生命中的幸福味道

The transboundary haze caused by Indonesia’s forest and peatland fires is nothing new. It was already troubling Southeast Asia in 1983, when I was just a child. Since then, the haze has returned almost every dry season, particularly between August and October. The 1997 crisis was especially devastating, as Malaysia sent firefighting teams to help battle the massive fires in Sumatra and Kalimantan. Coincidentally, the Asian financial crisis struck around the same time, leaving behind two unforgettable scars in our collective memory. Now, in 2026, history is repeating itself. In September, Sematan in Sarawak reportedly recorded an Air Pollutant Index (API) reading above 500, well into the hazardous range. By October, schools were closing again, and this morning even Kuala Lumpur woke up to the smell of smoke. More than two decades after regional agreements were signed, the haze continues to return, year after year. Promises have been made, but lasting solutions remain elusive...

In October (2026), the air in America is charged with midterm election fervor. Yet before me lies a humble little pastry, bringing together matcha, taro paste, and sesame—a delicate combination that tells a different story about choice. The freshness of matcha evokes the hope people place in the future. The soft, comforting richness of taro speaks to the everyday concerns that shape our lives: the rising cost of living, housing expenses, medical bills, and the simple yet profound question of whether hard work can still lead to a life of security and peace of mind.  The deep, distinctive flavor of sesame, meanwhile, reflects the diversity of beliefs and convictions within society. Every voice has its own origins, its own reasons, and its own reasons for standing firm. The pastry’s outer crust, whether fried or baked, offers a satisfying crispness. But beneath that golden exterior, it is the filling that ultimately defines its character. And so, I find myself thinking abo...

I'm absolutely in love with the Chinese drama Against The Current, especially this line: “Back then, I wasn't yet worthy of you. Perhaps Heaven made us walk separate paths for a while, so that once we had both grown into better versions of ourselves, we could truly find our way back to each other.” Some kinds of love aren't brought together by fate alone. Perhaps love needs two people to grow, to strive, and to become better versions of themselves—so that when the time is finally right, they are ready to meet each other again. Maybe that's what makes certain kinds of love so beautiful: not simply finding the right person, but becoming the right person for each other. #Mikemoments

When you find that one person who connects you to the world, you become someone different—someone softer, more hopeful, perhaps even someone better. For a while, you believe that love has made the world make sense. You begin to see meaning in the smallest things, and you allow yourself to believe that perhaps you have finally found the person who makes life feel whole. But when that person is taken from you, something within you changes forever. Life does not stop. The world does not pause to mourn with you. Morning still comes, people still laugh, seasons still change, and life simply keeps moving forward. And so do you. But you are no longer the same person who once loved so recklessly, so innocently, so completely. The hopeless romantic—the foolish, wholehearted believer who once thought love could conquer everything—is gone. What remains is someone who has learned that love can be both a beginning and an ending; that losing someone does not mean losing the a...

Do you believe that the identity we are given may belong to fate, but the soul we carry—and the spirit with which we live—belongs to us? Perhaps that is what makes Against the Current (Lan Xiang Ru Gu) so deeply moving.  Beneath its romance lies a quiet rebellion against the cages of identity: the insistence that a person should be seen not for the name they bear, the class they belong to, or the skin they inhabit, but for the soul that lives beneath it all. In the rigid social order of its world, the distance between a maid and the young master of an eminent family is not merely social—it is almost a chasm. They belong to different worlds, governed by different rules, with little reason to ever meet as equals. And yet, this very impossibility is what gives their love its extraordinary force. Lan Xiang may have been born into servitude, but she never allowed servitude to define the limits of her spirit. Her intelligence, resilience, dignity and quiet defiance gradually ...

There are lessons in life that cannot be learned in comfort. Some things have to be endured before they can be understood. The storms we once wished would pass quickly often leave behind something unexpected:  a quieter mind, a steadier heart, and a deeper understanding of who we are. Adversity has a way of stripping life of its unnecessary noise. It washes away impatience, pride, and the restless need to have everything figured out.  What remains is often much simpler—and much more real. We begin to discover that strength is not always loud. Sometimes, it is simply getting up in the morning after a difficult night and carrying on.  Sometimes, it is choosing not to become bitter after being hurt. Sometimes, it is learning to let go of what we cannot change, while quietly doing what is still within our hands. Life does not promise to spare us from hardship. But hardship does not have the final word, either. The experiences that fail to break us leave their mark...

On the eve of Malaysia Day, the night felt unusually warm and gentle. Our conversation began with a simple subject — the newly relocated China Supermarket in Kampar, Happy Family. Yet, as conversations between old friends often do, it soon wandered far beyond the shelves and aisles of a supermarket. We found ourselves talking about China and Malaysia, about the quiet and complicated threads that have connected the two countries for generations — and about the many ways people, cultures, languages, and memories cross borders without ever asking for permission. You tried, somewhat hesitantly, to speak in a mother tongue that had grown unfamiliar with time. A word caught, a tone slipped — small stumbles, but I noticed each one. I listened, still the same fool who could never quite hide a silly smile. Perhaps that was what made the evening so beautiful. Outside, the haze hung heavily in the night air. The sky was dull, the atmosphere slightly oppressive, and even breathing seemed to carry ...

