2015年考研[微博]马耳他语(二)完型填空选自U.S.现行反革命最具影响力音讯博客网址《法新社》(The Huffington Post)在二零一五年1五月11日揭露的一篇博文，原来的文章标题为“This Is Why You Ignore 伊芙rybody On The Subway -- And Why You ShouldStop”，原来的书文篇幅很短，共计17段，这一次菲律宾语二质量评定只选用了前七段。
It is October now. Some gentle wind has breezed into Nanjing. The summer’s heat can still be felt. Wandering by the Xuanwu Lake, My heart is eased by the tender night, with its cool moonlight floating on the quiet lake. Burying myself in all of this, I am waiting for the train that will take me home. Do not know from when beginning, I became sensitive and eager to flee and this feeling is swelling in my heart day after day.
1. signal 2. much3. plugged 4.message 5. behind 6. misinterpreted 7. judged 8. unfamiliar 9. anxious 10. turn11. dangerous 12. hurt 13. conversation 14. passengers 15. predict 16. ride 17.went through 18. in fact 19. since 20.simple
Now, the train is approaching slowly from Shanghai. In its short stay in Nanjing, I finally succeed shoving in the crowded compartment. Another unbearable night. Everywhere before my eyes are people’s heads. There seems no hope for a little movement. Living in this era, except for a peaceful world, nothing can be harder than access to a berth ticket that allows you to speed along the Beijing-Shanghai line. Carried by the stream of people, I could move only a little step at once. Someone’s arm is sticking closely on my chest, somewhere in the corner is sending out stinking fishy smell, and occasional quarreling and babies’ crying keep hovering beside my ears. It seems as if I was lost in a messy dream created by a poor sleeper. Finally reaching my seat, I am not a bit surprised that it has been already occupied by a stranger, a very common stranger, like anyone else in the train. “I am so sorry, but…” before I finish my words, he stands up at once, leaving with hands folding in his arms. I cast a short glance at the luggage rack overhead. The luggage is so terribly crushed together that I am sure another leaf would break the rack down. Holding my backpack, I sit down in no time. Surrounded by the annoying and endless noise, my mind drops into a complete blank.
Before I could settle down, the trainman begins to yell. No one knows or even pays a little attention to what he has said. As the door is closed, a deep boom penetrates the crowed throng. Trembling slightly as pulled by the locomotive, the train begins to move. Finally, I think. The train progressed rather slowly. The light outside is getting dimmer. The pitch-dark night is encroaching on each segment of the train. I put on my earphone, and familiar melody flows into my brain. Closing my eyes and adjusting my body in a comfortable condition, I try to seek for a moment of peace.
While the subway's arrival may be ambiguous, one thing about yourcommute is certain: No one wants to talk to each other. In our contemporaryculture, the prospect of communicating with -- or even looking at -- a strangeris virtually unbearable. Everyone around us seems to agree by the way theyfiddle with their phones, even without a signal underground。
The song is over, and the train has driven out of the city at a much higher speed. Regular sounds are made as wheels crash with railway joints. I open my eyes, which are instantly tortured by the glaring lamp, and close the mp3. As I look outside, a young girl’s face emerges on the window. I stare at her in the window for a little while, then, shoot my eyes onto her. She is still immersed in the outside world, without any knowledge of her intruding a stranger’s sight. Girls like this one can be seen everywhere. Only she, herself, is clear how life is entwined with joy and sorrow. She wears a long blackish-green dress, a black knitted shirt, a pair of black-rimmed glasses and waterfall-like hair pouring down behind. Around her fair neck, a delicate golden necklace is shimmering softly. She leans against the window, cuddling slightly, focusing her cold eyes on one certain place outside. Is there anything attractive of the monotonous night? Perhaps somewhere out is a good place to chew over one’s most inner heart. Others’ mental world is such a mystery for me, just like the endless night. For fear of embarrassment, I close eyes and turn on the music again, releasing my whole weight onto the chair.
It's a sad reality -- our desire to avoid interacting with otherhuman beings -- because there's much to be gained from talking to the strangerstanding by you. But you wouldn't know it, plugged into your phone. Thisuniversal armor sends the message: "Please don't approach me."
