苇草集 2022 Reeds in the Wind 2022 第 06 篇 Section 06
六月 或许，我还可以奉献一首诗 June: Perhaps, I Can Still Offer a Poem
返回 苇草集 2022 Back to Reeds in the Wind 2022月台上挤满了来自五湖四海的乘客，看着人来人往的地铁，大家步履匆匆，我作为一个看客，全然忘了自己也是其中一个。
The subway platform was crowded with passengers from all four corners of the earth. Watching the trains and travelers come and go, everyone hurrying with brisk steps, I stood as a mere spectator, entirely forgetting that I myself was one among them.
在地铁到站前，我看见一个约莫长我几岁的瘦弱女生，穿着地铁人员的工作服，在人群中穿行做着例行的检查，瘦小的身影看上去很落寞。
Before the subway pulled into the station, I noticed a frail girl appearing a few years older than myself. Dressed in the uniform of the subway staff, she wove through the crowd conducting routine inspections, her small silhouette looking distinctly solitary.
我开始怀疑：也许我们大部分人终其一生也只是碌碌无为的平庸之辈吧？
I began to wonder: perhaps most of us, throughout our entire lives, are merely unremarkable, mediocre beings drifting without great accomplishment?
这个女生在花一样的年纪，穿着死板而统一的工作服，一整天待在地铁站里，看着一辆辆地铁开来又开走，每天重复着相同的动作，她是否觉得生活无聊透顶？
In the blossom of her youth, clad in a rigid, standardized uniform, spending entire days inside the subway station, watching train after train arrive and depart, repeating identical motions day in and day out—does she find life utterly, desolately boring?
有同学曾问过我什么样的工作和生活是不平庸的。我说，我的理想工作是我所热爱的，富有创造力与自我价值的，同时能收获社会认可、维持我经济需求的职业。其中，富有创造力、体现自我价值是最重要的。
A classmate once asked me what kind of work and life could be called non-mediocre. I replied that my ideal vocation is one I genuinely love, rich in creativity and self-worth, while commanding social recognition and meeting my financial needs. Above all, being creative and realizing self-worth are paramount.
可是，哪个人不是在每天重复生活呢？
Yet who among us does not repeat life day after day?
学生们每天上学考试做作业；老师们每天备课上课监考批作业；医生们每天门诊看数不尽的病人，开差不多的处方……这是现实世界的大环境，且你无可回避，你撂担子，身后还有源源不断的人涌上来填补你的空缺。
Students go to school, take exams, and do homework every day; teachers prepare lessons, teach classes, invigilate exams, and grade papers every day; doctors see endless patients at clinics and prescribe similar medications every day… This is the macro-environment of the real world, completely unavoidable. If you abandon your post, an endless stream of people behind you will immediately surge forward to fill the void.
且我以看客自居，也许在别人看来也不过是日复一日做着被人耻笑的白日梦罢了。迟早，我也要被异化，为从内卷中卷出一条路主动沦为平庸，主动远离那个看似幼稚的自我。这个世界，远非我想象的那么理想。
Moreover, while I fancied myself a detached spectator, perhaps in the eyes of others I too was merely daydreaming day in and day out, ripe for ridicule. Sooner or later, I too will be alienated, voluntarily resigning myself to mediocrity in order to carve out a path from the hyper-competitive rat race, actively distancing myself from that seemingly naive self. This world is far from as ideal as my imagination made it out to be.
那么既然平庸不可避免，我不禁重新思考平庸是什么。
If mediocrity is thus unavoidable, I could not help reconsidering what mediocrity truly is.
平庸是重复自己？平庸是走在父母规定的路上？平庸是放弃自己真正喜欢的事业而去从事一份稳定却讨厌的职业？平凡似乎在我的世界里，已悄悄与平庸划上等号。
Is mediocrity repeating oneself? Is mediocrity walking upon the tracks prescribed by parents? Is mediocrity abandoning the pursuit one truly loves to engage in a stable yet detested occupation? In my world, ordinariness seemed to have quietly become synonymous with mediocrity.
可平凡的人就一定是平庸的吗？
Yet must an ordinary person necessarily be mediocre?
地铁司机每天重复着相同的路线，但不同时间段的班车载着一批批不同的人抵达各自的终点，要是没有他们，出行会成为一个大问题。而那位女生，也正是地铁安全运行、准时到达必不可少的一环。心事浩茫连广宇，于无声处听惊雷。正因为这些平凡的职业组成了这个社会，使社会各司其职有序运行，而我却又害怕成为其中之一，害怕一生都成为所谓的“平庸之辈”？
Subway drivers repeat the exact same route every day, yet their carriages at different hours carry groups of disparate passengers to their respective destinations; without them, getting around would become a major problem. And that young woman was likewise an indispensable link ensuring that the subway operates safely and arrives on schedule. Vast thoughts stretch across the universe; amidst the silence, listen for the thunder. It is precisely these ordinary vocations that constitute society, allowing each to fulfill their duties and function in harmony; why then should I dread becoming one of them, fearing a lifetime spent as a so-called “mediocre soul”?
这不是很可笑吗？依赖于他们，又害怕成为他们其中一个。
Isn’t this laughable? Depending on them, yet terrified of becoming one of them.