It was a sweltering afternoon when I happened to catch a glimpse of a Strawberry Daifuku on the menu.  Intrigued by its delicate appearance, I stepped into this charming Japanese dessert shop nearby, not quite knowing that I was about to discover one of the most refreshing little treats of the day. After scanning the menu, the Snow Kiss Mochi immediately caught my eye. I simply could not resist ordering it. Inspired by the classic Japanese Strawberry Daifuku, Snow Kiss Mochi takes the familiar idea and gives it a wonderfully contemporary twist. The outer layer is a classic white mochi skin, soft, tender and pleasantly chewy, with that satisfying stretchiness characteristic of Japanese glutinous rice dough.  A delicate dusting of starch keeps it from sticking to the fingers while adding to its understated, traditional character. But the real surprise is what lies within: a cool, tangy Yuzu Sorbet wrapped around a whole fresh strawberry. The yuzu sorbet is an inspired choice. Ja...

Of all places, I met #TheLittlePrince here! In #TheLittlePrince, the #Rose is the story's most quietly haunting thread. She appears proud and fussy from the start — four thorns, an imaginary tiger, a cough performed just a little too casually, and all those small vanities that are almost, but not quite, visible. #TheLittlePrince is young and unguarded. He doesn't understand what lies beneath her words. Her behavior unsettles him, and so he leaves. Only later do we understand: her pride, her willfulness, her way of saying one thing while meaning another — these were never anything but the clumsy self-protection of a soul who didn't know how to say "I love you."  #Rose was too young, too inexperienced. She didn't know any way to face her own vulnerability except to feign strength and pretend to be proud. She didn't know that the more someone cares, the more they fear losing it — and the more they long to be close, the less they know how to say so. So she use...

With a total calorie content of approximately 660 kcal or less, this meal is an excellent choice for a balanced, nutrient-dense diet.  Its overall composition is particularly well suited to a healthy eating pattern, providing high-quality protein, dietary fiber, and beneficial unsaturated fats while keeping total calories under control. The combination of chicken and a soft-boiled egg provides approximately 28 grams of protein. Once the brown rice and nuts are included, the meal can easily provide more than 30 grams of protein in total.  Japanese teriyaki sauce contributes additional sugar and sodium, so using it in moderation is a practical way to enhance flavor without significantly increasing the overall calorie load or sodium intake. Keeping the brown rice portion to roughly one fist-sized serving typically provides around 160–200 kcal, leaving sufficient room within the calorie budget for protein-rich foods and healthy fats. A small serving of nuts, approximately 15 grams...

Today's date—September 9th—carries genuine weight in Chinese culture, and it's worth unpacking why. Nine as the Ultimate Yang Number In the Book of Changes (I Ching), the number nine represents yang at its absolute peak—the outermost, most vigorous point before a cycle turns over and begins again.  This is why emperors were traditionally said to hold "the nine-five position", the most exalted seat in the cosmic order. When Li Bai described a waterfall as looking like "the Milky Way falling from the ninth heaven," he wasn't being poetically loose—"nine heavens" specifically meant the highest, outermost layer of the sky in traditional cosmology. Nine and Long-Lasting: A Play on Sound Here's where it gets personal. In Mandarin, "nine" (九, jiǔ) is a near-homophone of "long-lasting" or "enduring" (久, jiǔ). So doubling the nine—9/9—naturally became shorthand for wishing something chángjiǔ, "long and enduring....

立秋，槟城新街附近的深夜食堂。 角落一隅，坐着一对情侣。男人来自中国，说着一口流利听起来又让人舒服的英语；身旁的英国姑娘，一头长发柔顺地垂在肩头，握筷的姿态娴熟自然，仿佛早已习惯了这样东方的饮食方式，完全融入于爱人所出生的那个世界。 我默默品尝美食。耳际断断续续传来他们低声的交谈，时而相视而笑，时而侧耳静听。那些絮絮流淌的话语，不曾刻意追求浪漫，却似涓涓细流,静静漫过彼此心田。仿佛这一夜太短，而他们要说的话太长——总有讲不完的故事，也总有道不尽的琐碎日常。 桌上的肉骨茶腾着热气，香气氤氲弥漫。可忽然间，我竟觉得，美食动人之处，从不只在于果腹。 人与人之间，愿意倾听、愿意回应，愿意把一天的悲喜，细细讲与对方听——那份心与心的靠近，远比任何珍馐佳肴更耐人咀嚼，更值得回味。 原来，最好的晚餐，从来不是舌尖上的滋味而已，而是在这灯火温柔的夜色里，恰好有一个人，愿意陪你，把寻常烟火，说成一首悠长而温暖的诗。 #Mike人间烟火 08.08.2026