The light outside comes and goes, so does each city along the journey. Unwittingly, Nanjing has been left behind. My mind is drifting casually amidst the stifling compartment as well as my unclear memory when I suddenly catch sight of a young boy sitting in front of me. Boys like this one can be seen everywhere, but each one has his own story. I cannot but watch him stealthily. He wears a green plaid shirt, a gray short-sleeve inside, and a pair of handsome jeans, with a black backpack before his chest. He sits still, completely soaking himself in the music, just like a wood carving. He probably has no idea that he has been reflected in a girl’s eyes for an instant, a brief but beautiful instant. Only after a little while, I have to reset my eyes somewhere else, for fear of eye contact with him.
What is it that makes us feel we need to hide behind our screens?
Unaware how long I have been wedged here, my body does not ache at all. It is likely that the surroundings are more prone to be overlooked while one is caught in the past. All the present stuff flits away, leaving no meaningful impression. What a terrible night! Both the suffocating compartment and the grievous bygones keep stirring in my mind. I turn on the cell phone, only to find nothing new. It is twenty-two fifteen and there is still a long way to Zhengzhou. Counting how many hours left, I even feel the tedious journey cannot be withstood any more the next moment. Boredom is more likely to call up bad memories. Even now, it is still hard to believe today’s fiasco in the interview of my ideal university and the break-up call from ex-boyfriend several days ago. In the desperate pursuit for love and school attainment, my relentless pay turns out a monodrama with no audience. The painstaking effort has been recognized by no one else but only me. On the subway to the train station, tears kept flooding out of control, which might have been pitied by other passengers nearby. At thinking of this, the thread of thought is abruptly interrupted by a loud crying from a peddler. A woman in a uniform pushes an iron wheelbarrow, squeezing into the aisle, which stirs up a fit of complaint and movement. She keeps apologizing for the disturbance while yelling out her quite fluent lines. I am kind of amused by the sudden incident. As I turn around, my eyes happen to meet his.
One answer is fear, according to Jon Wortmann, executive mentalcoach and author of "Hijacked by Your Brain: How to Free Yourself WhenStress Takes Over." We fear rejection, or that our innocent socialadvances will be misinterpreted as "creepy," he told The HuffingtonPost. We fear we'll be judged. We fear we'll be disruptive。
I wonder if anything in the wheelbarrow deserves a purchase. But nothing interests me after a careful search. I turn to the window again, unexpectedly to run across the girl’s eyes. In the short eye contact, which is a bit embarrassing, I say nothing, neither does the girl. Yet the one or two seconds just now seem to have already blossomed into a sweet fairy tale. Far away out of the train, the moon sheds her liquid light silently over the fields on both sides of the railway, the highway beyond the fields extends with the streaking train, and the warm yellow light guides the hurtling cars on the highway forward. It occurs to me that in high school, below the balcony of the dormitory, there was also a road like this one, lightened by the same mild light. For every lonely night, I have dreamt more than once of driving a car under the mysterious firmament with my loving girl beside, to explore the vanishing street, all the way to the deepest ending. Completely free as I am in the campus of university now, that night and that girl have never appeared. I come to end lost in the process of seeking and fail to get my bearings. Instead of being free, I would rather say I have been imprisoned by a larger cage and trapped by some invisible things. Even worse, those old pals that have been around could not be found anywhere. Does the girl in the window cherish the same experience as mine? Has she ever been forgotten by the world like me? Why cannot I see any hope sparkling in her eyes? I ask myself. The woman and her voice fade away with her wheelbarrow, leaving the train peaceful again. I cast a fleeting glance at her—she has fallen asleep, curling up in the corner. I take Kafka on the Shore out and read carefully, trying to be a consolation to myself in the undesirable situation.
Strangers are inherently unfamiliar to us, so we are more likely tofeel anxious when communicating with them compared with our friends andacquaintances. To avoid this anxiety, we turn to our phones. "Phonesbecome our security blanket," Wortmann says. "They are our happyglasses that protect us from what we perceive is going to be moredangerous."
I still cannot fall asleep after the fifth attempt. Once I close my eyes, the past images run though my mind to and fro, like a commonplace film played again and again. Another autumn, and it is late into the night, but why is the compartment made so chilly? I wrap myself up in my thin sweater, hugging myself more closely. Is there anyone who can ask to turn the air conditioner down? I guess it may not be that easy for the boy opposite to feel cold. That is really not bad. Somehow, I seem to be kind of uplifted by some firmness glistening in the boy’s eyes just during the short eye contact with him. But that might be another wishful thinking on my part. To think that my life gets so wretched that I should have to seek for solace from a stranger. If I confess all my feelings to him, I would be definitely considered as insane. But frankly speaking, I even refuse to remove my eyes from his face from now on, perhaps out of curiosity, or boredom, or both. Is there anything more interesting than appreciating a dull boy’s face on such a dreary night? I am now somewhat amused by my curiosity. As I am waiting for a proper time to strike up a conversation with him, a clear ring comes from my bag after a long silence. The registration system of Shandong University must have been opened. Cheer up, girl! Application for a good university can never be easy.
