(讀後感 / Book) 台灣漫遊錄:生魚片和肉燥飯的距離 / Taiwan Travelogue: Distance between Sashimi and Bah-So
這個世間，再也沒有比自以為是的善意更難拒絕的燙手山芋了。
There is nothing in the world more difficult to refuse than self-righteous goodwill.
(Scroll down for the English translation / 往下滑看英文翻譯)
一天安靜的週日下午，外面陽光像金黃色的絲線般從陽台灑到客廳裡，手裡握著的馬克杯裝著冒著煙剛泡好的抹茶，抹茶的清香滲入我的鼻腔內，讓我感到彷彿置身日本。
一翻擺在桌邊昨日剛讀完的《臺灣漫遊錄》，我的思緒也跟著飄到青山千鶴子那年來訪日治時期的台灣。
在那個年代，日語才是正統國語，人人都要學國語，台灣話充其次只是當地人使用粗鄙的語言。日本人就讀第一公學校，而本島人只能屈居次於第一公學校的學校。日本人被稱為本地人，著和服住洋房，台灣人叫做本島人，穿長衫居矮房。
在以日本人為尊的日治時期，台灣只是日皇南進計畫的小跳板，連台灣人都歧視自己台灣人。
偉大嚴謹的日本帝國，不拘小節南國台灣；青山老師的無拘奔放，小千的纖細謹慎；本地人鍾愛的生魚片，本島人偏愛的肉燥飯，這些不只是帝國日本和殖民地台灣天差地別血淋淋的鐵證，也是為什麼小千一再跟青山老師訴說，”我們絕對無法成為朋友“的原因。
在青山老師的眼裡，我對你好，照顧你不受欺侮，就是對這段友誼的承諾；然而，在小千看來，青山老師每一次對她的特別照顧，都次次提醒著小千她始終是居於下位的那一方。這段友誼像是失衡的天秤，注定一開始就無法達到完美平衡。
最後，青山千鶴子結束為期一年的台灣之旅，而王千鶴也按著家族計畫嫁人。青山千鶴子和王千鶴在有生之年沒有機會再相見，他們短暫的邂逅就像是人生兩條意外交叉的平行線，短暫相遇，卻再也不復相見。
在閱讀時，我在想，究竟是小千的微小慎微和不自信讓原本應該可以是堅固的友情胎死腹中，還是青山老師的口無遮攔和隨心所欲造成了這令人遺憾的結局。
我想，無論是小千和青山老師都無法抵抗那個時代顯而易見的體制不對等。環境影響心態，心態能改變行事作風。也許在王千鶴和青山千鶴子在南國台灣相識的那一年，劇本的結局已經由命運寫好了。
有時候我也想，身為亞洲人又身在異國他鄉的我，是否也曾經在接受他人好意和拒人於千里之外之間掙扎呢？答案自然是肯定的。到後來我才明白，這樣掙扎也許從來不光來自於體制不同和客觀國家強弱，而是自己內心認為為在下位者的自卑而產生自我保護的機制。
小千對青山的抗拒，或許可以解讀為對那時日本強權的無聲抵抗；而青山對小千的憐惜，也許有些微她站在殖民者以上看下的施捨，但是，我內心相信，他們兩人是有友情的，只是這短暫的友情被當下的政治時空背景無情地撕扯殆盡。
王千鶴和青山千鶴子的故事彷彿就此停留在那一年的台灣，兩人曾在台南喝的沁涼冬瓜茶及最後那碗一起共食的蜜豆冰，那段若有似無的友情，隨著時光的轉移，慢慢遺憾的退去。
A quiet Sunday afternoon. Outside, the sunlight spills from the balcony into the living room like threads of gold silk. In my hand, a mug of steaming, freshly whisked matcha; its fragrance fills my nose, momentarily bringing me to Japan.
Flipping through the pages of Taiwan Travelogue, which I finished just yesterday, my thoughts drift back to the year Aoyama Chizuko visited Taiwan during the Japanese colonial period.
In that era, Japanese was the "official language" which everyone had to learn, while the Taiwanese language was dismissed as a vulgar tongue used only by locals. The Japanese attended the "First Public School," whereas the locals were relegated to schools of lesser status. The Japanese were called mainlanders, draped in colorful kimonos and residing in Western-style houses; the Taiwanese were called islanders, wearing long plain gowns and living in humble huts.
In this period of Japanese supremacy, Taiwan was merely seen as a stepping stone for the Emperor's "Southern Expansion" plan. Even the Taiwanese began to discriminate against their own.
The great, glorious Japanese Empire versus the care-free, southern island Taiwan; free-spirited Aoyama versus the delicate, guarded Chizuru; the mainlanders' love for sashimi versus the Islanders' preference for minced pork rice. These were not only bloody evidence of the vast difference between the Empire and the colony, but also the reason why Chizuru repeatedly told Aoyama: "We can never truly be friends."
In Aoyama’s eyes, being kind and protecting Chizuru from any harm was her promise to this friendship. However, in Chizuru’s view, every instance of "special care" from Aoyama served as a constant reminder that she was always the one in the lower position. This friendship was like a set of unbalanced scales, destined from the start to never reach a perfect equilibrium.
In the end, Aoyama Chizuko's year-long journey in Taiwan came to an end, and Chizuru followed her family's plan to get married. Both never had the chance to meet again in their lifetimes. Their brief encounter was like two parallel lines that accidentally crossed, only to veer apart forever.
While reading, I wondered: was it Chizuko’s overly caution and low self-esteem that caused this friendship to be stillborn, or was it Aoyama's lack of restraint and impulsive nature that led to this regrettable end?
I think neither Chizuko nor Aoyama could break free from the blatant institutional inequality of that era. Environment shapes mindset, and mindset changes how we act. Perhaps in the year they met in Taiwan, the ending of the script had already been written by fate.
Sometimes I also wonder: as an Asian woman in a foreign land, have I ever struggled between accepting the kindness of others and keeping people at arm's length? The answer is naturally yes.
Only later did I realize that this struggle perhaps does not only come from different systems or the strength of nations in the traditional objective sense, but from a self-protection mechanism born out of the inferiority one feels as the "underdog".
Chizuko’s resistance to Aoyama could be interpreted as a silent protest against the Japanese power of that time. Aoyama’s pity for Chizuko might have contained a hint of "charity" from a colonizer looking down. Yet, in my heart, I believe they truly had a friendship—it was just ruthlessly torn apart by the political and historical context of the time.
The story of Chizuko and Aoyama seems to remain frozen in that year in Taiwan. The iced winter melon tea they enjoyed in Tainan, and that bowl of fruit and jelly ice they shared the last time together—the ethereal, fleeting friendship has slowly faded away with time, leaving only regret.