当小说的人物穿越到现实世界：《月之暗面与冷酷仙境》                      缘起：翻阅报道，我是被“月之暗面”这词汇所吸引而开始关注Moonshot AI 创始人兼 CEO——杨植麟。他乃是目前全球人工智能领域最瞩目的青年学者与创业者之一。 果然有村上春树的“影子”。真正热爱村上春树之书写的人，不是我，是我的一位中学朋友。这些年以来一直很遗憾，因为通俗与畅销，他喜欢的作家未能获得世界级的文学大奖，但他创作的故事却那么深深地影响了读者的思维，包括我那位获得奖学金在海外深造回国继续留在本地大学教书的朋友。 ******  村上春树写过一座小镇。镇子被高墙围住，进城的人必须交出自己的影子，从此心不再痛，也不再爱，只剩下永恒的、干净的宁静。那是《世界尽头》里的隐喻——一个人如果把自己活成一套完美运转的程序，代价是要先杀死内心那个聒噪的、不听话的自己。 1992 年出生在广东省汕头的那个男孩，很长一段时间里，是不打算交出影子的。 他在金山中学，喜欢平克·弗洛伊德胜过喜欢课本。他梦想过做摇滚明星、做浪人诗人。这是他的影子——嘈杂、感性、拒绝被规训。 可是命运给他开了一个近乎荒诞的玩笑：这个没什么编程基础的少年，只用了一年时间训练，就拿下了中国信息学奥赛一等奖，保送清华；随后又在高考里考出汕头理科状元的成绩。 理性和感性，从一开始就没有分出胜负。它们只是学会了在他身体里同时生活。 到了清华，他没有收起吉他。他在计算机系组了一支乐队，取名 Splay——一种数据结构的名字。鼓手、主唱、写词人，是他在"系统"之外为自己保留的一小片"世界尽头"。 而白天的他，是另一个身份：一个把自己的大脑当作运算装置的人。这像极了《冷酷仙境》里那个被植入"洗牌"程序的计算士——用潜意识加密数据，再在需要的时候解密还原。 杨植麟去了卡内基梅隆，用 Transformer-XL 和 XLNet 两篇论文，把自己的名字加密进了 NLP 领域的历史坐标里。图灵奖得主是他的合作者，苹果、DeepMind 的科学家愿意做他的导师。他成了那个系统里运转得最精密的计算士之一。 如果故事到此为止，这会是一个再典型不过的"天才留美、功成身退"的剧本。硅谷张开双臂，斯坦福递出橄榄枝，一份足...

#老歌不老 黑夜，总是比白天更容易让旧歌钻进来。 失眠翻身的间隙，一段旋律毫无预警地浮上来，人就这样被拽回了某个不再存在的时刻。 吴宗宪这首经典歌曲的歌名本身就是一个问句，但问得似乎又缠绵又狡黠——不是在问：“你想我了吗？”，而是先问“是不是这样的夜晚”，仿佛把主动权交给了时间和情境；仿佛想念不是意志能左右的事，而是夜色、温度、某种湿润的空气到了某个刻度，人的情绪便自动沦陷。 这或许便是中文情歌最精妙、也最懂人心之处： 它从不苛责谁忘了谁，只是轻声替你辩解：“不是你薄情呀，只是夜晚太像那年的夜晚了。” 我总觉得，怀旧金曲之所以耐听，是因为它们从不追赶潮流，反而心甘情愿地被时代甩在原地（现代年轻歌手我真的不认识几个😛），像一枚锈了的怀表，停在某个刻度上等你回来对时。 年轻时，我们听的是旋律；中年后，我们听的是自己——那些以为早已风干的心事，被一句熟悉的和弦轻轻一掀，居然还带着湿气呢！ 这样的夜晚不必特别，可以是街上漫步时地铁站的风，也可以是某次聚会散场后独自等Grab车的路灯下的场景。歌词里那个“你”，其实早已模糊成一种情绪的代号——未必真的是某个具体的人，也有可能是曾经那个更年轻、更爱恨分明的自己而已。 想念“那个人（你）”，比想念任何一段旧情都更让人怅然。 老歌的好处，是它替我们保管了那些没能说出口的秘密。旋律一响，所有解释都变得多余，人只需静静任由自己被认领......  早安，吉隆坡。 #晨读晨思晨写26072026 #学而时习之不亦说乎

饥肠辘辘的午后，时间像一条走得太慢的河。手提电脑屏幕还亮着，未完成的工作安静地躺在那里，仿佛也在等一个喘息的机会。 我决定偷个闲，走进金宝新街场的那家日本料理店，扫码点了一碗热腾腾的日式拉面。乳白色的汤头缓缓升起雾气，像冬日清晨的薄雾，把疲惫一点一点地藏了进去。 拿起细尖的日式筷子，挑起面条，连汤带汁送入口中。那种温暖，不只是抵达了胃，更像有人轻轻拍了拍肩膀，轻声说一句： “宝贝，你辛苦了！” 旁边摆着几片Toro三文鱼。橙红色的纹理细腻如丝，油脂在舌尖缓缓化开，仿佛整片海洋，都把最温柔的滋味赠给了此刻的味蕾。 我总觉得，美食和恋爱有几分相似—— 不需要惊天动地，只需要在你最疲惫、最饥饿的时候，恰好出现。它不追问你经历了什么，也不评判你的得失，只是静静地，用一碗热汤、一片鲜美的鱼肉，把你从忙碌与焦虑里，轻轻接住。 工作还会继续，梦想也仍在远方。 但此刻，我愿意把整个下午，交给这碗拉面，交给这口Toro三文鱼，也交给那个终于愿意按下暂停键的自己——留一点时间，留一点空间，好好和生活谈一场恋爱。 #Mike人间烟火