But once we rip off the bandaid, tuck our smartphones in our pocketsand look up, it doesn't hurt so bad. In one 2011 experiment, behavioralscientists Nicholas Epley and Juliana Schroeder asked commuters to do theunthinkable: Start a conversation. The duo had Chicago train commuters talk totheir fellow passengers. "When Dr. Epley and Ms. Schroeder asked otherpeople in the same train station to predict how they would feel after talkingto a stranger, the commuters thought their ride would be more pleasant if theysat on their own," the New York Times summarizes. Though the participantsdidn't expect a positive experience, after they went through with theexperiment, "not a single person reported having been snubbed."
The train stops at a small station. The yelling of the trainman rises again. This time I get his words. The middle-aged man announces with his typical dialect that we will stay here for half an hour. The passageway is jammed with passengers and a man sleeping beside me on the floor pillows my lap now and then. Lucky as I am to have a seat, it is not comfortable at all. I might as well get off to take a walk. Someone standing behind in the aisle moves over to my side and smiles his apology embarrassedly, “would you please have me get down my luggage.” I say yes and make way for him. Then he hurries off with his heavy bags after extending thanks. Now a patch of room is available for my backpack, which has been a big burden for me all the way. I put it onto the rack, noticing that the girl is smiling while talking on the phone, not a bit indifferent but a little more lovely. Making sure of the valuables with me, I leave from my seat. While passing though the aisle, I wonder if I should stay to hear what the girl is saying. Her words may be more inviting than an aimless walk. The door is not far, but it takes me rather long before getting there. Indeed, too many people are in my way, but for another, I am a little attracted by the girl’s talk. The noise is quite a torment for my ears, but one thing I can be sure of is that she is also a university student of my age and is preparing for a postgraduate school
In fact, these commutes were reportedly more enjoyable compared withthose sans communication, which makes absolute sense, since human beings thriveoff of social connections. It's that simple: Talking to strangers can make youfeel connected. The train ride is a fortuity for social connection -- "thestuff of life," Wortmann says. Even seemingly trivial interactions canboost mood and increase the sense of belonging. A study similar in hypothesisto Eply and Schroder's published in Social Psychological & PersonalityScience asked participants to smile, make eye contact and chat with theircashier. Those who engaged with the cashier experienced better moods -- andeven reported a better shopping experience than those who avoided superfluousconversation。（文都供稿）
The station is a little shabby, and anyone else can hardly be seen except some passengers on the platform in twos and threes. It is deep night now. The air gets cooler as the train goes up north. I button my shirt to the top one to keep warm. Up in the sky, stars are unexpectedly studded here and there. I stroll near the door, stretch a little bit and light a cigarette. The incense of nicotine brings me a moment of peace as it permeates my lungs. Should I talk to the girl? Looking at her through the window, I ask myself. She is still talking on the phone. I think over and over while hesitating again and again, but fail to get an answer. The nearby passengers chat away with their unique dialect. The plate which indicates Shanghai to Zhengzhou is covered with a fine layer of dews. As I touch it with fingers, a fit of chill penetrates my whole body, giving my mind immediate refreshment. The girl in the window has put down the phone and is looking around carelessly while yawning and stretching. Maybe she is also suffering from the night, isn’t she? Maybe she is eager for a relaxing talk to pass the time. Well, why not initiate the conversation with this question—are you applying for a postgraduate school? Thinking of this, I am a little bit relieved as if something tangled in my brain is untied all at once. It appears that complying with the inner sound of one’s heart is really a pleasant thing.
Hanging up the phone, I am reassured by the encouraging words from the other side of the phone and my anxious nerve calms down to some degree. It is eleven fifty-five, only several minutes left before the ending of the terrible day. Out of the window, the sight has stopped some time again. So many stopovers, what is the distinctive point of the “express” train? If only the train could hurtle all the way to Zhengzhou. After turning back, the boy opposite has changed to another person. Where is he? Has he arrived and got off? Aware that he has gone never to appear again, I feel some loss somehow. Honestly speaking, I really wish to have someone like him with such firm eyes to travel along, even if there is only now-and-then wordless eye contact between us. I pretend to do some stretch to broaden my horizon and hope to catch his figure somewhere by good luck, but he seems to have left forever. Apparently, the beautiful word “luck” never applies to me. I give a silent sigh, and press myself again onto the window. Turning on the phone and sliding my thumb aimlessly on the screen, I find nothing useful to read. Social software always loses its appeal when the one using it is idling away his time. If only East China Normal University had given me the offer. Then the cold and unbearable night, what of it? Feeling gently the necklace that has been with me for three years, I close my eyes slowly. Nearly unconsciously dropping into another world, I feel a slight movement beside me. Slitting my eyes sideways, I am instantly exhilarated. It’s him!
