Bamboo：Autistic — Apeace Voice

初探恐龍廢墟-1--一場原本不屬於我的旅程/ A Journey Not Originally Mine-從意外的奇觀到生命的細微感悟,一段穿越時空、藝術，與親子世界的奇妙旅程.mp3

第一段
1. 初訪恐龍廢墟：意外的震撼與驚奇
第一次前往「恐龍廢墟」時，我完全不知道那是哪裡，也不知道會看到什麼。
這趟旅程是先生為我們安排的，而那時正值學期末最忙碌的階段，無數校務、文件與期限壓得我幾乎喘不過氣。
出發前一晚，先生特別叮囑我：
「妳今晚盡可能把需要準備的事情完成，這樣明天一早出門才不會手忙腳亂。孩子和所有行李我來處理，只要妳準備好就行。」
我知道他已經幫了很多。
於是我開始在校務與家務之間不斷奔波——整理教學資料、完成期末文件、處理家務、打掃善後——一件件確認，直到夜色悄悄褪去，天邊透出清晨的第一道微光。
等我幾乎把所有事情都完成時，先生已經準備好出門了。
雖然身心早已疲憊不堪，但這是我們少有的家庭假期，我依然匆忙跟著他們出門——即使我完全不知道目的地在哪裡。
車子一路開到了宜蘭。
眼前的建築外觀並不起眼，有些陳舊，像是一棟被時間遺落、頗為高聳的老房舍，外牆寫著「恐龍廢墟」幾個字。
恐龍？廢墟？我心中滿是疑惑。
然而真正震住我的，是在進入館內之前的那一刻。
先生帶孩子先去廁所，我站在外頭等待。
就在那時，我看見男廁上方盤踞著一座巨大壯闊的金屬雕塑——
它由無數細碎、線性構成的金屬單位焊接組成，碎片帶著角度、層次、鏤空的結構，有些表面還留著彷彿被切削後的細密紋理。
整座雕塑看起來彷彿是透過無數次焊接、組構、堆疊，才形成這種氣勢磅礴的形體。
那雕塑呈現一張可辨識的人臉，安置在章魚龐大有力的軀體上。
八隻巨大的金屬觸手從屋頂側邊，緣向四方延伸、向下攀附、纏繞，像是正抓住半棟建築的張狂。
我完全被它吸住。
靠近細看時，每一片金屬碎片就像帶著生命的肌理；我伸手輕觸那些冰冷而堆疊的金屬層面，彷彿能感受到一種沉靜卻有力量的呼吸在空氣中流動。
我駐足、凝視、忘記時間。
直到先生走回入口提醒我：
「妳怎麼還愣在那裡？快進來吧。」
我完全沒想到——
這個本來毫無預期的旅程，竟會如此深刻地進入我的內心。
A Journey That Was Not Originally Mine-1
First Section (Full & Precise)
The first time I visited “Dinosaur Ruins,” I had no idea where it was, nor what I was about to encounter.
This trip was arranged entirely by my husband, and it happened to fall during the busiest time of the semester. Countless deadlines, documents, and school duties were weighing heavily on me.
The night before we left, my husband reminded me: “Try to finish everything you need to prepare tonight, so we won’t be rushing or missing anything in the morning. I’ll take care of the kids and all the luggage—just focus on getting your part ready.”
I knew he had already done so much.
So I began moving back and forth between schoolwork and housework—organizing teaching materials, completing end-of-semester files, doing chores, cleaning up—checking off each task one by one, until the darkness of night gradually faded and the first light of dawn appeared.
By the time I had nearly finished everything, my husband was already ready to leave.
Although I was physically and mentally exhausted, this was a rare family holiday, so I hurried out the door with them—even though I still had no idea where we were going.
Our car drove all the way to Yilan.
The building that appeared before me looked unremarkable and somewhat old, like a tall, time-worn structure left behind by the years. On its outer wall were the words “Dinosaur Ruins.”
Dinosaurs? Ruins?
My mind was filled with questions.
But what truly stunned me happened right before we entered the museum.
My husband had taken the children to the restroom, and I waited outside.
At that moment, I saw it: perched above the men’s restroom was a massive, majestic metal sculpture.
It was constructed from countless fragmented, angular pieces of metal welded together—linear components interlocking, with portions hollowed out, and some surfaces marked with fine textures that looked like traces left by cutting tools.
The entire sculpture seemed to have taken innumerable layers of welding, building, and shaping to form such an overwhelming presence.
The sculpture depicted a recognizable human face set upon the powerful body of an octopus.
Eight enormous metal tentacles extended from the edges of the roof, reaching outward and downward, gripping and curling as if seizing half of the building in its grasp.
I was completely captivated.
Up close, each metal fragment felt alive with texture; when I placed my hand on those cold, stacked metal layers, it was as if I could sense a quiet but powerful breath flowing through the air.
I stood there, absorbed, staring, losing all sense of time.
Until my husband walked back to the entrance and said: “Why are you still standing there? Come on, come inside.”
I had never imagined that a trip I hadn’t planned for—one I had walked into without expectations—would reach so deeply into my heart.

照顧失智婆婆的難忘經歷Unforgettable Experiences Caring for My Dementia-Affected Mother-in-Law.mp3

照顧失智婆婆的難忘經歷
我想介紹一下我失智的婆婆。陪伴她的這幾年，她讓我經歷了許多人生中難得一遇的珍貴體驗，她真的是一位非常可愛的長輩。
婆婆大概八十出頭就開始失智，甚至不到八十歲時，就慢慢出現了一些徵兆。我聽人說，失智的老人，通常也是有點福報的人。我不知道對此自己是否有責任，因為我總希望她不要那麼辛苦，很多事情都想主動幫她做。但或許是時機到了，她的記憶還是慢慢退化了。
在她失智的過程中，發生了很多有趣的事情。現在想起來，用「有趣」這個形容詞一點也不為過，我想盡可能記住她的好。目前婆婆由大姑照顧，這是因為今年暑假我們要帶孩子去大陸臨沂做針灸治療，必須有人照料婆婆，於是大姑便扛起了這個責任，帶婆婆搬到了另一處住所。
婆婆年輕時就非常愛漂亮，即便失智後，愛美的本性也沒改。剛失智時，她隐约察覺到自己的智力在急速下降，很想抓住最後一點能力的尾巴。那段時間，她幾乎每天晚上都不睡覺，半夜把衣櫃裡的衣服全都拿出來，所有抽屜都被清空。早上起來，就能看到她和公公睡的床，她那一半堆滿了像山一樣的衣服，而抽屜則空空如也，她就坐在那裡一件一件地疊衣服——只不過疊得並不整齊，有時能疊出一疊整潔的，有時則亂七八糟。
有時候我進房間幫她換尿布，或是看看他們的狀況，會發現浴室的馬桶裡塞著一疊疊好的衣服。我當時整個人都看傻了，告訴公公後，公公說：「哇，婆婆整個晚上都在忙東忙西呢。」原來她疊好衣服後不知道該放哪裡，就塞進了馬桶裡。
還有一次下班回家，先生告訴我：「媽媽在洗衣籃裡大便了。」我過去一看，真的有兩條很結實、很長的糞便在一堆衣服上面。我至今都不知道該如何形容當時的驚嚇，幸好糞便很完整，不是拉肚子的狀態，還能處理。
我也曾在餵她吃飯時，看到她拿起那個有金屬開口、可以放零錢的錢包，打開後用筷子夾了一些菜，小心翼翼地想把菜放進錢包裡。一開始我沒意識到她要做什麼，後來突然反應過來，趕緊阻止了她。我想，她大概是回憶起從前包水餃的畫面，把錢包當成水餃皮，想把菜「包」進去。
因為愛美，她會在睡前拿著顏色鮮艷的口紅對著鏡子塗，塗得滿嘴通紅，每次都把早起的公公和我們嚇一大跳。有時她還會搞不清楚該用什麼東西擦口紅，有一次我發現她的嘴巴是綠色的，後來才知道她把小孩子畫畫用的彩色筆誤當成了口紅，真的把嘴巴塗成了綠色。我當時忍住笑拍了照片，之後費了好大的力氣用手工皂才把她嘴巴上的綠色洗乾淨。
夏天的時候，她會執意把最漂亮的衣服穿在身上，結果就是一層又一層地裹著衣服，一穿穿了十件,完全分不清內外——該穿在裡面的衣服穿到了外面，甚至把內衣穿在腰際當腰帶，把袖套套在腳上當襪套，把襪子穿在手上。總之，她簡直像個素人藝術家，對於色彩搭配也有自己獨特的見解。有時候我都覺得，她創作時的活力，一點也不遜於她那位當純藝術家的兒子，我相信這一定是遺傳。
她還會把撕開的衛生棉纏在筷子上，再捲上毛巾；會抓起孩子的拼圖塞進口袋，然後丟進洗衣籃，導致我洗衣服時經常漂出好多木頭拼圖碎片。
