Life of recluse

隐逸的生活似乎在传统意识中一直被认为是幸福的至高境界。但这种孤傲遁世同时也是孤独的，纯粹的隐者实属少数，而少数者的满足不能用来解读普世的幸福模样。

有道是小隐隐于野，大隐隐于市。真正的幸福并不隐逸，可以在街市而不是丛林中去寻找。

It seems that, in the traditional sense, a life of recluse has long been considered as the supreme state of happiness. However, this kind of proud withdrawal from the world is meanwhile lonely. In fact, there are few unadulterated recluses. And the satisfaction of the few cannot be used to interpret the universal condition of happiness.

As the saying goes, “the inferior recluse hides away in the wild; the superior, crowd”. Real happiness, which does not live in seclusion, can be found in the downtown rather than in the forest.

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Morning glow

晨光，透过古色古香的雕花窗棂，给庭院里精致的盆景慢慢地化上一抹金黄的淡妆。那煎鸡蛋的“刺啦”声袅袅升起，空气中开始充斥着稚嫩的童音、汽车启动的节奏、夫妻间甜蜜的道别，还有邻居们简单朴素的问好。巷陌中的这一切，忙碌却不混乱，活泼却不嘈杂，平淡却不厌烦。

Rays of the morning glow, penetrating the quaintly carved window lattice, little by little, put on a stroke of light make-up in golden yellow for the delicate potted landscapes in the courtyard. With the sizzling sound of frying eggs curling upwards, the air begins to be filled with various sounds: the tender voices of children, the starting-up rhythm of cars’ engines, the sweetly-said good-byes between couples, the simple greetings among neighbors… All these things in the alleys are busy yet not chaotic, lively yet not clamorous, plain yet not boring.

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Wait till I meet you

巷尾的绿地虽然没有山野的苍翠欲滴，但是空气中弥漫着荒野中所没有的生机。微黄的路灯 下，每一张长椅都写着不同的心情，甜蜜与快乐、悲伤与喜悦，交织在一起，在静谧中缓缓发酵。谁也不会知道在下一个转角中会是怎样的惊喜，会是一家风格独特食客不断的小吃店？是一家放着爵士乐的酒吧？还是一家摆着高脚木凳、连空气都闲散的小小咖啡馆？坐在户外撑着遮阳伞的木椅上，和新认识的朋友一边喝茶，一 边谈着自己小小的生活，或许也是一种惬意。

While the green plots at the end of the alleys are not as verdant and juicy as those in the wild, the vitality that overflows in the air can never be found in the latter. In the pale yellow light of street lamps, every settee is inscribed with a different mood- sweetness, happiness, sorrow, or delight- which mingles with each other and slowly ferments in placidity. Who knows what surprise will crop up at the next street corner?

An eatery with an exotic style and ceaseless flow of customers? A bar with jazz on? Or a small café with high-legged wooden stools and a leisure atmosphere? To be seated on a wooden chair under a parasol in the open air, talking with newly-acquainted friends about one’s own trivial life over a cup of tea, is probably a pleasure, too.

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We are a family

一切，被时间打磨，被时间沉淀，终于形成了一种习惯，一种默契，一种文化。

和来家中做客的邻居朋友用同一种腔调巧妙地笑谑着身边的琐事，大家眯起的眼睛都默契地闪着同一种狡黠；和家人一起围在饭桌前，衔满食物的嘴还发着含糊的声音，有些聒噪，但没人厌烦。

小巷虽然狭窄，却拉不住快乐蔓延的速度……

Everything, polished and deposited by time, eventually becomes a habit, a mutuality, a culture.

At home, together with visiting neighboring friends, people joke about trifling matters around in the same clever manner, everyone’s narrowed eyes glimmering with the same craftiness in tacit agreement; at the family gathering around the dining table, stuffed mouths mumble, somewhat noisily, yet no one is bothered.

Cramped as the alleys are, happiness there pervades regardless…

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Loneliness

随着城市里那些密集而冰冷的高楼大厦拔地而起，在拥堵的车流中，在污浊的空气里，人们的幸福正在一点点地破碎，飘零。大家住得越来越宽敞，越来越私密。自我，也被划进一个单独的空间里，小心地不去触碰别人的心灵，也不容许他人轻易介入。可是，一个人安静下来时会觉得，曾经厌烦的那些嘈杂回想起来很温情很怀念。

As the dense, cold high-rises sprout up in the cities, the traffic congests, the air fouls, and bit by bit, people’s happiness is tattering and dying away. People’s living space is becoming more and more commodious, yet less and less communal. One’s self, enclosed in an exclusive space, carefully avoids touching other people’s hearts while forbidding their rash access. Nevertheless, the time when one quietens down and thinks back, one would miss the cozy racket that used to be so annoying.

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Take me home

比起高楼耸立的曼哈顿，人们更加喜欢佛罗伦萨红色穹顶下被阳光淹没的古老巷道；比起在夜晚光辉璀璨的陆家嘴，人们会更喜欢充满孩子们打闹嬉笑的万航渡路。就算已苍然老去，支撑起梦境的应该是老房子暗灰的安详，吴侬软语的叫卖声，那一方氤氲过温馨和回忆的小弄堂。

Compared with Manhattan with all its towering buildings, people prefer Florence, under whose red domes ancient alleys are submerged in the sunlight; compared with the radiant Lujiazui at night, people would prefer Wanhangdu Road, which is brimming with playing children’s boisterous laughter. Even when we are advanced in years, what constitute our dreamscape should be the unruffled old dark-grey houses, the peddling bawls in soft Wu dialect, and the tiny alleys where tender, warm recollections linger.

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Ivy garden

如果用一双细腻的眼眸去观照，其实每一片青苔和爬山虎占据的墙角，都是墨绿色的诗篇，不会飘逸，不会豪放，只是那种平淡的幸福，简简单单。

幸福是什么模样，或许并不难回答。幸福就是一本摊开的诗篇，关于在城市的天空下，那些寻常巷陌的诗。

夜幕笼罩，那散落一地的万家灯火中，有多少寻常的幸福正蜗居在巷陌……

When seen from an exquisite eye, actually every corner occupied by green moss and Boston ivy is a poem written in blackish green, which, being neither elegant nor powerful, just reveals that plain happiness, plain and simple.

It might not be difficult to answer what happiness is like. Happiness is an unfolded collection of poems about those ordinary alleys under the city sky.

The curtains of night have descended. Amid the scattered twinkling lights of myriad families, how much plain happiness is dwelling in the alleys…

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