After quite a few passengers getting off to have some relaxation, the compartment looks spacious now. I return on the train, only to find my seat have been occupied by some other one. Instead of a polite claim, I would rather he sat there for the present, or even all the way to the destination. Since the seat beside the girl is vacant, now I am justified to sit with her. But faced with such a good chance, I fall into unnormal timidity. What is my real intention? I have been accustomed to loneliness, which has been clearly written in my diary, haven’t I? Would this brusque start of talk back the girl? I am not given too much time to hesitate before being pushed more inside to the girl’s place by the ones behind. Finally I make up my mind to sit down. Much to my surprise, I catch a bit of delighted amazement gleaming in her eyes.
“Are you preparing for the entrance exam for a postgraduate school?”
“No, but a postgraduate recommendation.”
“A postgraduate recommendation?”
“Yep, I am applying for a postgraduate school.”
“Your schoolwork must be very good.”
“I’m placed second in our school.”
The train is started again. The owner of the seat comes back, and I return to mine. What a pragmatic girl! The pragmatic dialogue, the pragmatic smile, perhaps her life is also pragmatic. Otherwise how can she be one of the top students all through her college years. To be pragmatic, isn’t that exactly what I am short of? Our conversation is on and off, so is our eye contact. But my thirst for the leisurely communication has never ceased. I begin to be infatuated with her voice, her serious expression as well as her heart-melting laugh. Outside, the highway cannot be seen any more, and the moon hides behind the black clouds. Unknowingly, it begins to drizzle. Sitting here shrouded by the curtain of night, I am thinking over for another topic. Which kind of synthesizer do you think is more appropriate for the stage keyboard, Roland’s, or KORG’s? Ah, how silly to talk like this!
“And you? Are you a college student as well?”
“Yep, in Ningbo University, majoring in Mechanical Engineering.”
“Mechanical Engineering? It sounds really difficult. There must be numerous formulas and a strict standard for math.”
“Absolutely right. And what’s your major?”
“Reading and writing and reciting, you must have a lot to do every day.”
“Of course, but I love English, so it’s not that painful.”
“Then what’s your direction for your master’s degree?”
He nods silently, as if lost in a deep meditation, wondering what kind of research translation is on earth.
It is spitting outside. The rain must be cool even in October. Imagining being tapped by the chilly sprinkles out there, I feel even colder. Isn’t the trainman in short sleeves cold at all? If he is selfish enough to say, “Hey, I’m so cold that I’m going to turn down the air conditioner.” Perhaps none would complain. Most passengers have fallen asleep in all kinds of postures, wrapping themselves with whatever can be used—coats, blankets, or even newspapers, which may look strange, but so warm. I now regret extremely having not followed mother’s words, having thought only a couple of days in Shanghai has no need of too much clothes. The boy must also feel cold now, his sleeves pulled down and his shirt buttoned to the top one. I am so silly to hope to be offered his shirt by him.
“That I came to Shanghai this time is for the interview of East China Normal University, the result of which was thought absolutely all right…” the girl casts a glance at me, breaking the silence as if to avoid the wordless embarrassment between us. She shakes her head and frowns slightly, as if knocked badly by something afflicting.
“Haven’t you been admitted?”
“No, and I don’t know how it came about. I might have been too nervous then and haven’t answered the questions well”
“Is there any other chance left?”
“Once I arrive tomorrow morning, my parents will be waiting there. We will hurry to Jinan in the afternoon for the interview of Shandong University the next day.”
“Is Shandong University within your grasp?”
“I’m not that confident now, but compared with East China Normal University, this school is not that challenging.”
The girl pauses a little while and continues, “haven’t you noticed my red and swollen eyes?”
I approach closer to her, look into her eyes and then check my watch. It is one o’clock already.
“Because of staying up late?”
The girl smiles, “partly out of this, but more because I have cried all the way since departing from Shanghai.”