剛失智時，她對人的認知有時會混亂。比如說有時候會想念她的爸爸媽媽，然後對著空氣說話。我還記得有一次幫她洗澡，當時她對人的認知已經有些錯亂，但仍然會表達感恩。她覺得很舒服，就問我：「你結婚了沒有？」我愣了一下，她又說：「如果你還沒有結婚，結婚時我打一個金戒指送你。」我感動地問：「你怎麼對我這麼好？」她趕快放低聲音，用手遮住嘴巴說：「不要讓外面的人聽到。」外面床上躺著的就是公公，她大概是怕公公聽到吧。我覺得很有意思，她忘記我已經結婚了，而且嫁的就是她的兒子，但這份真情流露還是讓我非常感動。
不過，我們也陪她度過了一些很難熬的日子。有一段時間她患有被害妄想症，覺得照顧她、靠近她的人都想傷害她，心理上非常抗拒。我想，這大概是因為她原本是個非常愛乾淨的人，和我與先生這種比較隨性、不修邊幅的「藝術家性格」完全不同。她失智後大小便失禁，需要一直包尿布，經常弄得全身、床單、地上到處都是，她無法接受這樣的自己。所以當她尿褲子或大便後，我們要幫她脫褲子時，她會覺得是很大的冒犯，我們只能連哄帶騙，拿她喜歡吃的糖果點心來鼓勵、吸引她，換一件衣服、一條褲子簡直像「拼命」一樣。有時她還會動手，我先生的小指頭就曾被她折得非常痛，有時她甚至會出拳反抗，我們蹲下来幫她換褲子時，頭也會被她狠狠捶幾拳，身上偶爾會有小小的擦傷，但都不算嚴重。
這些都還好，更麻煩的是公公那段時間經常進出醫院——公公肺不太好，有時會喘不過氣。而婆婆晚上不睡觉，在旁邊折衣服或走動，對公公來說無異於騷擾，讓他無法好好休息。所以有幾次，醫生評斷公公可以出院了，結果回家沒兩天，公公就又要求住院，到了醫院檢查，醫生又說沒什麼大問題。後來我們才明白，公公是因為在家無法睡覺，八十多歲的老人實在承受不了這樣的狀態。
婆婆還能走動的時候，我們會帶她去醫院看公公。但每次要回家時，她都不願意，因為她看到公公身邊有「女人」——其實那是她的女兒，可能是先生的二姐、妹妹或大姐。當時先生的二姐嫁給了醫生，比較有空，經常晚上陪公公睡覺；小姑住在雲林，雖然孝順常來，但距離畢竟遠。婆婆看到這些「陌生女人」在公公身邊，情緒就會完全失控，憤怒地質問：「這個女人怎麼一直不走？她是哪裡來的？」懷疑二姐和公公關係不正當。為了安撫她的情緒，二姐有時只能暫時離開。回到家後，就輪到我陪她睡覺，她會哭一整晚，抱怨公公不要她了，跟「別的女人」在一起——她完全忘記那是自己的女兒，自怨自艾好一陣子。
我們也曾送她去日間照護機構，有點像「老人幼稚園」，白天可以和其他老人聊天、聽故事、做勞作、唱歌、吃點心，下班後我們再去接她回來。但後來機構說無法繼續接收她，因為她的狀況需要大量人力照顧：她會把垃圾桶當成馬桶，還沒有物權觀念，經常把其他老人的東西誤認為是自己的帶回家，口袋裡經常塞滿厚厚的衛生紙。這些都不是她頭腦清醒時會做的事，也讓她無法再參與這類社會性的活動。
婆婆失智前很喜歡早上爬山，四點就要出門，我會幫她打理好出門的東西。附近鄰居有一群老人早上會跳健身舞，她也會跟著做，我有時會陪她一起運動，大概六點開始，運動到七八點，然後我再趕去上班，這樣陪她運動了好幾年。運動過程中，老師慢慢發現婆婆有點不一樣：跟她說話，她的回應不太尋常，也無法準確跟著做動作。有時我太忙，無法全程陪她，就會把她送到運動地點，結束後由鄰居順路送她回家。有一次她回家時，竟然帶了一整隻處理好的生雞，我完全不知道雞是哪來的。後來問了一起運動的人才知道，當時有人在賣雞，婆婆舉手說要，對方就給了她，讓我事後補了錢。問她雞是哪來的，她也是一問三不知，類似這樣的事情還有不少。
失智後，公公陪伴了她好幾年，他們的感情其實很好，只不過很愛拌嘴。公公性格比較木訥，但有時也會替婆婆說話。讓我覺得很有意思的是，婆婆後來很多語言能力都退化了，但罵人的話卻一點也沒衰退，非常會罵人。我照顧她、幫她洗澡整理時，她有時會罵我一些不好聽的話，比如說我是「壞女人」「奸夫淫婦」之類的。我有時真想跟她說：「我的『奸夫』就是你兒子呀。」她對我充滿敵意，尤其是換衣服的時候，難度非常高。因為她有潔癖，衣服弄髒後就不願意讓我們靠近，出於自尊心，對我們的敵意更強。後來我們只能買扣扣子或拉鍊式的衣服，連褲子都是在淘寶上買的特製款，每條褲子都有兩條拉鍊，不用直接脫穿，這樣的褲子我們買了十條以上，因為她一天要換好幾次，衣服洗了也不容易乾，這樣才解決了換衣物的難題。
照顧老人其實很不容易，但婆婆內在性格很可愛，其實是個很好哄的「孩子」。比如說她不肯吃飯，只要跟她說：「你乖，吃完飯就給你一顆糖哦。」拿出她最喜歡的芝麻糖或花生糖，她就會乖乖吃飯，像孩子一樣需要誘導。她不願意穿脫衣服時，我就利用她愛美的天性——我本身是藝術工作者，沒什麼機會創作，後來就把她當成洋娃娃，買一些花邊、蕾絲縫在她的衣服上，把衣服弄得像洋娃娃的服裝一樣，自己也過足了創作的癮。她喜歡紅色、鮮亮的顏色，有時我會買幾朵花縫上去，她看到後就會非常開心。我跟她說：「媽媽你真乖，穿得這麼漂亮，等一下帶你去選美好不好？」她就會高興地答應，真的非常可愛。只要她不生氣，真的是個很討人喜歡的長輩。
我的記憶力不太好，但我願意多記住她可愛的樣子，想到她是這麼可愛的老人，一整天都會覺得很開心。雖然她曾經把我的一些重要證件卡片塞到椅子縫隙這類找不到的地方，讓我不得不重辦；我自己也經常弄丢身份證、健保卡、銀行卡這類重要證件，至少掉了四五次，到最後我都覺得這些失而復得的證件都多到能辦一個展覽了。但婆婆和公公讓我擁有了很多別人沒有的生命體驗，這些體驗中有很多特別溫馨美好，我會一直記得這些珍貴的經歷。
公公對我來說，真的是一位貴人。這點很難用具體的文字描述，他的頭腦一直很清晰。我剛嫁給先生的時候，有一次和他坐在客廳，他在看電視，完全不理我。我試著跟他聊天——我是靠嘴巴吃飯的老師，很善於交談——跟他聊了二十幾分鐘，他卻一句話也沒回應，問他任何問題都沒有反應。我覺得有點自討沒趣，就問他：「爸爸，是不是我太吵了，打擾到你了？」他突然緩緩轉頭看著我，說：「有話講才好，若沒話可講就完蛋了。」然後面無表情地繼續看電視，一邊看一邊開心地笑，他的情緒是被電視內容帶動的，而不是對我的話有反應。那時我就覺得，公公真的是一個很憨厚樸實、很特別的人，他其實是希望有人陪他說話的，不然會覺得很孤單。
後來我有機會和先生的二姐聊天，才知道公公平常很少跟家人說話，雖然會和婆婆拌嘴吵架，但很少主動跟孩子們說話，孩子們都有點怕他。但後來，我卻和他變成了幾乎無話不談的朋友。他躺在床上不太能動的時候，我就幫他按摩，跟他分享我生活中有趣的事情、我的想法、小時候的經歷，他告訴我他很喜歡聽我說話，後來也越來越願意稱讚我，有時他的稱讚會讓我都有點不好意思。我還發現，他後來也比較願意跟別人說話了。
有一次和二姐聊天，她說著說著就有點想哭，我問她怎麼了，她說：「有一次我回家跟爸爸說了一些話，他竟然跟我說『謝謝』，我覺得他開始把我當外人了。」我趕忙解釋：「不是的，是我教公公要學會說謝謝的。他以前很少說話，後來跟我說謝謝，我就告訴他，爸爸你也要跟女兒們說謝謝哦，這樣的話很貼心，會讓人一整天都很開心。」我告訴二姐，有時候我學校工作很忙，心情煩躁，孩子不聽話又有自閉症，心裡很難過，但只要聽到公公說一些溫暖的話，就會覺得很欣慰。他曾跟我說：「女兒沒什麼用，媳婦才是最好。」其實他的女兒們都很孝順，他說這種話有點不負責任，但我還是告訴他：「你要把這種溫暖感恩的話跟女兒們說，才會真正讓她們感動。」没想到他真的跟女兒們說了，結果反而讓女兒們以為他見外了。
我覺得，人和人之間有時會因為誤解而產生遺憾。如果我們能換一個角度看待某些人的冷漠或難以相處，或許會發現，這是他們的成長環境造成的，並不是他們自願的。並沒有所謂的「更好的樣子」或「更不好的樣子」，我們只是比較幸運，生長的環境讓我們學會了如何表達愛，老師也教過我們什麼是好的信念。我們並不比那些不善表達的人優秀，反而正是他們那份笨拙的、真摯的感動與感謝，才能真正打動我們的心。
今天就說到這裡，謝謝大家的聆聽，也謝謝自己的陪伴。
Unforgettable Experiences Caring for My Dementia-Affected Mother-in-Law
I would like to introduce my mother-in-law who has dementia. Over the years of accompanying her, she has allowed me to experience many precious moments that are rare in life. She is truly a very lovely elder.
My mother-in-law began showing signs of dementia when she was in her early 80s, even slightly before turning 80. I’ve heard that elderly people with dementia are usually those who have accumulated some blessings. I don’t know if I bear any responsibility for this—because I always wanted to spare her from hardships and took the initiative to help her with many things. But perhaps the time had come, and her memory gradually declined.
Many interesting things happened during her journey with dementia. Looking back now, the word "interesting" is by no means an overstatement, and I want to remember her goodness as much as possible. Currently, my mother-in-law is being cared for by my husband’s eldest sister. This is because we took our children to Linyi in mainland China for acupuncture treatment this summer vacation, and someone had to take care of her. So, my husband’s eldest sister took on this responsibility and moved my mother-in-law to another residence.
My mother-in-law has always loved being beautiful since she was young, and this nature didn’t change even after she developed dementia. When she first started showing symptoms, she vaguely sensed that her cognitive abilities were declining rapidly and desperately wanted to hold onto the last traces of her capabilities. During that period, she hardly slept at night. She would take out all the clothes from the wardrobe in the middle of the night, emptying every drawer. In the morning, when we got up, we would see the bed she shared with my father-in-law—her side was piled high with clothes like a mountain, while the drawers were completely empty. She would sit there folding clothes one by one—though not neatly; sometimes she could fold a neat stack, and other times it was a mess.