给亚参叻沙的情书：一碗面的文化肖像 有人说，爱情可以改变一个人的口味。我却更愿意相信——一碗亚参叻沙，是#两个人甘愿为彼此，#重新调制生命滋味的证明。 细心品尝这碗美食，我想象很久很久以前，在马六甲海峡潮起潮落之间，一位飘洋过海而来的华人青年，遇见了一位马来姑娘。他带来了故乡灶头的炊烟与洁白的米粉，她带来了热带雨林深处的香料与果实。没有谁征服谁，也没有谁委身谁，他们只是在同一个灶台前，一点一点，学会了彼此的语言：中文与马来语。 后来，世人给这样的结合取了一个温柔的名字——峇峇娘惹。 而亚参叻沙，正是这段姻缘最柔软、也最悠长的见证。 “亚参”（Assam），马来语里意为“酸”，指的是罗望子。这株原生于非洲大陆的植物，循着印度洋的贸易风，随阿拉伯商船与印度商队漂洋过海，辗转来到南洋。它走过的，是一段以季风为帆、以数百年为单位丈量的旅程，最终，才化作一碗汤底里不可或缺的灵魂。 原来，舌尖那一点酸意，从来不只是味觉——它是一段横渡大洋的文明史，被悄悄封存进了汤碗之中。 华人擅熬鱼汤，离不开米粉的柔韧；马来人则深谙香茅、南姜、辣椒、虾膏与百般香料的分寸。当两种饮食的血脉在锅中相遇，谁也没有取代谁——鱼汤留住了中式的细腻婉转，香料则注入了南洋的热烈奔放。酸、辣、鲜，在同一只碗里彼此让步，终得平衡。 这多像一场婚姻啊！相守，从来不是“两个人”变成“同一个人”，而是#在千差万别之中，#慢慢学会读懂对方。 若说马六甲与新加坡的咖喱叻沙，是浓情蜜意、椰香缠绵的热恋，那么槟城的亚参叻沙，便更像一对携手多年的夫妻——不再有椰浆那般丰腴甜腻的修饰，却有罗望子的酸、辣椒的烈、鲭鱼的鲜，还有薄荷、黄瓜、洋葱悄悄递来的一缕清新。 层层叠叠、错落有致的滋味，这何尝不是人生的写照？甜从来不是唯一的答案，反倒是那些酸与辣，让人记得更久、更深。 槟城依山面海，地脉与泰南山水暗暗相连，因此这里的叻沙少了椰浆的浓稠，多了几分酸辣的锋芒，气质竟与泰式冬阴功隐隐相通。这并非巧合——是地理塑造了饮食的性格，饮食又默默记下了历史的脚印。海风吹来的，从不只是香料的气息，还有一代代不同族群迁徙而来的足音与故事。 在历史学者眼中，亚参叻沙是一部盛在碗里的移民史；在文化学者眼中，它是海峡华人融合中华、马来、印度文明的一枚缩影；而在一个相信爱情的人眼中，它始终是一封迟迟没有写完的情书。 因为真正动人的爱情，从来不是让彼此变成同...

清晨六点四十五分。 槟城还没有完全苏醒过来，巴刹*却已经把一天的生活给煮滚了。 空气里混杂着湿润的海风、地面明显有雨刚到访过的痕迹，还有锅里沸腾的高汤。铁勺敲碰瓷碗，刀背轻轻拍打砧板，晨跑路过，耳际传来熟练的一声声福建话、广东话、马来话，甚至为了迎接老外的英语，像一首没有乐谱，却流传了几十年的晨曲。 有人说，城市真正的灵魂，不在高楼，而在巴刹。因为这里没有刻意营造的浪漫，只有最诚实的人间烟火。 我迫不及待点了一碟甜酱猪肠粉。 雪白的猪肠粉，被剪成一段段，淋上浓稠发亮的甜酱，再撒一点芝麻。没有华丽的配料，却有一种岁月沉淀后的笃定。甜酱的甜，不是张扬，而是温厚；米浆的柔软，也不是讨好，而是几十年来始终如一的质朴。它像槟城人的性格——不急着惊艳你，却会在某一个平凡的清晨，让你忽然想起，这就是岁月里某段记忆里的味道。 另一碗粿条汤，汤色清澈见底。 几片瘦肉、鱼丸、猪杂，再配上滑嫩的粿条，没有繁复的调味，却鲜得恰到好处。真正好的汤，从来不是味精堆砌出来的热闹，而是时间慢慢熬出来的耐心。每一口都像是在提醒人：简单，不代表简单；克制，往往最见功夫。 旁边再添刚打包的卤肉。那是一位帅哥在周末撑场，摆摊在卖的卤肉。 卤汁把五花肉染成深褐色，肥瘦相间，入口软糯，酱香里藏着八角、桂皮和岁月的气息。那不是一道追逐潮流的料理，而是一代又一代家庭餐桌上的温暖记忆。正是有人接过父亲的锅，有人守着母亲的配方，于是，一座城市的味觉，也就在这样的传承中，悄悄活了下来。 当然，还少不了一杯冰镇的 Kopi O。 玻璃杯外凝着细细的水珠，黑咖啡带着焦香，微甜，也微苦。第一口下去，暑气散了，人也醒了。人生终究像这一杯 Kopi O——苦，是底色；甜，是点缀；冰块慢慢融化以后，留下的，才是真正属于自己的味道。 我始终觉得，古早味之所以迷人，并不是因为它古老，而是因为它拒绝遗忘。 巴刹每天都在重复同样的清晨：同样的摊位、同样的锅火、同样的笑容，甚至同样一句“吃你要吃什么？”可正是这些不断重复的小事，构成了生活最深层的意义，最有故事的人间烟火。 所谓幸福，从来不是昂贵的一顿饭，而是在一个平凡的早晨，坐在槟城巴刹的一角，看着热气缓缓升起，听着人声慢慢沸腾，然后安安静静地吃完一碟猪肠粉、一碗粿条汤、一碟卤肉，再喝完一杯 Kopi O 冰。 原来，人间烟火，就是最好的古早味；而古早味，也是一座城市最温柔的乡愁。 ...

