光影的缝隙

大妞

黄昏的公寓里，阳光从落地窗斜射进来，把地毯拉成长长的光带。皮特的女儿坐在沙发边，手里握着一只温热的马克杯，指尖轻轻颤抖。

他——那个她选择与母亲同族裔的亚洲男性——坐在对面，弯着腰看着手机，安静得像一块石头。偶尔他抬头，眼神柔和，却不带评判，也不带炽烈的吸引力。正是这种“温顺的光”，让她安心，也让她心中隐隐作痛。

她曾幻想过另一种可能。

那个篮球同僚——高大、金发、全场聚光灯下的焦点——如果是他坐在这里，房间的空气会立刻紧绷，心跳会瞬间加速，所有的目光都会注视她。她会被看见，也会被质问：你不属于我们一边吧？

她抿了一口牛奶，暖流顺着喉咙滑下。

她清楚自己害怕被看透。

害怕那种光照亮她混血的身份、父母的历史、自己所有的矛盾。

所以她选择了他。

安静、易懂、可被接纳。

一个让她可以缩在舒适区里的光。

“你什么时候要去见父母？”他终于抬头问，声音轻柔。

她的喉咙微微一紧。

父母？他的父母生活在韩国的一座小城市。她混血又标致的容貌确实会获得赞美和恭维，而她的父母一个来自加拿大哈利法克斯一个来自柬埔寨，在加拿大她永远被看作亚裔，或永远被疑惑：你是哪里人？

她一直小心翼翼地把自己隔开——不想让任何人看穿她的退却。

“……暂时不去。”她低声回答，语气平稳，却带着一丝自我安慰。

她想说：“我爱你。”

但又怕说出口，连这份微光也会变得炽烈，照进她一直避开的真相。

她抬起眼，看向他。

他笑了，笑容轻柔，没有质疑，也没有审视。

她的唇角微微上扬。

这一瞬，她几乎忘记了勇气的缺席。

窗外，城市的光开始闪烁。

在这片柔和的温暖里，她意识到——

退而求其次的选择，也可以孕育微光。

或许，这就是她目前唯一能承受的勇气。

其实，她只是选择了一个舒适区，让自己不必再去面对勇气的考验，不必再被世界追问身份，不必再解释自己。

勇气总在光与影之间，而她选择了影。

【后记·光的两面】

我常怀疑，自己是否也被训练成一个相信“光”只属于某些人的人。

从小到大，我们被无声告诫：白，是干净的；高大，是可靠的；蓝眼睛藏着文明的温度；金发，是阳光的延伸。

而那些不符合公式的面孔、肤色与身形，悄悄被裁出主流镜框——像被剪掉的边角，既不被嘲笑，也不被看见。

我以为自己在追求美，其实是在延续一个早已编好的剧本。

我以为自己在同情被排斥的人，其实是在衡量他们离理想的距离。

那一刻我明白，偏见并非只存在于别人的嘴里，也潜伏在我的眼底，在我自以为“懂得”的姿态里。

也许我并非真正勇敢，只是被恐惧驱使着去接近光亮——

害怕黑暗中的自己显得低微、混乱、不够纯粹。

可我又隐约知道：光本无纯度，只有温度。

它可以穿透人造的审美，照进不同肤色、语言与命运的纹理里。

于是我开始怀疑——

那些被称为“勇气”的姿态，是否也掺杂了迎合；

那些被称为“舒适”的沉默，又是否只是另一种顺从。

我想弄明白的，不是世界如何看我，

而是——我为什么用那样的目光去看世界。

在现实中，混血儿常常选择两条迥异的道路。

有的人靠近光——染金发、戴蓝色隐形眼镜、穿着大胆，与西化的玩伴为伍；

有的人守护影——保持原色的发质与肤色，着装低调，与亚裔或非裔群体为伴。

这两种选择，看似对立，实则同源：

都是在回应世界的目光，都是在寻找被理解、被接纳的空间。

一个在光里奔跑，一个在阴影里生长；

一个以勇气换取可见度，一个以隐匿换取完整性。

勇敢与安静，并非高下之分，只是面对世界的不同姿势。

The Crevice of Light and Shadow

In the dusk-lit apartment, sunlight slanted through the floor-to-ceiling window, stretching a long ribbon of light across the carpet. Peter’s daughter sat at the edge of the sofa, a warm mug cupped in her trembling hands.