Occasionally, when I went into the room to change her diaper or check on their condition, I would find stacks of folded clothes stuffed in the bathroom toilet. I was completely dumbfounded every time. When I told my father-in-law, he would say, "Wow, your mother has been busy all night long." It turned out that after folding the clothes, she didn’t know where to put them, so she stuffed them into the toilet.
Another time, when I came home from work, my husband told me, "Mom pooped in the laundry basket." I went to check and sure enough, there were two solid, long pieces of feces on top of a pile of clothes. I still don’t know how to describe the shock I felt back then. Fortunately, the feces were intact—not diarrhea—so they were manageable.
Once, while feeding her dinner, I saw her pick up her wallet—a metal-clasped one for holding loose change. She opened it, picked up some food with chopsticks, and carefully tried to put the food into the wallet. At first, I didn’t realize what she was doing, but then it suddenly dawned on me, and I quickly stopped her. I think she must have recalled the scene of making dumplings in the past, mistaking the wallet for a dumpling wrapper and wanting to "wrap" the food in it.
Because she loved being beautiful, she would put on bright red lipstick in front of the mirror before going to bed, painting her entire mouth bright red. Every time, she would scare my father-in-law and us when we got up early. Sometimes she couldn’t tell what to use to remove the lipstick. Once, I noticed her mouth was green. Later, I found out she had mistaken a child’s coloring pen for lipstick and actually painted her mouth green. I held back my laughter and took a photo, then spent a lot of effort scrubbing the green off her mouth with handmade soap.
In summer, she insisted on wearing her most beautiful clothes, resulting in layer upon layer of clothing—up to ten pieces at a time. She completely couldn’t distinguish between inner and outer garments: clothes that should be worn inside were put on the outside, she even wore her undergarment around her waist as a belt, sleeve covers on her feet as leg warmers, and socks on her hands. In short, she was just like an amateur artist with her own unique views on color matching. Sometimes I even thought her creative vitality was no less than that of her son, who is a professional artist—I’m sure it’s hereditary.
She would also wrap torn sanitary pads around chopsticks and then wrap them with towels; she would grab handfuls of the children’s puzzle pieces, stuff them into her pockets, and then throw them into the laundry basket. As a result, many wooden puzzle pieces would float out when I did the laundry.
When she first developed dementia, her perception of people was sometimes confused. For example, she would miss her parents and talk to the air. I still remember one time when I was helping her take a bath—her cognition of people was already somewhat muddled, but she still knew how to express gratitude. She felt very comfortable and asked me, "Are you married?" I was stunned for a moment, and she added, "If you’re not married, I’ll have a gold ring made for you as a wedding gift." Touched, I asked, "Why are you so kind to me?" She quickly lowered her voice, covered her mouth with her hand, and said, "Don’t let the people outside hear." The "people outside" were my father-in-law lying on the bed next door—she was probably afraid he would hear. I found it very interesting; she had forgotten that I was already married, and to her own son no less. But this sincere display of affection still moved me deeply.
However, we also accompanied her through some very difficult days. For a period of time, she suffered from persecutory delusions, feeling that anyone who took care of her or got close to her wanted to harm her, and she was extremely resistant emotionally. I think this was probably because she had always been a very clean person—completely different from my husband and me, who have a more casual, unkempt "artist’s personality." After developing dementia, she suffered from incontinence and needed to wear diapers all the time. She often got feces and urine all over herself, the bed sheets, and the floor, and she couldn’t accept herself like that. So when she wet her pants or soiled herself, and we tried to take off her pants, she would see it as a great insult. We had no choice but to coax and even trick her—using her favorite candies and snacks to encourage and distract her. Changing her clothes or pants was simply like "fighting a battle." Sometimes she would even get physical: my husband’s little finger was once twisted by her, causing excruciating pain; sometimes she would even throw punches in resistance. When we squatted down to change her pants, our heads would be severely punched a few times, and we would occasionally get small scratches on our bodies, but nothing serious.
