雨水、殘葉、落地青芒果，夾雜著挑揀落果的女學生的興奮。我置身在這潑墨似的活絡裡，但選檡當一個旁觀者，在無關似的站立中靜止。那外表挺的傲氣，其實是用來包裝著自卑的心緒。然後，像電影裡慢速、凝焦片段般，原來跟著女孩們撿果子的陳老師，轉過了身來，看著愣在樹下雙手空空的我，盈盈地走了過來，讓我攤開雙手，然後，將她手中的青芒果全給了我！

每一個生命都是一個獨特的創作，關鍵事件、時刻，觸動我們或選擇堅持，或毅然改變，刻劃不同的生命線條。許多過往的連結事件，在生命中凝聚，塑成我們的現在，但是我們當時不懂！往往，只有驀然回首，才明白每一個今天的存在，都不是ㄧ個偶然。那三十多年前的一個南台灣午後，青芒果被西北雨瀟灑揮落，青果上的雨珠，仍滾動在我清澈的記憶中，令人動容。那天，我在渾噩的青春中，雖然還是看不清未來，但雙手翼翼地接過、握住了堅持的動機。

年方十六，諸羅山城，“黑龍江”畔。在嘉義女中的第一年，我體驗到了“平凡”，失意的想逃。

國中時期，我靠著小聰明，自認是校裡的“風雲人物”，畢業時捧著“德智體群四育獎”，外表或許沒表現，心裡多半帶著驕氣。這易得的風采，在初入嘉義女中便一下褪了色。在學校刻意安排的“數理”班中，成天白日夢的我，羞愕的發現，我不僅失去了光環，沒有努力的話，我最多是一個平凡的孩子。怕承認我原來沒有異人的才智，又接受不了“平凡”，我於是開始了ㄧ場叛逆的抗爭，吵著不要升大學、怪爸爸當初不讓我念師專、一心要轉學而去。但那混亂的心情並不是沒有糾結的，因為，像班上的每個同學一樣，我崇拜著我們年輕、美麗的導師-陳老師。我愛她給的毎一堂國文課，迷著她成熟的文雅，孩子般的童氣，也暗喜她愛在課堂上，朗讀我的文章。也許在她眼裡，我還是一個特殊的孩子？但，我猶然是毫無動機，在自憐的青春中游離、迷失。

我們那高一信、義、和、平數理班，最幸運的地方，便是棲身在棟獨立樓房的敎室，樓前站直一排高大的台灣芒果樹，綠樹成蔭，好像行館一般。那天是ㄧ個悶息的夏日，叫人思維停滯的午後，即便是陳老師吟詩般的說課，四十多個生動的少女心也慢慢停了擺，直到教室窗外的西北雨，颳來了悸動！不安的思緒，在課堂間滾動得可以看見。這雨是南台灣的常客，所以女孩們的不安不是為了雨， 而是為著窗外芒果樹上，高懸著的無數青果， 那青芒果在醃糖中的酸脆，是少女們的最愛。陳老師的眼光，也在窗外搖動的樹、窗內殷盼的粉頰間來回盤轉， 眼見著急雨收了尾，她索性閤上書、笑著道 “去吧，還等甚麼?”一刻間，全班已在水澤般的樹下搶著落地的青芒果！我跟著出去，卻默落落的站在樹下，承迎著果樹托不住的水滴，但卻不放身去搶果子，默名的倔強，是想顯示自己“不在乎”的“與眾不同”。但，那個倔強，在接過陳老師手中的青芒果時，鬆軟了去，我那刻雙手接過的，是她暖暖的心；那顆心，疼著頭上沒有光環得我；那個我，懂了平凡也有人疼珍惜。

聽說那教室已拆除，樹也已砍盡。但，陳老師在那天的夏日午後，種下了ㄧ棵樹。她不曉得，也不記得。那天雨後的青芒果引動了我的堅持，因為有那份被疼的感動、讓我守住不被放棄的堅持，後來ㄧ步ㄧ步的向前，在謙虛中找自信，慢慢地走到了今天。

十多歲的孩子，聯考壓力的窗口裡，還是做夢的:“ 歡樂年華”

“歡樂年華”https://clyp.it/2vy5v430

這首歌，是我高中學吉他時，彈的第一首曲子。我想，那當時還不知道，什麼是校園民歌？！This is the first song I played when I learned to play guitar in high school.

