關於 rock and roll meaning ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

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#2020617

最近有很多很多機會讓我可以接觸到自己的內心，
可能是因為身體的不舒服慢慢連繫到我的經歷！
無論一些傷心無力，還是很開心很美好的回憶都讓我跟内心的距離拉近.......

2019年12月20，一個我忘記不了的日子，一個讓我徹底失望的日子。
因為我患病的緣故，我從17歲後很多時間都需要住院，很多人生的計劃和夢想被迫擱置，徬徨無助的去放棄從小想當護士的夢想，毅然選擇走另一條路—— 輔導。不知所措，但卻因為長時間住院和病的經歷令我與家人、醫護人員和病友之間很自然地緊緊連繫了！
顧問和副顧問醫生很像我的第二個爸爸和媽媽，
其他醫生、護士、治療師很像我的哥哥姐姐，病友就像我的戰友，在病的過程中彼此互相幫助、互相扶持！一段又一段令我信任的關係，給予我很多盼望和精神力量！
尤其看著我由18歲成長到現在26歲的一群醫生，
您們是我的救命恩人！我不會忘記在我20歲那年正在準備應考第二次DSE(文憑試)發生的身體狀況！突如其來失去自主呼吸的能力，突如其來的手腳麻痺...聯合醫院醫生因為不熟悉我長長的病歷而令我錯失黃金治療時機，也差點兒奪去我的性命！

輾轉回到屯門醫院，我的醫生發現我的狀況有異而安排了一個緊急的chest CT(肺部電子掃描)，檢查完到達病房看到護士長拿著病房電話神色凝重地走過來問我知不知道自己的身高體重，告訴我要打針，詳細情況顧問醫生等一會兒來向我解釋....
我還記得那一天我本來還笑笑的凝望著氣急敗壞的顧問醫生，然後醫生罵我「妳的肺血管栓塞了，這個病如果不是這次幸運被發現，妳中風或猝死的機會是很大的！妳為甚麼還笑著呢？」
然後我跟醫生說了一句「血管都塞了，那難道我現在一定要哭嗎？」
說真的，我很害怕！當20歲大家都在享受青春的日子，我卻不斷重複地躺在醫院的床上，一次又一次休學，看回紀錄，我那年超過一半時間都住在病房中，之後還因為副作用會喘氣、會容易積痰，過了一年的氧氣機生活...
更甚的是，後來一次住院期間，我親眼目睹一個病人婆婆突發肺栓塞，即時搶救都沒能救回來，明明前一晚那位婆婆還在跟我聊天🥺，她跟我說她記得我之前睡在哪一張床.....
難道我能完全不懼怕嗎？我還很年輕，仍然很想留在世界上，愛我關心的人、我還渴望能繼續體驗人生......
2019年7月確診多一個罕見病，其實我不太恐懼，因為我相信我還有一群醫生陪伴自己走過難關、克服面前的困難...
但當12月我去血漿置換前您說出口的「妳留在風濕科會加重我們的負擔！」
那一天我在做血漿置換的過程哭到死去活來...那種感覺一開始我不知道是甚麼......但慢慢發現那些是我的孤獨感、無力感和憂慮...
原來我的而且確很害怕失去這群自己信任、依賴的醫生！
這段日子入面我傷心無力，很多朋友嘗試勸我換醫生、轉醫院....希望轉換環境我會開心一點點！
但在多了機會與內心對話後，我發現自己不想轉！不想失去信任的醫生！
我老師有跟我聊過，這是一種Attachment Figure(人人的生命中都會有很信任、很依賴的關係)，而這種關係好像被破壞時，讓我感覺很差....