These were all manageable. The bigger trouble was that my father-in-law was frequently admitted to and discharged from the hospital during that period—he had poor lung function and sometimes struggled to breathe. Meanwhile, my mother-in-law didn’t sleep at night; she would fold clothes or wander around next to him, which was nothing short of harassment for my father-in-law, preventing him from getting proper rest. So on several occasions, the doctors said my father-in-law was ready to be discharged, but within two days of returning home, he would ask to be hospitalized again. When he was admitted, the doctors would check him and say there was nothing wrong. Later, we realized that my father-in-law couldn’t sleep at home, and an elderly man in his 80s simply couldn’t endure such a state.
When my mother-in-law was still able to walk, we would take her to the hospital to visit my father-in-law. But every time we wanted to go home, she refused—because she saw "women" beside my father-in-law. In fact, those women were her own daughters: they could be my husband’s second elder sister, his younger sister, or his eldest sister. At that time, my husband’s second elder sister was married to a doctor and had more free time, so she often stayed with my father-in-law at night. My husband’s younger sister lived in Yunlin; although she was filial and visited often, the distance was quite far. When my mother-in-law saw these "strange women" next to my father-in-law, her emotions would completely spiral out of control. She would angrily demand, "Why won’t this woman leave? Where did she come from?" suspecting that my husband’s second elder sister had an improper relationship with my father-in-law. To soothe her emotions, my husband’s second elder sister would sometimes have to leave temporarily. When we got home, it was my turn to sleep with her. She would cry all night, complaining that my father-in-law didn’t want her anymore and was with "another woman"—she completely forgot that the woman was her own daughter, and wallowed in self-pity for a long time.
We also sent her to a day care center for the elderly, which was a bit like a "kindergarten for seniors." During the day, she could chat with other elderly people, listen to stories, do handicrafts, sing songs, and eat snacks. We would pick her up after work. But later, the center said they could no longer accept her because her condition required a lot of manpower to care for: she would mistake trash cans for toilets, had no concept of property rights, and often took other elderly people’s belongings home, thinking they were her own. Her pockets were often stuffed with thick wads of toilet paper. These were things she would never have done when she was mentally alert, and it made it impossible for her to participate in such social activities anymore.
Before developing dementia, my mother-in-law loved climbing mountains in the morning. She would want to go out at 4 a.m., and I would help her get ready. A group of elderly neighbors would gather to do exercise dances in the morning, and she would join them. Sometimes I would exercise with her—we would start around 6 a.m. and finish at 7 or 8 a.m., then I would rush to work. I accompanied her like this for several years. During the exercises, the instructor gradually noticed that something was different about my mother-in-law: when talked to her, her responses were unusual, and she couldn’t follow the movements accurately. Sometimes I was too busy to stay with her the entire time, so I would drop her off at the exercise spot, and a neighbor would take her home on their way back after it ended. Once, when she came home, she actually brought back a whole processed raw chicken. I had no idea where the chicken had come from. Later, I asked the people who exercised with her and found out that someone had been selling chickens there. My mother-in-law had raised her hand and said she wanted one, so the person gave it to her, and I paid for it afterward. When I asked her where the chicken had come from, she had no idea—there were many similar incidents like this.
After she developed dementia, my father-in-law accompanied her for several years. Their relationship was actually very good, although they loved bickering. My father-in-law was quite taciturn, but sometimes he would stand up for my mother-in-law. What I found interesting was that while many of my mother-in-law’s language abilities deteriorated later, her ability to curse didn’t decline at all—she was very good at it. When I took care of her, helping her bathe and get dressed, she would sometimes call me unpleasant names, like "bad woman" or "adulteress and her lover." Sometimes I really wanted to say to her, "My 'lover' is your son!" She was full of hostility toward me, especially when it came to changing her clothes—it was extremely difficult. Because she was a clean freak, if her clothes got dirty, she would refuse to let us get close. Out of self-esteem, her hostility toward us would only grow stronger. Later, we had to buy clothes with buttons or zippers—even her pants were custom-made ones we bought on Taobao, each with two zippers so they didn’t have to be pulled off directly. We bought more than ten pairs of such pants because she needed to change several times a day, and the clothes were not easy to dry after washing. This is how we solved the problem of changing her clothes.
Caring for the elderly is actually not easy, but my mother-in-law had a lovely inner personality—she was actually a "child" who was easy to coax. For example, if she refused to eat, we just had to say, "Be good, and you’ll get a candy after eating." We would take out her favorite sesame candy or peanut candy, and she would eat obediently—she needed to be persuaded like a child. When she didn’t want to change her clothes, I would take advantage of her love for beauty. As an artist myself, I rarely had the chance to create. Later, I started treating her like a doll: I bought some lace and sewed it onto her clothes, making them look like doll outfits. This way, I also got to satisfy my creative urge. She loved red and bright colors, so sometimes I would buy a few flowers and sew them on her clothes, and she would be overjoyed when she saw them. I would say to her, "Mom, you’re so good. You look so pretty—shall I take you to a beauty pageant later?" She would happily agree—she was truly adorable. As long as she wasn’t angry, she was a very likable elder.
My memory isn’t very good, but I am willing to remember her lovely moments as much as possible. Thinking of her as such a lovely old lady makes me happy all day long. Although she once stuffed some of my important documents and cards into hard-to-find places like the gaps between chairs, forcing me to reapply for them; and I myself often lost important documents like my ID card, health insurance card, and bank card—at least four or five times. In the end, I even joked that I had enough lost-and-found documents to hold an exhibition. But my mother-in-law and father-in-law have given me many life experiences that others may not have, and many of these experiences are particularly warm and beautiful. I will always remember these precious moments.
My father-in-law is truly a noble person in my life. It’s hard to put this into specific words, but his mind has always been very clear. When I first married my husband, I remember sitting with him in the living room. He was watching TV and completely ignored me. I tried to strike up a conversation with him—I’m a teacher who makes a living with my words, so I’m quite good at talking. I chatted with him for more than twenty minutes, but he didn’t respond at all—not to a single question. I felt a bit rebuffed and asked him, "Dad, am I being too noisy and disturbing you?" He suddenly turned his head slowly and looked at me, saying, "It’s good to have something to say; if not, that’s it." Then he continued watching TV with a straight face, laughing happily as he watched—his emotions were stirred by the TV content, not by my words. At that moment, I thought, wow, my father-in-law is really a lovely and special person. He actually wanted someone to talk to; otherwise, he would feel lonely.
Later, when I had the chance to chat with my husband’s second elder sister, I found out that my father-in-law rarely spoke to his family. Although he would bicker and quarrel with my mother-in-law, he rarely took the initiative to talk to his children, and the children were a bit afraid of him. But later, he and I became almost inseparable friends. When he couldn’t move much and lay in bed, I would massage him and share interesting things from my life, my thoughts, and my childhood experiences with him. He told me he loved listening to me talk, and later he became more and more willing to praise me—sometimes his compliments would even make me feel a little embarrassed. I also noticed that he became more willing to talk to other people later on.
Once, while chatting with my husband’s second elder sister, she suddenly got a little teary-eyed. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, "Once when I went home and talked to Dad, he actually said 'thank you' to me. I feel like he’s starting to treat me like an outsider." I quickly explained, "No, it was me who taught Dad to say thank you. He rarely spoke before, but later he started saying it to me. I told him, 'Dad, you should also say thank you to your daughters—words like that are very heartfelt and will make people happy all day long.'" I told her that sometimes I was very busy with work at school, feeling irritable because the children were disobedient and had autism. I would feel very sad, but as long as I heard my father-in-law’s warm words, I would feel relieved. He once said to me, "Daughters are not very useful; daughters-in-law are the best." In fact, all his daughters are very filial, so what he said was a bit irresponsible. But I still told him, "You should say these warm and grateful words to your daughters—only then will they truly be moved." I never expected he would actually say it to them, but it ended up making the daughters think he was being distant.
