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《人生大事》是大陸一部關於殯葬師的電影,也是今年繼《你好,李煥英》之後,第二部我好好坐下來看的電影。近兩年來會關注相關題材的影視作品和書籍,或許是因為我還沒走出媽媽的離世所帶給我的影響吧!平心而論,這部電影不到兩小時,劇情有些破碎,不知是不是受篇幅所限,有些轉折也稍嫌生硬,但是依然有許多讓我哭得肝腸寸斷的動人場景。

《人生大事》中有好幾場喪禮的場面,真實地展現了許多華人的喪葬文化。其實2020年10月之前,我對臺灣的喪葬習俗並不熟悉,因為天可憐見,我29歲以前從來沒有參加過一場葬禮。媽媽過世後,我跟爸爸和弟弟一起準備媽媽的後事。對我來說,那兩個多禮拜的生活充滿了怪異的割裂感:我的內心是一片哀慟的混沌,腦海中也拼命地回憶著我和媽媽在一起的點點滴滴,好像我只要一秒鐘不回想我們共度的時光,這些記憶就會像流沙般從我指間溜走;但是我每天做的事卻跟我的內心活動沒有半點關係。我們遵從臺灣的習俗,幫媽媽唸經、摺紙蓮花、做法事、讓殯儀館幫忙安排告別式、火葬、入塔,但是幾乎每一個步驟對我來說都是陌生的,我常常不能理解儀式背後的含義,有時候我甚至會懷疑,以我對媽媽性格的了解,她究竟想不想要這些花裡胡哨的儀式?如果我們決定要帶著對她的愛和思念努力地好好生活,那她還在不在乎我們唸的那些自己都不大明白的經文?過了好久我才明白,習俗之所以會成為習俗,不是沒有原因的——我內心抗拒的事,對其他人來說或許很重要。媽媽除了是我的媽媽,也是妻子、妹妹、媳婦、妯娌、舅媽、姑姑、阿姨、朋友、同事,每個人都有自己紀念媽媽的方式,許多我不明白的傳統儀式,或許寄託了其他人全部的念想。所以我釋懷了,只要不要觸及他人的底線,我們都應該可以用自己的方式紀念我們愛的人。

一般我們說「人生大事」,指的通常是結婚,但是在電影《人生大事》中,指的卻是「人生除死無大事」——的確,如果我對自己誠實的話,媽媽的離世對我的影響比婚姻更大,我許多想事情的方式因為她的離開而完全改變了。不同的人對「人生除死無大事」有不同的解讀,對我來說,它代表了我生命中優先事項的大洗牌。學生時期,我認為「人生除成就無大事」,所以我幾乎把所有的心力都投注在爭取學業和課外活動的好表現、爭取讓自己無論在哪裡都能發光發熱。媽媽被診斷出癌症轉移後,我發現無論多少外在的成就都無法和她相比,所以我將重心轉往了我的家人和朋友,而為了繼續維持我在學業和工作上的水平,我退出了許多比較不重要的項目,也縮小了我活躍的社交圈以確保我人際關係的品質。媽媽走後,「人死如燈滅,萬念俱成灰」的體悟彷彿一記重拳,狠狠地擊中了我——我無比真切地意識到當我自己死亡時,生前的財富、榮耀、成就都帶不走,我只來人間走一遭,能活得俯仰無愧、讓自己沒有遺憾地安心闔眼才是最重要的。所以現在我在做決定時,常常會問自己:「如果我明天就要死了,會不會後悔呢?」或許有些極端,但是糾結少了,而且做完決定後心裡總是感到踏實。除此之外,我比以前更會保護自己的時間、投注更多心力在家人和重要的朋友身上。我懶得在不重要的事情上浪費時間,也讓那些曾經對我有負面影響的人,徹徹底底地脫離了我的生活。從外界看來,我人生的航程或許沒有太大的改變,但是我下錨的地方變了,因為我希望在燈滅時,我能心安理得地化作一縷輕煙,消散在茫茫的宇宙中。

電影中有一句很溫柔浪漫的話:「天上的每一顆星,都是愛過我們的人。」(這就是為什麼殯葬師被稱為「種星星的人」,電影的英文名也叫 Lighting up the Stars 的原因。)不知道這是不是為什麼這兩年我總往越來越荒僻的野外跑——光害越少的地方,就能看到越多星星,裡面說不定有一顆就是媽媽在天上看著我。當然,身為一個不信鬼神之說的科學家,我知道這只是我一廂情願的想法,但是即使是最理性的人,有時候也需要情感的寄託,何況在工作之外,我也不算特別理性的人。比方說,這一年多來,偶爾有人會問我:「妳媽媽已經過世了,妳還吃素嗎?」(我2015年底開始吃素,因為我想幫癌症轉移的媽媽祈福。)答案永遠都是肯定的,其實即使在她生前,我也沒有真正指望我吃素能有什麼實際的效用,因為治不治得好還是要看醫學和科學,但是我需要一個念想,讓我即使不在她身邊,也能跟她一起努力,而且,萬一真的有那麼一丁點用呢?所以,即使她走後,我還是繼續吃素,或許就這麼吃一輩子了,因為這樣我就能常常想到她。我也會繼續去荒郊野外看星星——或許我心底還是希望,有一顆星星是她在遠處照望著我吧?