因為這件事情，我到了3月仍然有愈來愈多的創傷後壓力症的症狀，剛讀過Abnormal Psychology(異常心理學)的我覺得不尋常，應該要找幫忙，而機緣巧合下與我的老師聯繫 輔導心理學家郭倩衡💗

那次是我人生第一次向一個從未見過面的老師去訴說心事而哭得軟弱無力！那次亦是我第一次接觸Internal Family Systems Therapy(內在家庭系統)，事後我把我們的對話畫成了圖畫！對！我第一次在75張Inner Active Cards中抽出了一個女孩在一根搖搖欲墜的樹枝上跨步而行的那張咭！
這是一個我充滿勇氣、願意嘗試的部分！
他的名字叫「光明」！而「光明」是一個會讓我克服恐懼向前走的protector(保護者)，他一直以來的保護讓我在大家眼中是一個無比堅強的孩子！他不希望我被別人感受到軟弱！

我很感激「光明」，他幫助我、陪伴我渡過了很多難關，但原來我和他也一樣累得很，我不是希望他消失，而是在慢慢與他相處和對話中，一起找出一個彼此都舒服、自在的方法陪伴彼此！It is okay to be not okay，輔導員告訴我，甚麼情緒也是應該被接納的💗！
在「光明」眼中，原來我的年紀停留了在17歲那年！
還因為他，我認識了一個熱心照顧別人感受而忽略自己的部份hahaha！
我不是有甚麼精神問題，只是那一刻...我與內心的自己聯繫了！
後來入院，我被某一位醫生在病房走廊不停罵，說甚麼情緒過渡不了是我的問題，Help reject也是我的問題.....我就好像一個軟弱的孩子被她罵到只懂得流眼淚而不作任何解釋和回應。。。
傷心到極點原來真的會有Emotional Numbness(情感麻木)，我還為了避開醫生躲在被窩裡1.5個小時😹...
真的很怕再受傷....

一直以來大家的留言/DM 我每一個都有細閱，或者不是每個我都有回覆，但每一個分享、每一句加油都有它的意義！🌈
前兩天，蘋果日報果籽把我的受訪片段上傳了到Youtube，讓更多人能看到我的分享！

https://youtu.be/ga6ISm5lFfg

下面的留言實在令我太有感受！正面負面的留言都有，有人說 因為我的分享，他覺得自己應該要感恩；
有人體現到我的生命充滿意義，超越很多庸碌一生的人；有人同理我在患病時面對的心理壓力和肉體上的折磨....
而Haters來來回回會說 服食那麼多藥物遲早會肝腎衰竭，叫我領取綜援就算！亦有人說我有手有腳「食得瞓得」不明白我分享有甚麼意義，更有人取笑我又胖又多病，還說甚麼婚禮😂😂😂....
說真的！我愛自己，我知道愛我的人會明白我，那就夠了！我會努力到自己不能再努力的一刻！
謝謝有很多人為我抱打不平☺️你們都好可愛💓💓💓！哈哈，我很清楚知道自己分享的初心是甚麼！

今日發生了一件事讓我更能反思生命，
在病房中，我走到護士站找完護士打算到床上繼續休息，忽然聽到有人叫了一聲「好鈞」，
我看過去，卻看到一位應該是很嚴重的病人躺在床上叫著我的名字...
佢示意我走到她的身旁，
我看到她床頭掛上的風濕科小牌子就忽然想起了！
她應該是我曾經在病房遇上過的SLE病人。
她使盡身體力氣吐出了一句「好鈞，好辛苦啊！」
我看著那滴在她眼框中打轉的淚水...
我彷彿聽到她的無力感！
老師教過同理別人不是要感受對方的感受，
但那一刻我感覺到她的軟弱、感受到她的無力，
我那一刻撐著拐杖，另一隻手輕輕拍拍她的肩膊，
說一句加油是我在這一刻唯一能為她做的事情。
感激妳記得我，感激妳願意向我表達妳的軟弱！
我明白會有懼怕不安，我不會叫妳不用怕！因為不可能.....

到今晚課堂結束後我在床上為我們的健康交託，不但與自己內心傾談，也能與一段時間都感受不到的上帝爸爸聊天☺️❤️希望妳知道「上帝早已預備」，祂愛我們，絕對會為我們作最適合的安排！

今天我到醫院時很暈，
我已經是撘taxi(計程車)回去...
但一回到病房要護士扶我、坐輪椅，
然後上到床就吐了兩大袋.....
前幾天還長風疹，長到滿身都是，4天都沒辦法退，關節又腫又痛....