I think that sometimes regrets arise between people due to misunderstandings. If we can look at the coldness or difficulty of getting along with certain people from another perspective, we may find that this is caused by their growing environment, not by choice. There is no such thing as a "better way to be" or a "worse way to be." We are just luckier—our growing environment taught us how to express love, and our teachers taught us what good values are. We are not superior to those who are not good at expressing themselves; on the contrary, it is their clumsy yet sincere affection and gratitude that can truly touch our hearts.
That’s all for today. Thank you all for listening, and thank you for accompanying me through this.

《如願》（As You Wish）朗讀 原唱王菲.mp3

《如願》（As You Wish） 原歌：https://www.iesdouyin.com/share/video/7562124040069008667/?region=TW&mid=7562124143212841779&u_code=0&video_share_track_ver=&titleType=title&share_sign=FNumAmKEu_trC5bPNEEmrMZCLOOb_l_MaKZgOcyVjLQ-&share_version=10030040&ts=1765991911&from_aid=482431&from_ssr=1&share_track_info=%7B%22link_description_type%22%3A%22%22%7D 原唱：王菲（Faye Wong） 繁體中文歌詞 你是 遙遙的路 山野大霧裡的燈 我是孩童啊 走在你的眼眸 你是 明月清風 我是你照拂的夢 見與不見都一生 與你相擁 而我將 愛你所愛的人間 願你所願的笑顏 你的手我蹣跚在牽 請帶我去明天 如果說 你曾苦過我的甜 我願活成你的願 願不枉啊 願勇往啊 這盛世每一天 你是 歲月長河 星火燃起的天空 我是仰望者 就把你唱成歌 你是 我之所來 也是我心之所歸 世間所有路都將 與你相逢 而我將 愛你所愛的人間 願你所願的笑顏 你的手我蹣跚在牽 請帶我去明天 如果說 你曾苦過我的甜 我願活成你的願 願不枉啊 願勇往啊 這盛世每一天 山河無恙 煙火尋常 可是你如願的眺望 孩子們啊 安睡夢鄉 像你深愛的那樣 而我將 夢你所夢的團圓 願你所願的永遠 走你所走的長路 這樣的愛你啊 我也將 見你未見的世界 寫你未寫的詩篇 天邊的月 心中的念 你永在我身邊 與你相約 一生清澈 如你年輕的臉 英文翻譯歌詞 You are the distant path A lamp in the mountain mist so dense I am a child, walking in your gentle gaze You are the bright moon and clear breeze The dream you cradle and caress Whether seen or not, I hold you close all my life And I will love the world you loved Wish for the smiles you wished for I stumble along, holding your hand tight Please lead me to tomorrow If all the hardships you endured bore my sweetness I wish to live as you desired May it not be in vain, may I march bravely Every day of this prosperous age You are the long river of time The sky ignited by sparks of light I am an admirer, singing you into a song You are where I come from And where my heart returns All roads in the world will lead me to you And I will love the world you loved Wish for the smiles you wished for I stumble along, holding your hand tight Please lead me to tomorrow If all the hardships you endured bore my sweetness I wish to live as you desired May it not be in vain, may I march bravely Every day of this prosperous age Mountains and rivers safe, daily life peaceful This is the view you wished to see Children sleep soundly in their dreams Just as you cherished so deeply And I will dream the reunion you dreamed Wish for the eternity you wished for Tread the long road you walked—loving you this way I will also see the world you never saw Write the poems you never wrote The moon on the horizon, the longing in my heart You are always by my side I make a vow with you: a life pure and clear Like your young face 核心詞彙對照（英文單字 + KK音標 + 繁體中文翻譯） distant /ˈdɪstənt/ 遙遠的 mist /mɪst/ 霧氣 dense /dens/ 濃密的 child /tʃaɪld/ 孩童 gaze /ɡez/ 眼眸；注視 moon /muːn/ 月亮 breeze /briːz/ 清風 cradle /ˈkreɪdl/ 呵護 caress /kəˈres/ 撫慰 hold close /hoʊld kloʊs/ 相擁 world /wɜːrld/ 人間 smile /smaɪl/ 笑顏 stumble /ˈstʌmbəl/ 蹣跚 hand /hænd/ 手 tomorrow /təˈmɑːroʊ/ 明天 hardship /ˈhɑːrdʃɪp/ 苦難 endure /ɪnˈdʊr/ 承受 sweetness /ˈswiːtnəs/ 甜蜜 desire /dɪˈzaɪər/ 願望 vain /veɪn/ 徒勞的 march /mɑːrtʃ/ 前行 bravely /ˈbreɪvli/ 勇敢地 prosperous /ˈprɑːspərəs/ 繁榮的 age /eɪdʒ/ 時代 river /ˈrɪvər/ 河流 time /taɪm/ 時間 spark /spɑːrk/ 星火 sky /skaɪ/ 天空 admire /ədˈmaɪər/ 仰望 sing /sɪŋ/ 歌唱 road /roʊd/ 道路 meet /miːt/ 相逢 mountain /ˈmaʊntən/ 山 safe /seɪf/ 安然的 daily /ˈdeɪli/ 日常的 peaceful /ˈpiːsfəl/ 平靜的 view /vjuː/ 眺望 sleep soundly /sliːp ˈsaʊndli/ 安睡 dreamland /ˈdriːmlænd/ 夢鄉 cherish /ˈtʃerɪʃ/ 深愛 reunion /ˌriːˈjuːniən/ 團圓 eternity /ɪˈtɜːrnəti/ 永遠 tread /tred/ 行走 see /siː/ 看見 poem /ˈpoʊəm/ 詩篇 horizon /həˈraɪzn/ 天邊 longing /ˈlɔːŋɪŋ/ 思念 side /saɪd/ 身邊 vow /vaʊ/ 相約 pure /pjʊr/ 純淨的 clear /klɪr/ 清澈的 young /jʌŋ/ 年輕的 face /feɪs/ 面容
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.大兒子 Andrew 的成長點滴The Growth Bits of My Eldest Son with Autism.mp3

大兒子 Andrew 的成長點滴
中文（傳統中文）
這是我第一次嘗試在白天錄這一段 podcast，之前兩三段都是在半夜的時候錄的。因為大家都熟睡了，在我不被打擾的狀況之下，我用小聲的方式盡量降低音量，有點偷偷摸摸、鬼鬼祟祟地錄下 podcast，這是一種感覺很冒險的經驗。在這種狀況之下，我能夠做自己喜歡的事，把自己的想法勇敢地表達出來，我覺得是非常幸福的一件事。
我這個 podcast original，希望用英文來練習能力，並嘗試與他人交流，但當我聽到自己錄音的聲音是英文時，我覺得有點難以辨識。還有今天感覺到聲音有點沙啞，但是我決定還是繼續這樣錄下去。或許我可以嘗試一種方式，按暫停，然後試著用耳麥看看。這是我第一次嘗試用耳麥的方式，不曉得這樣聲音會不會變大一點，或是會不會有回音。