Your Name Is "#Father" Someone once asked："When does a guy truly become a grown man?" Perhaps it is not when he finds success, nor when applause fills the room. Perhaps it is the moment a tiny hand wraps around his finger and a small voice softly whispers, "Daddy." From that day on, he receives a new name: "Father." It is not a title of honor, but a lifelong responsibility. Not merely an identity, but a promise he carries for the rest of his life—through joy and hardship alike. Little by little, he places himself at the very end of every priority. The clothes he once longed to buy become unnecessary. The distant places he dreamed of visiting are quietly folded away with yesterday's ambitions. However weary or burdened he may be, he simply smiles and says, "I'm fine. I can handle it." As children, we believe fathers are born strong. Only later do we realize that it was never because they never grew tired—it was because they could...

"Why don't we start again from the beginning?" /Mike Lim ************  Sometimes what we call love is nothing more than two lonely souls meeting at the wrong time, drawing near by the wrong means, and settling into a long, quiet tug-of-war between control and escape. One person's obsession has never been proof of devotion — it is, rather, a slow consumption of the self, a gradual walk toward one's own undoing. We tell ourselves that if we give everything, we might build a warm enough nest for the one we love; that if we love hard enough, the one who has wandered so long will finally fold their restless wings and stay. But the true mistake is never loving too much — it is misunderstanding what love is. When love is reduced to boundless tolerance, when it becomes a duty of self-sacrifice dressed up as devotion, it loses the lightness and freedom that were once its very nature. Silence begins to stand in for listening. Restraint takes the place of honest conversa...

The sunset is infinitely beautiful, yet dusk draws near. There was a time when I believed those words spoke only of loss — that beauty, by its very nature, must be brief, that everything radiant is destined to surrender itself to darkness. But the years, moving with their patient and invisible hands, have taught me otherwise. The sunset is not the defeat of daylight. It is simply another way in which light chooses to exist. I often find myself watching the evening sky, wondering why it stirs the heart so quietly. Perhaps because the sunset never announces itself. It arrives almost unnoticed, gathering the colours of an ordinary day until the whole horizon becomes a language without words. We stand before it believing we are watching the sky, when all the while it is our own lives being gently illuminated. Love has always seemed to me much the same. Not the sudden blaze that startles the heart in youth, but the slower, quieter radiance that remains after certainty has dissolved. Love, i...

If I could      /Mike Lim If I could, I would set my longing free— a single white cloud drifting past the mountain crest, touching no leaf, stirring no silence, not even the echo of your name. The mountains do not move. Morning settles on their shoulders, layer by layer, painting the years in tender jade. The words I never spoke rest somewhere inside the mist, waiting for a wind to carry them— a whisper meant for no one, yet heard by all. My heart has always belonged to the road— gathering blossoms wherever they fall, leaving yesterday behind at every bend. Not because I have forgotten, but because I have learned that clouds are born to wander, mountains keep faith with the seasons, and every road was always meant to vanish past some farther hill. Still, I carry one small lamp that never goes out— and by its light, every farewell becomes a way of going home. So I walk on, light as a cloud, still as a mountain, carrying a lamp that has never once forgotten how to burn. ...

If I Could /Mike Lim If I could, I would make my longing weightless— a single white cloud gliding beyond the mountain crest, touching no leaf, troubling no silence, not even the distant echo of your name. The mountains remain still. Morning gathers upon their shoulders, layer after quiet layer, washing the years in tender shades of jade. The words I never found linger somewhere within the mist, waiting only for the passing wind to carry them, like a whisper meant for no one, yet heard by all. My heart has always belonged to the road— gathering fallen blossoms wherever they surrendered, leaving yesterday at every bend. Not because memory has faded, but because I have learned that clouds are born to wander, mountains are faithful to the turning seasons, and every path is destined to disappear beyond another horizon. Yet still, so long as one clear sky remains within me, every farewell becomes another way home; every ridge I climb reminds me that longing is never the distance between ...

《您的名字叫父亲》 有人问，一个男人什么时候才真正长大？ 也许，不是在事业有成的时候，不是在掌声响起的时候，而是在孩子第一次握住他的手，轻轻喊出那一声——“爸爸”。 从那一天起，他有了一个新的名字，叫父亲。 这个名字，不是荣耀，而是责任；不是身份，而是一生的承担。 他渐渐把自己放在最后。 年轻时喜欢的新衣，舍不得买了；想去远方看看的梦想，慢慢收进行囊；再苦再累，也总说一句：“没事，我可以。” 孩子以为，父亲天生就坚强无比。 后来才渐渐明白，不是他不会累，而是他不能倒下；不是他没有眼泪，而是他把眼泪留给了深夜，把笑容留给了家人。 小时候，总觉得父亲的背影高大得像一座山。 走在前面，为我们挡住风雨；站在人群里，我们总能一眼找到他；放学时，远远看见那个熟悉的身影，心里便知道，回家的路到了。 等我们长大以后，才忽然发现，那座山也会疲惫。 他的脚步慢了，头发白了，背影不再挺拔，连提起一袋米，都要停下来喘一口气。 原来，岁月从来没有放过父亲。 只是这些年，他一直把衰老藏在沉默里，把辛苦写进皱纹里，把爱放进一句句平淡的话里。 他说：“孩子，路上小心。” 他说：“孩子，钱够用吗？” 他说：“孩子，不用担心我。” 他说得轻描淡写，却把一生最深的牵挂，都藏在这些再普通不过的话语里。 父亲的爱，很少惊天动地。 它更像一盏灯，不耀眼，却一直亮着；像一棵树，不言不语，却始终为家遮风挡雨；像朱自清散文《背影》里那个努力翻过月台、替孩子买橘子的身影，不说爱，却句句都是爱。 等我们终于读懂父亲的时候，往往已经走到了与他相似的年纪。 然后，我们才醒觉，原来生活并不容易；原来肩上的责任那么沉重；原来一个人可以为了家，为了爱的人，甘愿牺牲、放弃那么多。 这时候，我们终于明白： 父亲从来不是无所不能的人。 他只是因为深爱着家，所以选择了无所畏惧。 今天是父亲节。 而那个叫“父亲”的名字，写满了一个男人最深沉、最安静，也最伟大的爱。 在我的生命里，您的名字，是归途，是依靠，也是这一生，无论走多远，只要想起，就会觉得很温暖的地方。 愿天下所有父亲，岁月静好，平安健康。 ---------- 我的父亲叫林诗平，1929年生，祖籍福建永春，生命中有三个女人，2018年病逝。许多人都说我很像他，而我只想做好我自己——Mike。