今天自己很棒！
事隔半年，我慢慢陪伴受傷的內在小孩，克服自己的恐懼，第一次開口跟醫生說病情(而不是寫紙條、寫信、畫畫....)！
今天醫生開口說「知道妳未必可以直接跟我對話，我一會兒說的話妳搖頭點頭就可以了」
但下一秒我竟然能開口，太感動了！
醫生和我都有點兒愕然🤣🤣🤣！

雖然我很不想入院，
但護士說了一句「乖啦好鈞！舒服啲先再出發啦！」

嗯，感激學校的老師一次又一次幫助我讓我可以努力學習！
大學以後每一年考試都需要加時作賽，今年也不例外，還累得要申請每半小時5分鐘的休息時間才能完成考試；
FYP project plan 我總共延了期4次，捱了很多個夜晚才能完成77頁的瘋狂第一階段capstone；
Internship(實習)一開始就已經要啟動特別應變措施，說真有點不好意思，但感激學校的clinical supervisor和機構的社工都很願意幫助我，盡量為我作一點適切的安排，讓我可以不需要擔心自己行動上的不便！！！
supervisor告訴我 我可以盡情享受學習的旅程！
我很感激自己能有這個機會！一切都得來不易！🔥

原來在8年間，不長也不短的時間裡，我經歷了那麼多！💓無論開心與否都是我人生的一部分，引領我成長，令我成為獨一無二的好鈞！
生命不在乎長短，而是在乎它的精彩程度！
今天永遠都不知道明天會發生甚麼事，我希望能盡力愛自己、愛我關心的人、做自己喜歡做的事情☺️！這就是我的Meaning in Life and Value of Life✊🏻

感激我人生中的Hero’s Journey(英雄歷程)！
這是我大學一年級group counselling(小組輔導)題目😂😂😂！

感謝我的每一個經歷❤️感謝仍然愛著我的每一位！




#謝謝你們又看完接近4000字的分享😂👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻
#感激緣份讓我遇上IFS💗
#感激自己仍能投入和堅持學習‼️
#我很幸運能遇上令自己投入熱誠的知識💟
#多謝阿Dick多謝阿池多謝Helen❣️
#感激沿途遇上的同學都很願意陪伴我💜
#Helen的髮型跟阿愁好Match🤣


一點一滴太珍貴。

永遠記住“ If God brings you to it, he will bring you through it.”✊🏻

努力活出Rock n roll的人生😎🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻

#仍然tag唔到阿池添🤡

昨晚吃了鯷魚花枝梨子燉飯，還有一顆煎得恰恰的蛋。然後第二次把這本書看完。「時間裡的癡人」是美國作家Jennifer Egan第四本小說。故事是以裡頭的各種角色為第一人稱穿插著著敘述而成的篇章。各個視線聚集之處，是「出現很棒停頓的搖滾歌曲」。在寫法上也成為了整本小說節奏的重點，並且，成為其所述的那個轉折點。

小時候聽搖滾樂，總是很不喜歡曲目裡有時候會暫停的專輯，寂寞苦澀無盡的讀書時光裡總是希望被豐富甚至吵鬧的編曲給填滿，那樣的暫停總是令人不安。然而漸漸漸漸的，卻覺得那樣的安排是多麼絕妙而必要的存在。像是最近的這些日子，人家說妳做什麼呢？我說沒什麼吧，吃飽睡好，讀讀書拍拍照，偶爾寫寫稿（拖很兇是真的，抱歉...）這樣的「空白」，希望以後也成為很搖滾的人生中的很棒的停頓，即使最近已經不那麼聽搖滾樂了。

這本小說在出版隔年獲得普利茲小說獎、美國國家書評獎。

My dinner last night was anchovy squid pear risotto, and a sunny side up egg that I just couldn't resist stirring the yolk to the rice. Meanwhile I finished the second time reading of the novel "A visit from the Goon Squad" by American writer Jennifer Egan.

The story was built up with several chapters from different perspectives of characters, in different tones even different forms. As well as all the angle toward to the same point of the chapter "Great Rock and Roll Pauses", which itself also became the turning point in whole story, right before it ends, just like the pauses of albums.

When I was younger I never understand the meaning and feel anxious of some Rock n Roll albums which pauses for a while before their last song. Wishing the time and body to be fully filled by those complex, even noisy melodies n beats without those unexpected silences. Yet time passes and I start to appreciate the blank as the days I am having now. Hoping one day it will become the excellent moment in my life just like the short silence in those great albums.

This novel won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction on 2011, an year after it published.

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….