那我繼續分享關於我自閉症大兒子的事情。他剛生出來到這個世界上，是準時到達的。剛生出來的時候，他經歷了一段安靜，被拍打後大哭出來。我很幸運，本來醫生認為我會需要剖腹生產，因為醫生估計我的骨盆比較小，但我兒子的頭骨比較大。可是我很幸運，醫生用他的專業幫助我，用有點推擠的方式把孩子很順利地推擠出來，我沒有挨刀。
在這過程中一切感覺都沒有太大的問題，除了黃疸，住院了3天之外。這個孩子生出來的時候身長也不會很小，我姐姐說他算是比較高的嬰兒。當初還沒有生他之前，我一直跟佛菩薩祈禱，因為我很擔心孩子不高，希望小孩能夠高一點點。他到現在為止感覺都不是一個矮小的孩子。
我發現他在小的時候其實是挺聰明的。我的婆婆，也就是 Andrew 的奶奶，她是一個專業的保母。在 Andrew 之前，奶奶幫人帶過包括自己的孩子、孫子在內，一共20個孩子。我的寶貝英文名叫 Andrew，他就是婆婆帶的第20個孩子。婆婆在帶他的過程中告訴我，孩子很乖。因為我要上班，沒有空照顧小孩，就把孩子交給她帶。她說早上才教他怎麼從床上爬下來，沒想到我回來的時候，婆婆一邊說，我兒子就從床上慢慢爬下來了——奶奶講完話，他就爬下床了。這點我非常驚訝，哇，今天教就學會了，婆婆也認定這孩子聰明。
他小的時候不算太哭鬧的孩子，除了晚上有時候會哭一下。他不太喝母奶，這也讓我省事，因為我不用半夜起來喂奶（喂奶是比較辛苦的一件事），泡牛奶會方便多了。
還有關於他的自理能力，婆婆在他快滿兩歲的時候，覺得他蠻愛乾淨的，就試著讓他兩個禮拜不要包尿布，只有晚上睡覺時包尿布，看看他會不會尿褲子。結果他真的整天都沒有尿褲子，後來晚上包尿布兩個禮拜，也都是乾的。從此以後，他在兩歲的時候就不用包尿布了。
我還記得 Andrew 大概兩歲左右的時候，有天晚上半夜突然爬起來（他跟我睡），匆匆忙忙地跑到婆婆的房間，因為那裡有個小便桶。我跟過去，發現他脫了褲子在那邊便便。我很感動，這麼小的小孩，大部分都會尿在褲子上，他竟然特地爬起來，知道去準確的地方上廁所。他很累，上完廁所我幫他擦完屁股，他幾乎就要睡著了，我趕快帶他回去睡。我就覺得，哇，這孩子果然像婆婆講的很聰明。
其實我跟我先生結婚的情況很特殊，我先生之前在北京798附近租了工作室創作，在那裡待了5年，後來回來跟我結婚，結婚後没多久又回去工作室。所以基本上是我帶孩子，跟婆婆他們一起住。他回來的時候，剛好遇到孩子要打預防針，就帶大兒子去打了。打完預防針後，我先生告訴我，他覺得有些奇怪的事：以前看兒子的眼睛是很發亮的，後來慢慢那個亮度就沉下來了，也慢慢不看人了。
我記得他很小的時候，我抱他回娘家，姐姐跟他互動，告訴他這個是玫瑰花、這個是電視、這個是書。姐姐介紹完後，再說玫瑰花，他的眼睛就會看玫瑰花；說書，他就會看書。姐姐很驚訝，說才教他一次，問他什麼他就會去看剛剛說的東西，那時候他還沒有語言能力就會這樣做。姐姐告訴我，你兒子挺聰明的。
我們帶他回娘家的路上，他那時候剛會走路，會指指路上他想要我們教他的東西，比如指門牌，他的外婆（我媽媽）就告訴他門牌號碼；指其他東西，外婆也會告訴他那是什麼。外婆告訴我，她覺得這孩子很聰明，有很強的求知欲，想要知道路上的各種東西。那個時候，他看起來跟一般孩子都很像。
我記得那時候帶著剛會走路、還不太會講話的他去機場接他爸爸。他第一個叫的就是爸爸，那時候還不太會叫媽媽。爸爸帶他去免稅商店逛的時候，他一直很大聲、很洪亮地叫「爸爸爸爸爸爸」，爸爸雖然開心，但在機場那麼多人，有點尷尬，就拜託他：「你不要再叫了，你要全世界都聽到你叫爸爸嗎？」但寶寶還是很開心，後來我們就帶他回家了。
我還記得我們曾帶他去我娘家淡水那家很有名、很流行的雙麒麟店，那裡的冰淇淋好高好高，大概是一般雙麒麟冰淇淋的3倍，就像一棟101大樓蓋在冰淇淋餅皮上面。我們買了一個這樣的冰淇淋，他好興奮，一直叫爸爸給他吃。後來我跟他說，要叫媽媽，媽媽才拿冰淇淋給你吃，他很快就叫「媽媽媽媽」，我就把冰淇淋給他吃了。這些畫面我們都拍下來，放在 YouTube 上面。
還有第一次讓他畫水墨畫，給他穿了幼稚園的圍兜兜，那時候他才剛會站。我們沒什麼教他，就給他毛筆和墨汁，他沾了墨汁就畫出點、線、面，還用筆點了好幾個點狀的東西。我和先生都覺得，哇哦，這小孩難道是在肚子裡偷偷學爸爸或媽媽畫畫嗎？第一次拿筆就那麼有氣勢。這個影片我們也錄下來了。
但是後來慢慢的，他的一些自閉症特質就出現了。記得有一次爸爸回來，他跟我們一起睡（以前都是跟媽媽睡），爸爸讓他睡在我和爸爸中間。那時候他還不太會講話，就轉頭看看爸爸，一直笑；再轉頭看看媽媽，又一直笑，這樣來回轉頭大概六七遍。我和爸爸都覺得，他這是在跟我們說話——平常只有媽媽，爸爸回來後，他發現有爸爸也有媽媽，非常開心，然後就睡了。這件事讓我們很感動，那個畫面到現在還很清晰地留在我的腦海裡。
爸爸就這樣來回大陸和台灣之間，孩子很小的時候就是這樣度過的。有一次爸爸回來辦個展，先生的妹妹（小姑）心血來潮邀請公公婆婆去雲林她住的地方度假。爸爸要準備展覽，我要陪著他張羅，都不方便過去，就想讓孩子跟著去玩。我們猜想他非常愛爸爸媽媽，尤其是跟爸爸有很深的緣分——照理說他是媽媽和婆婆帶大的，爸爸回來後應該會排斥，但爸爸很像孩子王，個性也像孩子，很會逗孩子，把他背在肩膀上玩了一會兒，他就不要媽媽了，只要爸爸，真的是媽媽輸給爸爸了。
可是爸爸和我都留在台北，他被帶到雲林後，我們每次聽到的都是他瘋狂的哭鬧，聲嘶力竭、撕心裂肺的哭聲，整天都在哭。小姑說真後悔把他帶過去。那時候我們很心疼，但覺得婆婆是優良保母，帶大的孩子都二三十歲了，每年還會來我們家送禮、包紅包給婆婆，口碑很好，是金牌保母，應該能把他帶好。沒想到孩子對父母的感情、那種聯繫那麼深厚。
這一次從雲林回來後，他就完全不一樣了。上廁所的時候，他要求媽媽的手不能離開他，要緊握著我的手，直到上完廁所。這跟以前的反應完全不一樣。還有，遇到不開心的時候，他會躲到桌子底下，叫不出來；還會做一些重複性的動作，比如一個安全帽，他會反覆開關安全帽的開關，連續玩20次。一開始我們覺得有點怪怪的，後來他開始不太願意講話，以前會叫的爸爸媽媽也慢慢都不說了。
一開始我們並沒有太多警覺，因為我要上班，先生也不在台灣，而且小時候大家都說他很聰明。還有，他小的時候取名字，我們沒有信心取好，就想請算命先生幫他算。第一個算命先生算了很多名字，全家看了都不滿意。我還記得有一個名字帶「瞳」字（眼睛瞳孔的瞳），婆婆是閩南人，不識字，覺得「瞳」和「桶」同音，會被人家叫「樂色桶」，就說這個名字不好。其他名字也因為各種理由覺得不好聽，最後我們就換了一家算命先生算他的流年和名字。
讓我們很驚訝的是，這兩家算命先生算的流年和對他的描述非常相似，近似度大概有90%。先生算完回來很開心，我聽說命運不能隨便算，好像會泄露天機，但無論如何，這兩個算命先生都沒有算出他有自閉症，或是學習遲緩、性格方面的問題。反而從他們的說法中，我們覺得這孩子不算沒有福報，對父母也會孝順。不過他們都提到，孩子在言語上可能比較犀利，容易傷人，我們當時覺得這是可以後天教育改善的。
但我們沒想到，現在孩子已經國中畢業了，還是沒有語言能力，一直不願意說話。我把他送去幼稚園的時候，他兩歲就不用包尿布了，可是沒兩三天，幼稚園老師（也是我的同事，因為我也在學校教書）就告訴我：「你過來看看你的孩子，他不太一樣，有一些狀況。」我去看的時候，發現他真的不一樣：大家在排隊，他一個人躲在旁邊玩自己喜歡的東西，也不講話；一焦慮就尿褲子。這是我完全無法接受的——他入學的時候3歲，兩歲起就從來沒有尿過褲子，晚上也不會，公公也說他很愛乾淨。
後來夏天的時候，我每天要帶10條短褲和內褲給他更換，因為他不是真的需要上廁所，一焦慮可能3分鐘、5分鐘就尿一次。老師當然無法這樣頻繁處理，頂多幫他換褲子。3歲的小朋友確實有尿褲子的，但一天頂多一兩次，不會像他這麼嚴重。熬到第10天，先生剛好回台灣，就跟我說：「把他帶回來吧，感覺他在學校蠻痛苦的。」老師也跟我們說他跟班上格格不入，無法學習。我真的很難過地把他帶回家了。
後來我們帶他去騎腳踏車，讓他放鬆心情。發現他玩得很開心，騎了好幾個小時褲子都是乾的。我們就知道，他尿褲子不是生理問題——之前也帶他去看過醫生，醫生說生理上檢查不出任何問題，所以是心理問題。我們知道這孩子有些狀況，但真的很難接受，因為他小時候那麼聰明，什麼都正常，第一次拿筆也很穩，能畫出點線面，算命先生也沒算出他後來會有這些問題。一開始我幾乎完全無法接受。
後來有人告訴我，可能是「大隻雞慢啼」（比喻大器晚成），我就嘗試相信。他們建議我讓他去念特教班，我和先生也很努力，很短時間內就申請到了，讓他插班進了特教班。在特教班，他開心多了，尿褲子的問題也解決了。雖然他還是不能講話，也不是班上最靈活優秀的，但老師告訴我，他是班上唯一不用喂飯的孩子。
一開始老師沒告訴我這件事，後來聊天的時候，我跟老師說：「這孩子在家都不愛吃飯，要追著喂，婆婆追累了就換我追，不追著喂他就乾脆不吃。」我問老師他在學校會不會這樣，老師說：「從來沒有過。」特教班有很多特殊孩子，有的孩子手指粘在一起需要開刀分開，有的根本沒有能力自己吃飯，有的吃飯時弄得滿地滿身都是，所以有好幾個孩子需要喂飯，但 Andrew 是唯一能自己把飯吃光的。我說：「真的嗎？」老師說：「不信你看。」我就偷偷在窗戶外看（沒讓他發現），真的看到他小手拿著飯勺，很快就把飯吃完了——因為吃完才能去玩，所以他吃得很快。我心裡想，哇，這孩子還有小心機呢。
他穿衣服的時候，扣扣子、拉拉鏈這些精細動作也做得蠻好的，不算太困難，班上其他小孩可能就沒那麼容易做到。我覺得他的手還算靈巧，或許是因為爸爸媽媽都從事創作相關工作——先生是專業藝術家，我本身是藝術工作者，從事美術教育，雖然結婚後就和純藝術創作告別了，轉向教學，這也算是藝術的生命歷程吧。
這孩子就這樣慢慢長大了，一下子也不好說太多，這一段就先到此為止吧。謝謝大家的收聽，也謝謝自己陪伴自己。
This is my first time trying to record this podcast during the day; the previous two or three episodes were recorded in the middle of the night. Since everyone was fast asleep, I could record quietly, minimizing the volume as much as possible, sneaking around to make this podcast—it was a thrilling experience. Being able to do what I love and bravely express my thoughts in such circumstances makes me feel extremely happy.
