笔日札记

It is perhaps always, in a sort of discrepancy, that we understand the same concepts.

When there is no longer any tolerance left for voices, what is left as possible is not even silence itself, which would also soon be banned. It must be accompanying silence together with a certain level of invisibility.

Indeed, the visibility of silence can also be interpreted as something. Whilst invisibility of silence leaves no room for authoritative intervention. As it were, not only must we learn to be silent, also must we embrace a sense of invisibility.

In archives, these are untracable marks. What I would have looked for in the short-living figures of those that get rallied and prosecuted do not even meet this criteria. Instead of the silent majority, what we have is virtually the silent and invisible majority.

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记忆总是那样脆弱，童年和青春的记忆更显得易碎。

在17年的某个时刻，他那一手带大的祖母病重，不久便与世长辞。

依稀记得，外祖父身着白大褂，仍以名誉教授和医师的身份前去探望祖母。两个家庭早已破碎多年，他夹在中间，目送着其中一个家庭最重要的成员离去。

几个月后，外祖父被查出胆管破裂，旋即确诊胰腺癌晚期。原本打算攻读英语文学的他，仿佛在两个家庭破碎的前兆中，无意识地走上了从医的道路。

年末时，外祖父离世，宣告了他青春的句点。葬礼静谧而肃穆，舅舅发表了简短的讲话，本以为会有众人到场，现场却出人意料地冷清。曾经风光无限的外祖父，就这样消逝在了人世间。 同年，他首次触及了摄影的世界。

属于他的夜晚潜水艇，似乎也停泊在遥远海中央。

从此，他永远成为了自己那段最珍贵记忆的静默看客。