’t always possible. I was standing in my driveway collecting the newspaper when a neighbor approached. She took a deep breath and said: “Kerry, how are you? I don’t know how you survive. I really don’t. I know I couldn’t.” Somehow her words left me feeling strangely accused, as if she were saying, “How can you be standing here, surviving at all?” If my grief was truly devastating, she seemed to suggest, I would not be standing. I would be forever prostrate in bed, inconsolable.

Sometimes no response is as painful as the wrong one. At a school play, a mother greeted me with a broad smile, as if the world was no different than before my daughter’s death, and began to chat brightly. She probably imagined she was protecting me by steering our talk to safer ground, like our new principal or the new restaurant in town featuring mussels. I know intuitively, however, that it is not me she is seeking to protect: what she is trying to protect is her belief that she dwells in a world where children are safe, where untoward tragedies do not occur.

Then there are the times when I am not sure if the person I have run into knows. What am I to do then? Two months after Sarah’s death I saw a couple at a neighbor’s get-together. They greeted me warmly. The wife asked, “How are you?” The husband chimed in, “Yeah, what have you been up to lately?” I am at a complete loss for words. Do they not know about Sarah? They must have heard, I think. I have no “news” to share. The only thing I have been “up to” is grieving. If they did not know, my words would shock them. If they did know, what could they possibly think I “have been up to?” With nothing to say, I make my way through the party and head home. I phone a friend to tell her of my encounter. She responds: “Kerry, of course they know. Don’t you remember? They were at the memorial service.”

The encounters I dread most occur when escape is impossible. Like the time I took a picture to be framed and suddenly the man helping me said: “Oh, wait, now I know why I recognize you. Your daughter was with my Jane in elementary school, wasn’t she? Um, it’s Sarah, right?” He seems so pleased to remember. “Yes,” I answer as that familiar crushing feeling returns to my chest. I slide over to another wall, averting my eyes. Following closely behind he asks, “So what has she been doing?” My face crumbles as I begin to weep. Almost as quickly, I see the anguish spread across his face. “Oh, my God,” he said. “I am so sorry. I had heard about Sarah. How could I forget? I am so, so sorry. How could I be so stupid?” He berates himself for being thoughtless, then repeatedly apologizes, trying to comfort me. Devastated, I just flee.

Not all interactions make me want to run away. One Saturday night a few months after Sarah died, my husband and I ventured downtown for tapas. Unexpectedly, I ran into Lin, my former dance teacher, whom I hadn’t seen in several years. Lin and her husband are leaving the restaurant just as we arrive. I am trapped. I steel myself for her approach. But she neither avoids me, nor makes light conversation. Instead, she walks right up, looks me straight in the eyes, and gives me a very long, tight hug. Then she walks on. Not a word uttered. Nothing is required of me. I slowly exhale. I couldn’t have told Lin what I needed, but somehow, she has gotten it exactly right.

Seven years ago in August, my beautiful Sarah, hospitalized after a four-year battle with bipolar illness, took her life. It began at 13; the disease gave her no rest. Watching my firstborn suffer with such despair and pain became my waking nightmare. Confused and weary, she once wrote these words:

“It’s hard to be happy when you’re 17 and bipolar. Every state is fragile and every emotion is fleeting. I’m happiest when I realize I am not depressed. After school, I’ll walk down the street and notice I’m skipping, stopping to pick a dandelion. I’ll wriggle my toes in the mud and grin. When I realize I’m happy, I’m thrilled. I know that the feeling does not last. I know that as soon as there’s a sad song on the radio, I’ll feel hopeless again. When I get sad it’s not a normal sad, it’s like drowning. Little moments are important to me because that is all my life is, a series of little moments.”

Now, whenever I glimpse a child with Sarah’s startling blue eyes, I feel a sickening thump in my chest. Still, I rise every morning and live my life. I act nearly normal. I embrace my work, my husband and my three surviving children. Loss brought me to writing and painting. Mine is a life, filled with such little moments — at times joyful, at other times sorrowful. Not as odd a combination as some might think. They coexist within me, pleasure and sorrow, shaping who I am and how I see the world.

K.A. Leddy is at work on a memoir, “Ghostmother.”