观赏日出以后，约早上7.35，抵达金马仑 Boh Tea Sungai Palas茶园通关门槛，已经有两辆车（相信也是看完日出到这里）泊在门外。 山岚在雨中浮动，茶树愈发青翠。 通关执勤员告知，早上8.00游客才能驾车进去。等了一会儿，雨继续下着。抵达时，踏上木板阶梯，那座浪漫的玻璃屋正静静伫立在云雾之间。窗外是层叠起伏的茶园，窗内飘散着早餐的香气。这样的景致，让人舍不得说话，只想把时间慢慢地喝进心里。 排队点餐。选了一个靠窗位子。一份椰浆饭配仁当鸡，浓郁辛香里藏着马来西亚土地的热情；烤得微酥的咖央面包，夹着椰香与甜意；生熟蛋轻轻搅开，像生活里那些不经意的惊喜。而最后，再捧起一杯Boh金黄特级红茶，让温润茶香缓缓漫过舌尖，也漫过这个雨中的早晨。 窗外细雨依旧落着，云雾时聚时散。远山忽隐忽现，仿佛一幅尚未完成的水彩画。忽然感悟，所谓浪漫，从来不是鲜花、烛光或刻意安排的桥段。 浪漫，不过是在看完日出之后，遇见一场雨；在计划被打乱的时候，依然愿意继续前行；是在云雾缭绕的山上，好好吃一顿早餐，认真喝一杯热茶。 浪漫，只是懂得生活。

《善良的萤火虫》 /Mike 暮色慢慢沉下来的时候，草地像一张被夜色覆盖的旧毯子。 白天的喧闹退去了，风也轻了，只剩下一点淡淡的青草气味，浮在空气里。 那个爱踢球的小男孩，已经抱着他心爱的球回家了。红色的、黄色的、蓝色的、白色的球，都被他一一捡进怀里，像被点名的孩子，欢欢喜喜地跟着主人回去。 只有那颗黑色的球，还安静地躺在草地中央。 它不是不重要，也不是不被喜欢。 只是因为天黑了。 黑色落进黑夜里，便像一滴墨掉进深海，再也分辨不出来。 小男孩找了很久，却始终没有看见那粒黑色的球。最后，家里的灯光亮了，母亲的呼唤从远处传来，小男孩只能一步三回头地离开。 于是，那粒黑色的球，第一次知道了什么叫孤独。 孤独并不是身边没有人，而是明明也曾被珍惜，却在某一个瞬间，被世界的黑暗轻轻遗漏了。 夜越来越深。 草叶上的露水慢慢凝结，冰凉地贴在它身上。它静静躺着，不哭，也不喊，因为它知道，再大的声音，黑夜也未必听得见。 可就在这时，一点微弱的光，忽然从远处飘来。 是一只萤火虫。 它小得像夜里的一个标点，却固执地亮着。它飞过草地，飞过风声，最后轻轻停在黑色的球上。那一点温柔的萤光，像有人在无边黑暗里，替它点燃了一颗小小的心。 接着，又有第二只、第三只萤火虫飞来了。 黑色的球，终于不再与黑夜混为一体。它被照见了。 远处的小男孩推开门，忽然惊喜地喊：“啊！原来你在这里！” 他奔跑着回来，把那颗沾着露水的黑色球紧紧抱进怀里。 而那一晚，草地上的风很轻，萤火虫的光也很轻。 轻得像这个世界在悄悄告诉每一个孤独的人： 你不是被遗忘了。 只是还没等到，那一点愿意为你而来的光。 教师节快乐！🥰 备注：灵感源自于台湾作家张曼娟老师宣传张曼娟小学堂的视频  https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1E6TPHHdkP/