Revised 4/19/2016

First written on 4-22-2012

“Green Mangoes after the Rain”

Forty lively high school girls were frantically gathering the green mangoes, just freshly swept to the ground by the blade of short-tempered “northwest” rain (monsoon) moments ago.  Splashing water puddles, falling leaves, rolling fruits and spirited laughter mixed in this fruit-gathering party in my memory like a water painting.  At the corner, there was me, standing undisturbed in a motionless silence, who had decided to play no part in this childish party.  In all honesty, I was fending my lack of self-confidence with a superficial air of arrogance.  And, that’s when Ms. Chen turned around and saw me with my empty hands.  With a gracious smile, she walked toward me, had me open my hands, and transferred all the green mangoes in her palms to mine.

Every life is born as an unfinished original art work, and moments or events in our uncharted timeline shape us to the forms of our very existence today.  I have never, at any point of my life, forgotten that afternoon from more than 30 years ago.  I could still feel the weigh of those green mangoes in my palms, taste their teasing sourness in my tong, and see the rain drops on my arms.

Before high school, I did not know how to be “ordinary”.  Without having to work hard, I enjoyed much fame in my middle school, having my enlarged portrait displayed on campus and graduating with the top honor of all-around excellence.  I am not exactly sure how I had held myself then, particularly in others’ eyes, but there must be inflated ego in my mind.  The internalized sense of glory soon faded upon entering the top-ranked local girls’ high school, when I was placed in a class with selected competitive peers being groomed for science-track college entrance.  I was in shock that I would have to step up my academic effort otherwise I was no more than “average”.  My pride hurt when I realized that I was not unusually gifted and that I was really ordinary.  I began rebelliously planning an “escape”: blaming my father for not letting me to attend teacher’s college; proclaiming future university education would not fit me; and, demanding a transfer to a vocational school.  But, my parents, who did not have good opportunities when they were young, dreamed big for their children and insisted I stayed in the prep high school for a future of college degree.  The fights went on and on when I was 16.  In the meantime, I was not without reservation for my demand, the reason being that, like most of the students in my class, I adored our advisor, Ms. Chen.  A beautiful young woman who just graduated from college two years ago then, Ms. Chen taught Chinese and spoke the language of poetry.  She guided us with her scholarly passion and played with us with a sisterly charm.  I was also secretly happy that she appeared to like my writings and would often share my works in class.  I thought, perhaps, I would transfer after the first year, when she was no longer my advisor.

That sort of thunder-pounding, wind-howling monsoon rain is fairly typical in southern Taiwan from the late spring to early summer.  Taiwanese call it “Northwest rain”; it pushes in and goes by in flashing speed, and then often leaves the air with sharpened colors and smells.  One of the best parts of being in the science-focus class was that we were away from rest of the campus, enjoying a free-standing building with a row of mango trees aligning outside our classrooms.  In the late spring, each tree bears hundreds of fruits which, if came off pre-maturely, could be sliced and preserved with sugar to a heavenly tasty sweet and sour green mango snack.  So, you see, when the blowing wind pushed in the rain clouds, the 40 girls were not losing focus over the rain but over what the rain would potentially bring.  The thought of pickled green mango was enough to bring our heightened senses outward.  Ms. Chen’s sight danced between the ceasing rain and the restless faces and, eventually, closed her book and asked “OK, what are you waiting for”. Everyone swarmed out the door at once, and the fruits gathering frantically began.  I followed the class outside but stood there refusing to get in to the mode of “competition”.  My stubbornness and fear of “losing” went away at the moment I received those mangoes.  I realize it was OK to be ordinary, and I was loved even without glory!  

Ms. Chen had no idea then; that very afternoon, she gently planted me down under the mighty shade of mango trees.  I learned to find confidence with humbleness and not to give up easily, taking one step at a time.