Previous My Story essays can be found here.

Booming: Living Through the Middle Ages offers news and commentary about baby boomers, anchored by Michael Winerip. Sign up for our weekly newsletter here. You may also follow Booming via RSS here or visit nytimes.com/booming. Our e-mail is booming@nytimes.com.

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NYT OPINION Is Music the Key to Success?

NYT OPINION
Is Music the Key to Success?
By JOANNE LIPMAN
Published: October 12, 2013

CONDOLEEZZA RICE trained to be a concert pianist. Alan Greenspan, former chairman of the Federal Reserve, was a professional clarinet and saxophone player. The hedge fund billionaire Bruce Kovner is a pianist who took classes at Juilliard.

Multiple studies link music study to academic achievement. But what is it about serious music training that seems to correlate with outsize success in other fields?

The connection isn’t a coincidence. I know because I asked. I put the question to top-flight professionals in industries from tech to finance to media, all of whom had serious (if often little-known) past lives as musicians. Almost all made a connection between their music training and their professional achievements.

The phenomenon extends beyond the math-music association. Strikingly, many high achievers told me music opened up the pathways to creative thinking. And their experiences suggest that music training sharpens other qualities: Collaboration. The ability to listen. A way of thinking that weaves together disparate ideas. The power to focus on the present and the future simultaneously.

Will your school music program turn your kid into a Paul Allen, the billionaire co-founder of Microsoft (guitar)? Or a Woody Allen (clarinet)? Probably not. These are singular achievers. But the way these and other visionaries I spoke to process music is intriguing. As is the way many of them apply music’s lessons of focus and discipline into new ways of thinking and communicating — even problem solving.

Look carefully and you’ll find musicians at the top of almost any industry. Woody Allen performs weekly with a jazz band. The television broadcaster Paula Zahn (cello) and the NBC chief White House correspondent Chuck Todd (French horn) attended college on music scholarships; NBC’s Andrea Mitchell trained to become a professional violinist. Both Microsoft’s Mr. Allen and the venture capitalist Roger McNamee have rock bands. Larry Page, a co-founder of Google, played saxophone in high school. Steven Spielberg is a clarinetist and son of a pianist. The former World Bank president James D. Wolfensohn has played cello at Carnegie Hall.

“It’s not a coincidence,” says Mr. Greenspan, who gave up jazz clarinet but still dabbles at the baby grand in his living room. “I can tell you as a statistician, the probability that that is mere chance is extremely small.” The cautious former Fed chief adds, “That’s all that you can judge about the facts. The crucial question is: why does that connection exist?”

Paul Allen offers an answer. He says music “reinforces your confidence in the ability to create.” Mr. Allen began playing the violin at age 7 and switched to the guitar as a teenager. Even in the early days of Microsoft, he would pick up his guitar at the end of marathon days of programming. The music was the emotional analog to his day job, with each channeling a different type of creative impulse. In both, he says, “something is pushing you to look beyond what currently exists and express yourself in a new way.”

Mr. Todd says there is a connection between years of practice and competition and what he calls the “drive for perfection.” The veteran advertising executive Steve Hayden credits his background as a cellist for his most famous work, the Apple “1984” commercial depicting rebellion against a dictator. “I was thinking of Stravinsky when I came up with that idea,” he says. He adds that his cello performance background helps him work collaboratively: “Ensemble playing trains you, quite literally, to play well with others, to know when to solo and when to follow.”

For many of the high achievers I spoke with, music functions as a “hidden language,” as Mr. Wolfensohn calls it, one that enhances the ability to connect disparate or even contradictory ideas. When he ran the World Bank, Mr. Wolfensohn traveled to more than 100 countries, often taking in local performances (and occasionally joining in on a borrowed cello), which helped him understand “the culture of people, as distinct from their balance sheet.”

It’s in that context that the much-discussed connection between math and music resonates most. Both are at heart modes of expression. Bruce Kovner, the founder of the hedge fund Caxton Associates and chairman of the board of Juilliard, says he sees similarities between his piano playing and investing strategy; as he says, both “relate to pattern recognition, and some people extend these paradigms across different senses.”