我一直习惯风花雪月的文句，他或许是读不透的。隔着一汪名为“语言”的海，他在那端安静地注视着我。 我频密地在屏幕上铺陈那些丰盈的美食图景，或是碎碎念式的日常，而他总是点亮一颗心，用我生疏的英文，敲下他笨拙却赤诚的关怀。 他说，他其实是眷恋烟火气的，也欢喜在厨房里研磨时光。我便隔着屏幕盈盈地笑，回他一句：“我呀，是只管张嘴吃的，厨房里的事，我根本一窍不通。” 那年的初见，没有预想中的局促。他系起围裙，为我熬了一锅日式咖喱。 那滋味，与我过往生命里那些辛辣浓烈的记忆截然不同。它是温厚的、馥郁的，像是一场不带侵略性的拥抱，香气在狭小的空间里洇散开来。我低着头，一口接一口，认真地将盘底都吃得干干净净。 一抬头，正撞见他眼底细碎的笑意，那样专注，那样深情。我有些慌乱地扯过纸巾，嗫嚅着问： “哦，是我……把脸吃脏了吗？” 他轻轻地摇了摇头，眼波里漾着揉碎的光， 他说：“不，是因为你吃东西的样子，真的很可爱。” 那一刻，我真希望自己能永远那样可爱下去，永远当那个被香气宠溺的人。 只是，岁月的流转总是不由分说的。后来的后来，我的胃口渐渐变得荒芜，而他的世界也被忙碌拆解得支离破碎，连睡眠都成了奢侈的遣散费。 我们之间，曾经那样温热、那样鲜活的情感，终究还是失去了那抹赖以维系的滋味。 那些曾经在舌尖跳跃的欢愉，冷了，淡了，最后，再也找不回一丝可以联系彼此的温度。 #极短篇 https://kamparmike.blogspot.com/2015/10/8.html?m=1

有人伤害了你，你若为此难过、痛苦了一个月，就相当于他持续伤害了你一个月；你若记上了一年，便是被他困住了一年的时间。 其实真正的伤害往往不是来自事件的本身，而是你允许这件事在你的心里反复回响。 我知道，走出来不容易，但为何你要继续伤害自己呢？四周的人，看笑话的多，其实真的没人能帮到你什么，很多时候都是靠自己走出来 .......  #让自己走出来  #AI Mike Lim配图 #让我自己走出来 https://youtu.be/Xrpy01ElvdU?si=6mSKMIOYa2-QiRp7 备注：“沉没”正确发音：chén mò。故意不去修改，就让AI歌曲留个 #缺陷美，就像我们的人生 😅🤣

[迟来的 #生日礼物] 最近总见你在Facebook上那么用心地写歌词，是在悄悄准备什么吗？——其实，这是我为自己准备的2026年 #生日礼物。🎂 AI中文歌曲创作专辑《#幸福的美食家》。🥳 1.美食家一点也不孤独 https://youtu.be/nZ0iOyJU8H0?si=TiO1l7uCFsZzVE9Y 2.一生一世的事 https://youtu.be/gM3ugzvFHjA?si=fNms-9-jB3-RV9T8 3.一定要让自己幸福 https://youtu.be/oHt-xUQvVvU?si=hVSm6G4A0Q_WqzaZ 4.白天鹅恋情 https://youtu.be/UcsBI0A0noU?si=bV0mRAD592L-zH3q 5.你真的爱过我吗？ https://youtu.be/A7GQY40Y4tk?si=VwypEpTf1dMrRGTa 6.你是我的天堂鸟 https://youtu.be/PGXCZGuF3g0?si=jTWvhve4fe25ZWse 7.你不知道我有多爱你 https://youtu.be/1fRpRzuK6DY?si=DhqX6AQV65--g8No 8.心碎成海 https://youtu.be/5jCpmfOW6ik?si=JRt3SWNI_JByqa0n 9.原来一个人也可以很幸福 https://youtu.be/2OMB4KpHnSo?si=yaDqAx5Od9_lVUO6 10.疯狂的宇宙 https://youtu.be/oXQyzIYdOGo?si=ugJ8Gkr3gwsaooNF 11.悲伤是救赎之翼 https://youtu.be/_twVw9mrFWI?si=ESv4no8Aoo2ruSFk 12.让我自己走出来 https://youtu.be/Xrpy01ElvdU?si=2LmSwsakVUhFSyYJ Bonus 歌曲 (男女合唱) 我们不是爱情戏子 https://youtu.be/446Io-IYgAM?si=yXXzd4DzqcgF-vxP #特别鸣谢 AI Mike Lim义无反顾客串演出

人生就是需要一些热情，一些疯狂的想法， 这样世界才会改变 .....  《疯狂的宇宙》 词曲：Mike Lim/AI  https://youtu.be/n2waXq_pWrA?si=MH89eFnXMNHyGyIV 爱迪生他炸了七次厨房 才让灯泡亮过月光 特斯拉天天跟鸽子抬杠 交流电就闪了电光 富兰克林放着风筝淋雨 说这感觉超级爽 贝尔打电话给马桶 喂    你也在响？ 如果没有疯狂 没有夸张 哪来飞船撞月亮 如果没有热情 没有妄想 牛顿还在树下乘凉 疯狂的宇宙 它不长正常 只长爆炸和火光 疯狂的你啊 别怕被笑场 传奇都从疯子开场 达尔文吃了奇怪的海鲜 发现祖宗是条鱼 诺贝尔炸飞了自己屋顶 奖金就藏在废墟 伽利略扔了两颗铁球 砸醒了沉睡大地 哥白尼对着教皇说 地球转得我头晕 如果没有疯狂 没有倔强 灯泡还在梦里晃 如果没有冒险 没有闯荡 火箭泡在可乐缸 疯狂的宇宙 它不爱乖巧 只爱跌倒和碰撞 疯狂的灵魂 别藏着翅膀 飞起来就成太阳 你说我太疯 我说你不懂 爱因斯坦头发像台风 连做梦都在拉小提琴 拉出了原子弹的梦 疯狂不是病 是宇宙的通行证 拿好你的固执和冲动 去写一首    属于你的传奇 比恒星还闪亮的那种

《你是我的天堂鸟》 词曲：Mike Lim/AI  https://youtu.be/PGXCZGuF3g0?si=rGgyg0nRHCwCOw9m 常听人说爱要计算分秒 我却把钟表一一都拆掉 当风起时    准备祷告 突然整个宇宙也都知道 你是我的天堂鸟 自由地飞就好 不必为谁剪掉羽毛 或改变步调...... 