往往那些想要成为老板的人嘲笑在工厂上班的工人碌碌无为，在家躺平的人嘲笑每天准点上班的人被世俗束缚。就好像我，渴望有所成就，却嘲笑那些日复一日在平凡的岗位上默默做着本职工作的大人们生活枯燥无味。全然忘记正是因为他们细小而长久的付出，让我们拥有了还可以去拥抱白日梦的机会……
Often those who aspire to become corporate bosses scoff at factory workers for achieving nothing, while those lying flat at home scoff at those commuting punctually every day for being shackled by worldly norms. Just like me—yearning for accomplishment, yet scorning the adults who quietly perform their duties day after day in ordinary posts for having drab, flavorless lives. Completely forgetting that it is precisely their quiet, enduring contributions that grant us the privilege to still embrace our daydreams…
年龄、阅历、眼界的局限让我总以为自己的未来一片光明，幻想着以后的我手握操纵世界的机器，不再因得失而牵肠挂肚，不再有起伏不定的心情和人生，以为自己并非平凡的大多数。
The limits of age, experience, and vision led me to always assume my future would be ablaze with light—fantasizing that tomorrow I would grip the controls that steer the world, no longer fretting over gains and losses, no longer tossed by fluctuating moods and fortunes, fancying myself distinct from the ordinary majority.
也许生活本来就是满地鸡毛，我们嫌柴米油盐酱醋茶太平凡，可是每个人都离不开它，不管是什么职业、什么年龄，平凡如影随形。
Perhaps life was always meant to be strewn with messy trivialities. We disdained fuel, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, and tea as overly mundane, yet not a single soul can live without them; regardless of profession or age, ordinariness shadows us like our own form.
但十八岁的我们绝非平庸之辈，至少心中仍有梦想者如此。我们人生的大片荒芜正等待着我们开辟，虽然未来不确定，但只要我们仍有梦想，并为之奋斗，那片以时光为犁耕作处的田野上终会结下累累硕果。
Yet at eighteen, we are by no means mediocre—at least not those who still harbor dreams in their hearts. Vast uncultivated wildernesses in our lives await our pioneering; though the future remains uncertain, as long as we still hold fast to dreams and strive for them, the fields tilled with time as our plow will ultimately yield bountiful fruit.
或许平庸这个词只能被自己所定义吧？
Perhaps the word “mediocrity” can only ever be defined by oneself?
我常常翻开自己以前的日记本，记忆里的大家赞许“高光时刻”大多出人意料得平淡，而大家记忆里几乎遗忘的角落，却常安放着我的一刻曾经躁动的心。只有自己才能定义自己的人生是否平庸，不了解你生命每一刻的外人有什么资格来评论你的生活是否精彩呢？
I often open my past diaries. Most of the “highlight moments” applauded by others in my memory turn out to be surprisingly ordinary, whereas the corners almost forgotten by everyone else often hold a moment when my heart was once restless. Only you yourself can define whether your own life is mediocre; what right do outsiders who do not know every moment of your life have to pass judgment on whether your existence is splendid?
我忽然想起惠特曼的一首诗：
啊，自我！啊，生命！这个问题不断涌入我的脑海。毫无信仰的人群川流不息；繁华的城市却充斥着愚昧；不停的自责，我不停的自责（而那些比我还愚蠢的、毫无信仰可言的人呢？）贪婪的眼睛，吝啬的家伙，一成不变的挣扎，所有的恶果，周遭肮脏的人群，空虚无为的余生， 纠缠着我，这个问题，啊，自我！如此伤神，如此绵长。这样又有什么好处？啊，自我，啊，生命？回答是：因为此刻、你在此地——皆为生命之存在、其意之昭然；因为这伟大的戏剧仍在继续，你可以献上一首诗。
I suddenly thought of a poem by Walt Whitman:
Oh, self! Oh, life! This question keeps flooding into my mind.
The faithless crowds stream endlessly past; prosperous cities are filled with ignorance;
Endless self-reproach, I keep reproaching myself (and what of those more foolish than I, with no faith at all?)
Greedy eyes, miserly fellows, unchanging struggles,
All the bitter results, the filthy crowds around me,
The empty, unproductive remainder of life, entangling me—this question, oh, self!
So distressing, so prolonged. What good is there in this? Oh, self, oh, life?
Answer:
Because at this moment you are here—life exists, and its meaning is clear;
Because this great drama is still continuing, and you can offer a poem.
我们每个人的存在终有其意义，而这些只能等待自己发掘。我依然拥抱着我的白日梦，成为平凡却必不可缺的存在。
The existence of each and every one of us holds meaning in the end, and this can only wait for ourselves to discover. I still embrace my daydream, becoming an ordinary yet indispensable presence.
试着为自己，为社会奉献一首诗吧，远方的曦月，也许不是为我们而升，但至少我们可以用力向它奔去，让脚下的足迹化为我们人生独一无二的诗篇。
Strive to contribute a verse for yourself and for society. The distant dawn and moon may not have risen for us, but at least we can run toward them with all our might, letting the footprints beneath our feet become the unique, peerless poem of our lives.