Mr. Kovner and the concert pianist Robert Taub both describe a sort of synesthesia — they perceive patterns in a three-dimensional way. Mr. Taub, who gained fame for his Beethoven recordings and has since founded a music software company, MuseAmi, says that when he performs, he can “visualize all of the notes and their interrelationships,” a skill that translates intellectually into making “multiple connections in multiple spheres.”

For others I spoke to, their passion for music is more notable than their talent. Woody Allen told me bluntly, “I’m not an accomplished musician. I get total traction from the fact that I’m in movies.”

Mr. Allen sees music as a diversion, unconnected to his day job. He likens himself to “a weekend tennis player who comes in once a week to play. I don’t have a particularly good ear at all or a particularly good sense of timing. In comedy, I’ve got a good instinct for rhythm. In music, I don’t, really.”

Still, he practices the clarinet at least half an hour every day, because wind players will lose their embouchure (mouth position) if they don’t: “If you want to play at all you have to practice. I have to practice every single day to be as bad as I am.” He performs regularly, even touring internationally with his New Orleans jazz band. “I never thought I would be playing in concert halls of the world to 5,000, 6,000 people,” he says. “I will say, quite unexpectedly, it enriched my life tremendously.”

Music provides balance, explains Mr. Wolfensohn, who began cello lessons as an adult. “You aren’t trying to win any races or be the leader of this or the leader of that. You’re enjoying it because of the satisfaction and joy you get out of music, which is totally unrelated to your professional status.”

For Roger McNamee, whose Elevation Partners is perhaps best known for its early investment in Facebook, “music and technology have converged,” he says. He became expert on Facebook by using it to promote his band, Moonalice, and now is focusing on video by live-streaming its concerts. He says musicians and top professionals share “the almost desperate need to dive deep.” This capacity to obsess seems to unite top performers in music and other fields.

Ms. Zahn remembers spending up to four hours a day “holed up in cramped practice rooms trying to master a phrase” on her cello. Mr. Todd, now 41, recounted in detail the solo audition at age 17 when he got the second-highest mark rather than the highest mark — though he still was principal horn in Florida’s All-State Orchestra.

“I’ve always believed the reason I’ve gotten ahead is by outworking other people,” he says. It’s a skill learned by “playing that solo one more time, working on that one little section one more time,” and it translates into “working on something over and over again, or double-checking or triple-checking.” He adds, “There’s nothing like music to teach you that eventually if you work hard enough, it does get better. You see the results.”

That’s an observation worth remembering at a time when music as a serious pursuit — and music education — is in decline in this country.

Consider the qualities these high achievers say music has sharpened: collaboration, creativity, discipline and the capacity to reconcile conflicting ideas. All are qualities notably absent from public life. Music may not make you a genius, or rich, or even a better person. But it helps train you to think differently, to process different points of view — and most important, to take pleasure in listening.

Joanne Lipman is a co-author, with Melanie Kupchynsky, of the book “Strings Attached: One Tough Teacher and the Gift of Great Expectations.”

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Remember ~ 記得

Remember, once upon a time, blogging is a daily affair.
Remember, once upon a time, blogging is escape route.

Now, it might not be because life is getting busier that I forget to blog.
Now, it might not be because I am able to face up with realities of life that I forget to blog.

It might be because I am starting to be afraid of the shadowing in darkness,
that someone is quietly observing and seeing through me.

It should be the lack of confidence on my part.

記得,寫博客曾經是每日必定活動。
記得,寫博客曾經是我的逃避途徑。

現在,忘了寫博客不是因為人生忙碌了多少。
現在,忘了寫博客不是因為願意坦然面對人生苦樂。

可能是因為,我開始害怕有誰在某個暗處,靜靜地把我看清。

應該是自卑。

 

 

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Shy ~ 害羞 

Yes, I still remember that I have this blog. And yes, whoever you are who is still accessing and reading this blog, I am still paying the bills to maintain this blog and the domain name. Yes, times might not be financially stable for me at this moment but I am not looking at giving up this vital piece of me… yet.

Just the other day, a friend buzzed me suddenly and went, “Oh! You are passingsights!” and I froze.

Yes,  it is that scary to me.

So, please, do not give me such heart attack.