《原来单身也可以很幸福》 https://youtube.com/shorts/up_dJ7O2JW4?si=NwjsStHNTE3J5ckz 送给依然单身的你......

《一定要让自己幸福》 词曲：Mike Lim/AI https://youtube.com/shorts/1PpwidzRryE?si=R7wmg58evDFtu9Xf 一大早闹钟又在吵/心情难免有点糟糕/咖啡忘了加糖/日子总是很忙/烦恼偏偏不少......

#情歌不老 https://youtube.com/shorts/E7ziuaK8UBA?si=PAu0qY6dDfpB2rbG 《一生一世的事》 词曲：Mike Lim/AI 一开始以为只是 一阵心动 像雨停在你伞边 顺便接住 后来才懂这是 一生一世的路 走着走着 眼泪都变礼物 你说害怕遗憾 我说害怕辜负 于是把每个 明天 都当 今天 守护 爱你 爱你 爱你是一生一世的事 就算世界翻了几次 心还是朝着你坚持 再苦再难 发现快乐就好那么简单 有你在的每一分一秒 都算圆满 你偶尔皱着眉头 说梦太远 我端来一杯热茶 放在你面前 没什么大道理 只想陪着你选 就算错了 我们一起重写 你说未来太远 我说现在刚好 把所有小心愿 写进彼此怀抱 爱你 爱你 爱你是一生一世的事 就算世界翻了几次 心还是朝着你坚持 再苦再难 发现快乐就好那么简单 有你在的每一分一秒 都算圆满 累了就靠在我肩上 哭完再继续闯荡 不问值不值得 只问想不想到达 爱你 爱你 爱你是一生一世的事 就算世界翻了几次 心还是朝着你坚持 再苦再难 发现快乐就好那么简单 你笑着的那一个瞬间 胜过一切

三月的风，带着一点尚未褪尽的寒意。 风，在京都山间轻轻流动。我沿着石阶向上，步伐不急，像是在等待什么，又像是在确认，自己确实走进了春天。 清水寺在眼前展开的时候，今年的樱花已经开了。 不是盛大喧哗的那一种，而是恰到好处的绽放——粉红之间，花瓣轻薄，几乎透明，非常动人。 京都的游客汹涌，我却感觉奇异地安静。大家都在忙于拍照，也都在某一刻停下来，只是看。那种看，并不属于占有，而更像是短暂地允许自己，被这片刻的美所收留。 我忽然明白，樱花之所以动人，并不只是因为它美，而是因为它知道自己会结束。 站在红色褪色的建筑上，远山层叠，花海如雾。风起的时候，花瓣落下，像一场提前预知的离别。没有惊慌，也没有挽留，只是安静地、持续地飘落。那一刻，我心里竟浮现出一些久远的人与事——那些曾经以为可以长久，却悄然散去的关系。 原来，人心也像樱花。 我们总在盛开的时候，以为可以永远停留；却在飘落之际，才学会承认：短暂，本来就是一种常态。 于是，我忽然不再执着。 或许情感也是如此——不需要被证明，不需要被保存。它只要在某一个时刻，真实地发生过，就已经足够。 三月的清水寺，樱花正好。

京都的春天，是藏在京阪电车那抹墨绿色车厢里的。当电车从大阪的繁华中抽离，沿着古老的运河向北缓缓驶去，窗外的景色便开始褪去现代的棱角。 我一个人安静地坐在车厢里，听着铁轨有节奏的“哐当”声，像是某种古老仪式的鼓点。 清晨抵达石清水八幡宫，有缘邂逅热情的观光所服务人员。善意地为我们指点迷津。 ​淀水路的河津樱，乃是京都递给春天的第一张名片。那是一种比柔弱的白樱更热烈的粉，成片成片地缀在水岸边。电车驶过时，风会带起一阵轻微的花浪。靠在窗边，看那粉色的流光在玻璃上跳跃，仿佛列车不是在铁轨上行驶，而是在穿行一场长达数公里的春日旧梦。 ​踏上普通列车，我到了伏见稻荷，惊艳于朱红的鸟居与淡粉的樱花交织出一种极具神性的张力。清晨的空气带着微苦的木质香，顺着山径向上，每一步都像是踏在岁月的褶皱里。 ​而京都最动人的时刻，往往是承载了樱花的华丽，那一刻，时间仿佛是静止的，所有的赶路都变成了散步。许多人远道而来是因为想捕捉樱花开了的瞬间美丽。美丽，也因为短暂而叫人格外珍惜。 清水寺汹涌的人潮。沿着坡道往下，是二年坂与三年坂。石板路被岁月磨得温润，像一段段被反复吟诵的旧诗。我看见有人穿着和服拍照，有人低声交谈，有人只是停下来，看看初开的樱花如何在寒风中轻轻点头。 ​夕阳西下时，去宇治吧，看残阳把江水染成金粉色。暮色中的京都，显得更有魅力。 ​京都的樱花，不是为了绽放给谁看，它们只是在古老的寺院旁、在静默的电车轨道边、在如水的岁月里，自顾自地完成一场关于盛开与凋零的修行。 而我们，不过是搭乘着那一辆名为“春天”的列车，偶然闯入这场修行的一场过客。