四月的风,吹来了他们走来的方向
2025-06-16 16:12 来源:SGSG
那是一个四月底,微风中还夹着一丝寒意,却也预示着夏天将近的闷热。在那个略显不安的日子里,我通过中国的亲戚认识了他——一个身高一米八、相貌中等的男孩,家里在国内经营着一家中型超市。他的长相并不惊艳,却在第一眼就印在了我的心里。
那天早上,听着妈妈的叮嘱,我穿戴整齐,在温哥华的机场,与即将飞往魁北克的他匆匆一面。短短十几分钟,却像极了两条迁徙途中短暂交汇的候鸟——都背井离乡,都试图在异国他乡找一个能落脚的枝头。
他在多伦多大学读书,和我一样,是十几岁随父母移民来的孩子。他落脚的地方几乎没有华人,生活、语言、文化全都是陌生而沉重的。他像是我命运的镜像:从熟悉的中国被抽离,丢进语言不通、规则全新的世界,在本该任性的年纪,学会早熟与隐忍。
他一边上学一边照顾监督弟弟,处理各种成人世界的事务——签证、文件、银行、就医。他不断地为学业努力,却不断地被周遭环境下扯,也没有多余的话语,却以沉默与责任支撑起一个家。那一刻,我几乎想哭。他是我在温哥华六年里第一次感受到“被理解”的男生。他不是我的救赎,却是那个让我在无边孤独中,忽然看见共鸣的人。
他不一定了解一线城市的焦虑,却一定明白在加拿大家庭资产被汇率“压缩”之后的落差与压力。他一定也明白什么叫从中产跌落小康,什么叫少年扛起全家的希望与账单。他走过我走的路,他懂我沉默背后的重负。
也是那一年,我认识了她——一个来自福州的女孩。她父母在中国经营中型超市,她比我矮十公分,说话轻柔,带着福建特有的温吞语调。她不像我在温哥华遇到的大多数人,不用装作“本地化”,不急着用流利英语包装成精英模样。
她像我灵魂的一面镜子。
在她面前,我不需要解释为什么读的是学院,在哪里打工,GPA是多少,也不用担心她用别人的人生来羞辱我。她说起福州的街巷、小吃、年夜饭,说起熟悉的烟火气息——我仿佛回到小时候,那个还没失语、没自卑、没被撕裂成两种身份的小女孩。
和她在一起的日子,我第一次感觉,原来“我是谁”并不需要别人的认可。哪怕在学院读书,哪怕暂时没有光鲜的履历,也不等于失败。
她让我重新相信,我并不差。
那一年,他是那个让我努力变得更好的人;
她,是那个让我知道我已经很好的人。
她,是那个让我知道我已经很好的人。
他们都没有永远留在我身边。但他们在我最动摇、最接近放弃的一年里,像风一样出现,像光一样照亮。
两种温柔,一种是未来,一种是归属。
两种温柔,一种是未来,一种是归属。
而我,永远记得。
The April Wind Brought Them My Way
It was late April. The wind still carried a trace of chill, yet the air had begun to thicken with the hush of summer heat. On that slightly uneasy day, I was introduced to him by a relative from China—a boy, 180 centimeters tall, with an unassuming face and a family that ran a mid-sized supermarket back home. He wasn’t striking, but something about him stayed with me the moment I saw him.
That morning, urged by my mother to dress neatly, I met him briefly at Vancouver Airport before his flight to Quebec. Just ten minutes—yet it felt like two migratory birds crossing paths mid-flight, each searching for a safe branch in a foreign sky.
He was studying at the University of Toronto. Like me, he had immigrated as a teenager. He had landed in a town with hardly any Chinese presence—life, language, and culture were all unfamiliar and heavy. He was like a mirror of my fate: plucked from the familiar, thrown into a world of new rules and unknown words, forced to grow up before he had the chance to just be young.
While studying, he took care of his younger brother and managed adult responsibilities—visas, paperwork, banks, doctor visits. He studied hard, was constantly pulled down by circumstances, and rarely spoke. But his silence carried the weight of someone holding a household together.
That moment nearly brought me to tears.
He wasn’t my savior.
But he was the first boy in my six years in Vancouver who made me feel seen. Truly seen.
But he was the first boy in my six years in Vancouver who made me feel seen. Truly seen.
He might not have known the urban anxieties of China’s first-tier cities, but he surely understood what it meant to watch your family’s worth shrink under a foreign exchange rate. He knew the quiet panic of falling from middle-class comfort to the working-class grind. He knew what it meant to shoulder the hope—and debt—of an entire family while still figuring out who you were.
That same year, I met her—
A girl from Fuzhou, whose parents ran a mid-sized supermarket in China. She was ten centimeters shorter than me, soft-spoken, her voice carrying the gentle rhythms of Fujian. Unlike the people I met in Vancouver, she didn’t try to "blend in." She didn’t rush to perfect her English or curate a polished image.
A girl from Fuzhou, whose parents ran a mid-sized supermarket in China. She was ten centimeters shorter than me, soft-spoken, her voice carrying the gentle rhythms of Fujian. Unlike the people I met in Vancouver, she didn’t try to "blend in." She didn’t rush to perfect her English or curate a polished image.
She was like a reflection of my soul.
With her, I didn’t need to explain why I was in college instead of university, where I worked, or what my GPA was. I never feared she'd measure my worth against someone else’s life script. She talked about Fuzhou’s alleyways, street food, Lunar New Year feasts—the comforting noise of home. For a moment, I was a child again—before shame, before silence, before I was split in two.
With her, I finally felt this:
To exist was enough.
To be me—was enough.
To exist was enough.
To be me—was enough.
Even if I wasn’t prestigious,
Even if my path was still winding—
I wasn’t failing.
Even if my path was still winding—
I wasn’t failing.
She reminded me I was not broken.
That year, he was the one who made me want to become better.
She was the one who reminded me I already was.
She was the one who reminded me I already was.
They didn’t stay forever.
But in the year I was closest to breaking,
they arrived—like wind,
like light.
But in the year I was closest to breaking,
they arrived—like wind,
like light.
Two kinds of tenderness.
One was a vision of the future.
The other, the feeling of home.
One was a vision of the future.
The other, the feeling of home.
And me?
I will always remember.
I will always remember.