For this original podcast, I hope to practice my English skills and try to communicate with others. However, when I listen to my recorded voice in English, I find it a bit indistinct. Also, my voice feels a bit hoarse today, but I decide to keep recording anyway. Maybe I can try pausing and using a headset to see if it helps. This is my first time using a headset, and I wonder if the sound will be louder or if there will be echoes.
Now, I continue to share stories about my eldest son with autism. He was born right on time. When he first came into the world, he was quiet for a while, then cried loudly after being patted. I was lucky—doctors initially thought I would need a cesarean section because they estimated my pelvis was relatively small, but my son’s skull was larger. Fortunately, with the doctor’s professional help, he gently guided the baby out through a bit of maneuvering, and I avoided surgery.
Everything went smoothly except for jaundice, which required a 3-day hospital stay. He wasn’t a small baby at birth; my sister said he was quite tall for an infant. Before he was born, I prayed to the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas constantly because I was worried he wouldn’t grow tall—I hoped he would be a little taller. To this day, he has never been a short child.
I noticed he was actually quite smart when he was little. My mother-in-law, Andrew’s grandmother, is a professional nanny. Before Andrew, she had raised a total of 20 children, including her own kids and grandchildren. My baby’s English name is Andrew, and he was the 20th child she cared for. While looking after him, my mother-in-law told me he was very well-behaved. Since I had to work and didn’t have time to take care of him, I left him in her care. She said she had just taught him how to climb down from the bed that morning, and surprisingly, when I got home, as she was telling me about it, Andrew slowly climbed down from the bed—right after she finished speaking. I was amazed: wow, he learned it the same day he was taught! My mother-in-law was convinced he was intelligent.
He wasn’t a fussy baby, except for occasional crying at night. He didn’t like breastfeeding much, which actually made things easier for me—I didn’t have to get up in the middle of the night to feed him (breastfeeding is quite tiring), and making formula was much more convenient.
Regarding his self-care abilities, when he was almost two years old, my mother-in-law thought he was very clean and decided to try not putting diapers on him for two weeks, only using them at night while sleeping to see if he would wet his pants. Surprisingly, he didn’t wet his pants at all during the day, and even the night diapers remained dry for those two weeks. From then on, he stopped using diapers entirely when he turned two.
I still remember when Andrew was around two years old, he suddenly got up in the middle of the night (he slept with me) and rushed to my mother-in-law’s room, where there was a small potty. I followed him and saw him take off his pants and use the potty. I was deeply touched—most babies that age would wet their pants, but he actually got up specially to use the toilet in the right place. He was so tired that after I wiped his bottom, he almost fell asleep, and I quickly carried him back to bed. I thought, wow, this child is indeed as smart as my mother-in-law said.
My husband and I had a unique marriage. He used to rent a studio near 798 in Beijing for his artistic creations and lived there for five years. Later, he came back to marry me but returned to the studio shortly after the wedding. So essentially, I raised our child alone, living with my in-laws. When he came back, it happened to be time for our son’s vaccination, so he took him to get the shot. Afterward, my husband told me something strange: he used to think our son’s eyes were bright and lively, but gradually that brightness faded, and he stopped making eye contact with people.
I remember when he was very young, I took him to my parents’ house. My sister interacted with him, pointing to things and saying, “This is a rose, this is a TV, this is a book.” After she finished introducing them, when she said “rose” again, he would look at the rose; when she said “book,” he would look at the book. My sister was amazed—she only taught him once, and he could look at whatever she mentioned, even though he couldn’t speak yet. She told me, “Your son is really smart.”