“Lighting up the Stars” is a Chinese movie about morticians. It is also the second movie that I sat down and watched this year, after “Hi, Mom.” In the past year and half, I noticed that I have been spending more time on books and movies about death — perhaps it is because I am still not over my mom’s passing. Honestly speaking, this movie is less than two hours, and perhaps its length is limiting the storytelling. I think the plot is a little fragmented, and some transitions are a bit abrupt. Nonetheless, there are still many touching scenes that made tears race down my cheeks. 

There are several funeral scenes in “Lighting up the Stars,” depicting Chinese funerary customs in great detail. To be honest, I was not familiar with the funerary customs in Taiwan prior to October 2020 because, thankfully, I have never been to a funeral before that. After my mom passed away, I helped my dad and brother prepare her funeral. It was a very strange time period because there was a weird sense of separation between my mind and body. My heart was a dark abyss of grief and my mind desperately reminisced every moment I spent with my mom. It was as if I hadn’t reminded myself of our time together constantly, those precious memories would have slipped through my fingers. However, what I was doing on the outside every day had nothing to do with what was going on within. We followed the Taiwanese funerary culture and read prayers for my mom, made origami lotus flowers, held spiritual ceremonies, worked with the funeral home to plan the funeral, cremation, and moved her ashes into a columbarium. Every step, however, felt unfamiliar, and I barely understood the purpose of any of these rituals. Sometimes I even wonder, based on my understanding of my mom’s personality, whether she would even care about all these gaudy rituals. If we are committed to working hard and living a good life with our love and thoughts for her, would she still care about all the prayers we read, most of which we didn’t even understand? It wasn’t until much later did I realize that customs became customs for a reason. Things that I resist or don’t understand might actually be important to others. My mom is not just a mother — she is also a wife, a sister, a daughter-in-law, a sister-in-law, an aunt, a friend, a colleague, and many more. Everyone has a different way of remembering her. Perhaps a traditional ritual that I can’t appreciate means the world to someone else. So I made peace with things that everyone else was doing, whether I agreed with them or not. As long as we are not crossing each other’s bottom lines, we should be free to remember our loved ones in a way that is the most meaningful for us. 

In Chinese, “the most important event in one’s life” refers to marriage, but in “Lighting up the Stars,” it means death. Indeed, if I am honest with myself, so far my mom’s death has a greater impact on me than my marriage. The way I prioritize things in my life has changed significantly since she passed away. When I was a student, I thought the most important thing in life was my accomplishments. Therefore, I spent all my efforts on doing well in school and extracurricular activities so that I could shine no matter where I was. After my mom was diagnosed with metastatic cancer, it dawned on me that none of my achievements felt as important as her, so I started to shift my focus to my family and friends. In order to keep up with my performance after I reprioritized, I withdrew myself from projects and activities that were less important, and I shrunk my active social circle to ensure I could maintain high-quality relationships. After my mom passed away, I all of a sudden realized the meaning of the Chinese idiom, “When one dies, it’s like a light going out. All of their thoughts turn into ashes.” I recognized that by the time I die, I cannot bring my wealth, glory, accomplishments, or anything else with me. I only have one chance to live my life, so the most important thing is to make sure I make the most of my time and have no regrets at the end of my journey. Therefore, when I make decisions nowadays, I often ask myself, “If I were to die tomorrow, would I regret my decision?” This approach might seem a little extreme, but it makes my mind less tangled, and my heart always feels grounded after I make a decision. In addition, I became more protective of my time, and I have been spending more of it on my family and important friends. I stopped wasting time on things that don’t matter, and I removed those who have negative impacts on me from my life altogether. Overall, it seems like the direction of my life journey hasn’t changed, but I changed where I anchored myself. I hope by the time my light goes out, my mind can peacefully turn into a puff of smoke and dissipate in the vast universe.

Finally, there is a very romantic quote from the movie, “Every star in the sky is someone who once loved us.” (This is why morticians are called “those who light up the stars” in this movie.) I am not sure if this is why I have been going into more desolate wilderness in the past two years — I can see more stars in places with less light pollution, and maybe one of them is my mom looking at me from above. Of course, as an atheistic scientist, I know this is just my wishful thinking, but even the most rational people sometimes need emotional support, and I am not even that rational of a person outside of work. For example, in the past year or so, several people asked me if I am still a vegetarian. (I became a vegetarian at the end of 2015 after my mom was diagnosed with metastatic cancer in order to build good karma for her.) My answer is always yes. To be honest, even before she passed away, I never expected being a vegetarian to have a direct impact on her illness because I know by the end of the day, it all comes down to medicine and science. Yet I needed to do something to support her, to feel like I am working hard with her and fighting against the deadly cancer by her side even though I couldn’t be with her all the time. After she passed away, I continued to be a vegetarian, and perhaps I will be a vegetarian for the rest of my life so that I can think of her often. I will also continue to go star gazing in the wilderness — perhaps subconsciously I still think one of the stars is her, looking after me from afar.

Stars in Kaiser Wilderness — perhaps one of them is my mom looking after me from afar.
凱瑟荒野的星星——說不定其中一顆就是媽媽在遠方照看著我