论文部分内容阅读
我不喜欢和他沟通,他不会沟通。我觉得他一点儿也不了解我,还总有点儿自以为是。有时候,我会嫌他太笨拙,想很多东西也不知道怎么跟人表达。有时候我也觉得他像个小孩子,也是要哄了才肯说。我记忆尤其深刻的,是一个夏天的傍晚,已然是六七点钟,但还是余晖点点。天上的云都镀上了金边,红彤彤的。父亲就站在最大的窗户前,抽两根烟,想点事。几乎每次我站在他身后他都察觉不到,我也不叫他,想看出点儿端倪。我不问他,就静静地看着。父亲的背影不同与任何人的,有一点点臃
I do not like to communicate with him, he will not communicate. I do not think he knows me at all, and he still has a bit of self-righteousness. Sometimes I think he is too clumsy, think a lot of things do not know how to tell people. Sometimes I think he is like a child, but also to coax it was willing to say. I remember especially profound, is a summer evening, already six or seven o’clock, but still brilliant little bit. The clouds in the sky are coated with Phnom Penh and are bright red. My father stood in front of the largest window, smoking two cigarettes and trying something. Almost every time I stood behind him he did not notice, and I did not call him, trying to figure out something. I do not ask him, just quietly watching. My father’s back is different from anyone’s, a bit bloated