“Cried all the way?” I am a little confused.
“On the subway to the station, tears were running out of control.”
“It’s no small blow to you.”
Hearing his words, I become uncertain now. East China Normal University is my ideal school, but there is no need to be so heart-renting, for I am clear that this school is not the final choice.
“Maybe. Something that you feel sure to obtain suddenly disappears. The disappointment is not that simple as that brought about by the rejection of an ideal school. It seems like that something you have been accustomed to leaves you unexpectedly, making you helpless, or even at a loss.”
“Um… I have had this feeling before, or have been experiencing it all the time. But, it’s not a big deal. Just seize your opportunity at present.”
The girl shakes her head slightly, as if forced to accept something unacceptable. With her chin in one hand, she puts another on the table. We stop saying anything and gaze at each other. Now I can feel that the distance between us is being shortened.
“I have made a great effort for East China Normal University, which was thought to ensure my admission. However, everything turns out a reverie.”
“Life cannot be anticipated. Most of the time, things will not go as expected. You have to learn to get used to that.”
He comments in a moderate manner. At some point, something muffled in the heart seems to vanish in a flash, which makes me even wonder what is the point of my anguish just now. However, I don’t want to tell him “I feel much better as you tell me this.” I hope to hear more comforting words from him as well as his tone of steadiness and power. As chatting with him, I am given more chances to appreciate his assuring eyes. However, am I a little greedy and mean to think like this? But luckily, he might be unaware. Besides, is there anything wrong with the requirement for some outside consolation? Then go ahead, Li Lin. Be brave to pour out all your misfortunes to him. At thinking of this, I feel much more relieved and delighted. Perhaps the most pleasant thing in the world is to follow one’s heart.
The girl is silent again, as if thinking to herself how she can learn to get accustomed to all those undesirable experiences. The water bought in Nanjing has already run out. In fact, it was a long sleep that was expected before the journey, not such a condition. Where is the peddling woman at the very moment when I am thirsty?
“The woman frequented her figure when not needed, but disappears for good and all when I am thirsty for a bottle of water.” I tease myself.
“Are you thirsty?”
“A little bit.”
The girl takes out an orange cup, “Why not go getting some water? I am also a little thirsty.”
I take over the cup with hesitation. To use a stranger’s cup, that is really uncomfortable for me. However, it seems all right to the girl. Then how come there are so many misgivings on my part? Just some help from a stranger, just a bit of drink. I must worry too much.
The water service is set at the connection between two compartments, which is a little far from my place. Just like tramping over hill and dale, I have to squeeze myself into and out of the crowd another time. The passage is cluttered with deep-sleeping people. Beside each seat is leaning a poor drowsy passenger who has not got a seat. I take each step carefully for fear of treading on a body or stirring up someone’s dream. Closing the water service, I suddenly notice something creeping on the floor. I stop to check. It turns out a lobster. Nearby is a broken bag, from which might someone’s delicacy slip out. I wake up the bag’s owner, a middle-aged man with sparse hair in a striping short-sleeve, in the pocket of which is a packet of Hongta. What I see is an absolute middle-aged man, even to say a representative of his age. Seeing his creeping lobsters, he seems to suddenly emerge from his dream and catches each of them one by one into the bag. Adroitly tying the bag, he extends his thanks and returns to his dream. Back to my seat, she is not seen anywhere. The water is a little hot. I only take several sips before waiting against the seat back.
At three o’clock, she returns to my opposite.
Seeing her, I give a courteous smile, and she responds the same way.
“The water is a little hot. Wait for a little while.” the boy says considerately enough.
“All right. Just leave it there.”
Suddenly, something occurs to me, something that I want him to know. No. Actually, I am ready to tell him anything that comes into my mind now.
“In fact, my original seat is beside yours.”
“So, why are you sitting opposite to me?”
“Because your side is contrary to the train’s travelling direction.”
“Contrary to the travelling direction. So what?”
“I would feel carsick.”
He bursts into a fit of laugh. Is there any laughing matter? However, since he has been glum all the way, to amuse him is also a pleasant thing for me. It is so unnatural of me to begin to please a stranger consciously or unconsciously. If my awkward situation can cheer him up, I will share with him generously. Moreover, since I was so honest, would he have doubt that I am actually regretting not sitting with him?
“Nothing. Just too many differences between people. I know someone who can’t go along with the traveling direction, but with little knowledge of those who can’t go against the traveling direction.”
To be honest, I have no idea what I am laughing about, just amused by her lovely frankness.