Random Update. Yup, I am still alive. Yeah.

是的,我還記得我的這片淨地。是的,如果您還到此一遊,我仍然付錢來維持這片淨地與網址。是的,我的經濟情況還未改善,但是我還沒想過要放棄。。。至少目前為止還沒有。

前兩天,朋友忽然聯繫我,說:“哦!你是passingsights!”,讓我發愣也發毛。

對,對我,就是那麼可怕。

所以,請,不要讓我的心臟過勞。。。

沒有主題的更新。是的,我還活著。對。

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公主病

公主病
(2012-12-19)
● 尤今
闲云舒卷

他和她,在念大学时邂逅于话剧团而共浴爱河,相恋四年,论及婚嫁时,情海生波,男的坚决不肯走回头路。两个月后,女的联系上《爱情保卫战》的节目导播,求助。

《爱情保卫战》是天津卫视推出的一个情感心理节目,凡是在爱情上走入死胡同的情侣,都可一起上节目,畅述内心的矛盾与痛苦,通过剖白与争辩,进行深入的沟通,再由特邀的心理专家与情感顾问帮助情侣揪出“爱情的病菌”,分析、指正、辅导。

节目播出以来,备受好评,它不但帮助了无数濒临决裂的情侣破镜重圆,也让许多社会病态浮出台面。

不久前播映的这期《爱情保卫战──奇葩女》,便让我感触良深。
女的在节目里梨花带雨地问:“我犯了什么错,你竟要狠心离开我?”男的一点也不含糊,滔滔不绝地说出了“情变”的始末。

初识时,他觉得她善良活泼,然而,短短一年后,他便堕入了不快乐的深渊里。他事事迁就她,约会迟到一两个小时,他都毫无怨言,但是,他只要迟到一分钟,便 有无数的惩罚等着他承受。最叫他吃不消的是,自从恋爱以后,她便定下了不计其数的纪念日,比如说,每个月的14日都是庆祝日,包括日记情人节、传统情人 节、白色情人节、黑色情人节、玫瑰情人节、亲亲情人节、踏青情人节、银色情人节、照片情人节、葡萄酒情人节、电影情人节、拥抱情人节;此外,每个月的27 日定为恋爱纪念日、每个月的15日定为接吻纪念日。每个情人节和纪念日都得以不同的方式庆祝、送礼。她还列了许多规矩,比方说,她发短信,他必须秒回,只 要耽搁一秒,她便大发雷霆。她睡不着,他必须彻夜与她互通短信……林林总总,说之不尽。

最初,他觉得浪漫好玩,时间一久,便转为疲劳厌烦,但是,他希望她会随时间而成熟而改变,因此一再忍让。

让人慨叹的是,在男的剖白了内心的沉重后,女的不但全无觉悟之意,还振振有词地反驳:“男的宠女的,是天经地义的啊,我妈认为我就应该这样享受我的青春!”

两个月前,发生了一件事,他终于决定分手。

那天,他送她到火车站出差,两人坐在计程车上时,他接到父亲十万火急拨来的电话,说他母亲摔断了腿,要他立刻回家;然而,她却死活不肯让他下车。三天后, 她出差回来,他要她去向母亲道歉,可她冲到医院,劈面便对他母亲说:“你又不是死了,为什么要硬叫你儿子回家!”那一刻,他觉得自己的心裂了。

分手后的感觉,竟是如释重负。

专家一针见血地指出,女的患上的是“公主病”:自私、自恋、自我中心。公主病,首先是由父母惯出来的;而男友不辨是非的迁就与依顺,却是使病况加深加剧的 原因。顾问语重心长地劝她:“不要把他爱你当成伤害他的理由,更不要把他对你的宠当成欺负人的借口。女人可以任性,但不能肆意妄为;女人可以撒娇,但不能 骄横跋扈。”

依我看,这其实并不是现实生活里单一的个案,在目前经济腾飞的中国,被溺爱的独生“公主”日益增多,这些“天之娇女”共同的病征是情商特低。在爱情上如此,在处理工作与亲属的人际关系也是如此。长此以往,必成社会隐忧。

铲除公主病,必须从家庭教育做起。

Video available here

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