He—the Asian man she had chosen, the one who shared her mother’s ethnicity—sat across from her, bent over his phone, quiet as a stone. Occasionally, he looked up. His gaze was gentle, neither judgmental nor intense. It was precisely that tame light that calmed her—and, faintly, pained her.

She had once imagined another possibility.

That basketball teammate—tall, blond, dazzling under the stadium spotlight—if he were the one sitting here, the air would instantly tighten. Her pulse would race; every eye would turn toward her. She would be seen—and interrogated: You’re not one of us, are you?

She took a sip of milk, the warmth sliding down her throat.

She knew she feared being seen through—feared that kind of light that would expose her mixed heritage, her parents’ histories, all her inner contradictions.

So she chose him: quiet, comprehensible, acceptable.

A light she could safely curl up inside.

“When are you going to meet my parents?” he finally asked, voice soft.

Her throat tightened.

His parents lived in a small Korean city. Her own mixed, striking features often drew admiration, but never belonging. One parent from Halifax, the other from Cambodia—yet in Canada, she was always marked as “Asian,” or asked, again and again, Where are you from?

She had learned to stay careful, to keep her distance, to avoid anyone who might recognize her retreat for what it was.

“…Not yet,” she murmured, voice steady but laced with self-consolation.

She wanted to say, I love you.

But she feared even that confession might make this soft light too bright—bright enough to reveal the truth she had spent years avoiding.

She lifted her eyes. He smiled, gently—without question, without scrutiny.

Her lips curved slightly. For a moment, she almost forgot the absence of courage.

Outside, the city’s lights began to shimmer.

In this tender warmth, she realized—

even a secondhand choice can still give birth to light.

Perhaps this, for now, was the only kind of courage she could bear.

In truth, she had simply chosen a comfort zone—

one that spared her from the test of bravery, from the world’s inquiries into her identity, from the exhausting work of self-explanation.

Courage, she thought, always lives between light and shadow—

and she had chosen shadow.

Postscript: The Two Faces of Light

I often wonder if I, too, have been trained to believe that light belongs only to certain people.

From childhood, we are silently instructed:

White means clean.

Tall means trustworthy.

Blue eyes hold the warmth of civilization.

Blond hair is an extension of sunlight.

And those who don’t fit the formula—their faces, their skin, their bodies—are quietly trimmed from the frame of the mainstream. Like the cut-off edges of a photograph, they are neither mocked nor seen.

I once thought I was pursuing beauty;

in truth, I was following a script written long before me.

I once thought I sympathized with the excluded;

in truth, I was measuring how far they stood from the ideal.

That day, I understood—

prejudice does not only live in others’ words.

It hides in my gaze,

in the posture with which I believe I understand.

Perhaps I have never been truly brave,

only driven by fear toward the brightness—

afraid that the self in darkness might seem small, chaotic, impure.

Yet I also know, dimly:

Light has no purity, only warmth.

It can pierce through the machinery of beauty

and illuminate the textures of different skins, tongues, and fates.

So I began to wonder—

are those postures we call “courage” sometimes merely another form of compliance?

And the silences we call “comfort,” just another name for surrender?

What I wish to understand is not how the world sees me,

but—why I have learned to see the world that way.

In reality, mixed-race children often follow two divergent paths.

Some move toward light—dyeing their hair blond, wearing blue contacts, dressing boldly, walking with Westernized friends.

Others stay with shadow—keeping their natural color and quiet demeanor, mingling with Asian or Black peers.

These choices seem opposite, but share the same root:

both respond to the world’s gaze, both search for a space of understanding and acceptance.

One runs toward visibility; the other guards invisibility.

One trades courage for recognition; the other trades silence for wholeness.

Bravery and quietude are not opposites.

They are simply two ways

of standing in the same light.