On the way to my parents’ house, he had just learned to walk and would point to things on the road that he wanted us to teach him about. For example, he would point to a house number, and his grandmother (my mother) would tell him the number; when he pointed to other objects, she would explain what they were. My mother told me she thought he was very smart, with a strong desire to learn and a curiosity about the world around him. At that time, he seemed just like any other child.
I remember taking him to the airport to pick up his father when he had just learned to walk and could barely speak. The first word he said was “Daddy”—he couldn’t say “Mommy” yet. When his father took him to the duty-free shop, he kept shouting “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy” loudly and clearly. Although his father was happy, he felt a bit embarrassed with so many people around and begged him, “Stop shouting—do you want the whole world to hear you calling Daddy?” But the baby was still overjoyed, and we later took him home.
I also remember taking him to the famous Shuangqilin shop in Danshui (near my parents’ house), which was known for its huge ice creams—about three times the size of regular Shuangqilin ice creams, like a Taipei 101 building on top of an ice cream cone. We bought one for him, and he was so excited, constantly asking his father for bites. Later, I told him, “Call me Mommy, and I’ll give you some ice cream,” and he quickly said “Mommy, Mommy,” so I gave him some. We filmed these moments and uploaded them to YouTube.
Another time, we let him paint with ink wash for the first time. We put a kindergarten bib on him—he had just learned to stand. We didn’t teach him anything; we just gave him a brush and ink. He dipped the brush in ink and painted dots, lines, and shapes, even dotting several small spots. My husband and I thought, wow, did this child secretly learn to paint from his father or me in the womb? He had such presence the first time he held a brush. We recorded this video too.
But gradually, some autistic traits began to appear. I remember once when his father came back, he slept with us (he usually slept with me), and his father let him lie between us. At that time, he could barely speak, but he turned his head to look at his father, smiling constantly, then turned to look at me, smiling again—he did this back and forth about six or seven times. My husband and I both felt he was trying to communicate with us: usually, it was just him and Mommy, but with Daddy home, he was happy to have both parents around, then he fell asleep. This moment touched us deeply, and the image is still vivid in my mind.
My husband traveled back and forth between mainland China and Taiwan, and that’s how our son spent his early years. Once, when his father came back for a solo exhibition, my husband’s younger sister (my sister-in-law) impulsively invited my in-laws to vacation at her home in Yunlin. Since my husband was busy preparing for the exhibition and I had to assist him, we couldn’t go, so we let the child go with them. We thought he loved his parents very much, especially since he had a deep bond with his father—logically, he was raised by his mother and grandmother and should have been hesitant around his father, but his father was like a child magnet, playful and good at entertaining kids. After carrying him on his shoulders and playing with him for a while, the child no longer wanted Mommy—he only wanted Daddy. I really lost to the “child magnet” daddy!
But with his father and me staying in Taipei, and him being taken to Yunlin, we heard nothing but his frantic, heart-wrenching cries every time we called—he cried all day long. My sister-in-law said she regretted taking him there because he cried nonstop. We felt terrible, but we trusted my mother-in-law, who was an excellent nanny. The children she had raised were now in their twenties and thirties, and they still visited our home every year to give gifts and red envelopes to her—she had an excellent reputation as a top-tier nanny. We thought she could take good care of him, but we never expected our son’s emotional bond with his parents to be so strong.
After he came back from Yunlin, he was completely different. When he used the toilet, he insisted that Mommy’s hand never leave his—he had to hold my hand tightly until he finished. This was totally different from before. Additionally, when he was unhappy, he would hide under the table and refuse to come out; he also started repeating certain actions, like opening and closing the switch of a safety helmet over and over again, up to 20 times in a row. At first, we thought it was a bit strange, but then he stopped talking altogether—he no longer called “Daddy” or “Mommy” like he used to.
We didn’t realize the severity of the situation at first: I was working, my husband was in mainland China, and everyone had always said how smart he was as a baby. Also, when choosing his name, we weren’t confident in picking a good one, so we decided to ask a fortune teller. The first fortune teller suggested many names, but none of us in the family were satisfied. I remember one name had the character “Tong” (meaning “pupil of the eye”). My mother-in-law, a Hokkien speaker who couldn’t read, thought “Tong” sounded like “tong” (meaning “bucket”) and worried people would tease him by calling him “trash bucket,” so she said it was a bad name. We rejected other names for various reasons, so we finally went to another fortune teller to calculate his fate and suggest a name.
To our surprise, the two fortune tellers’ predictions about his fate and descriptions of him were very similar—about 90% identical. My husband was happy after the second visit. I’ve heard that fate shouldn’t be casually predicted, as it might reveal heavenly secrets, but regardless, neither fortune teller mentioned autism, learning disabilities, or personality issues. Instead, their words made us think he was a blessed child who would be filial to his parents. However, both noted that he might be sharp-tongued and prone to hurting others with his words, which we thought could be corrected through education.
But we never imagined that now, as a graduate of junior high school, he still has no language skills and refuses to speak. When I sent him to kindergarten, he had already stopped using diapers at two years old, but within a few days, his kindergarten teacher (who was also my colleague, since I worked as a teacher) told me, “Come take a look at your child—he’s different; there’s something wrong with him.” When I went to see him, I noticed the difference: while the other children lined up, he hid alone playing with his favorite toys and didn’t speak; he wet his pants when anxious. This was completely unacceptable to me—he was three years old when he started kindergarten, and he hadn’t wet his pants since he was two, not even at night. My father-in-law also said he was very clean.
Later, during the summer, I had to bring 10 pairs of shorts and underpants for him to change into every day. He didn’t wet his pants because he needed to use the toilet; he did it out of anxiety, sometimes as often as every 3-5 minutes. Of course, the teacher couldn’t handle this frequently—she could only help him change his pants at most. It’s normal for three-year-olds to wet their pants occasionally, but not as often as he did. On the 10th day, my husband happened to be back in Taiwan and said to me, “Bring him home—I think he’s suffering at school.” The teacher also told us he didn’t fit in with the class and couldn’t learn. I was heartbroken but took him home.
Later, we took him to ride a bicycle to help him relax. We noticed he was very happy, and his pants stayed dry for hours. We realized his bedwetting wasn’t a physical issue—we had taken him to the doctor before, and no physical problems were found. It was a psychological issue. We knew something was wrong with him, but it was hard to accept—he had been so smart as a baby, normal in every way, able to hold a brush steadily and paint dots, lines, and shapes without being taught, and the fortune tellers had never predicted these problems. At first, I could barely accept it.
Later, someone told me he might be a “late bloomer” (like a big chicken that crows late). I tried to believe it. They suggested enrolling him in a special education class. My husband and I worked hard, and we successfully applied for a spot in a short time, enrolling him mid-semester. In the special education class, he was much happier, and his bedwetting problem was resolved. Although he still couldn’t speak and wasn’t the most agile or outstanding child in the class, the teacher told me he was the only one who didn’t need to be fed.
The teacher didn’t mention this at first. Later, during a chat, I told her, “This child doesn’t like eating at home—we have to chase him around to feed him. My mother-in-law gets tired, then I have to take over. If we don’t chase him, he simply won’t eat.” I asked the teacher if he acted this way at school, and she said, “Never.” The special education class had many children with special needs: some had fused fingers that required surgery to separate, some couldn’t feed themselves at all, and some made a mess all over themselves while eating. So several children needed to be fed, but Andrew was the only one who could finish his meal independently. I said, “Really?” The teacher replied, “Come see for yourself.” I secretly watched him through the window (without him noticing) and saw him holding a spoon with his little hand, finishing his meal quickly—because he knew he could play after eating. I thought, wow, this child is quite clever!
He was also good at fine motor skills like buttoning clothes and zipping zippers, which weren’t too difficult for him, but other children in the class struggled with these tasks. I think his hands are quite dexterous, maybe because both his parents work in creative fields—my husband is a professional artist, and I’m an art worker engaged in art education. Although I said goodbye to pure artistic creation after marriage and focused on teaching, this is still part of my artistic life journey.
This child has grown up slowly, and I can’t share everything at once. That’s all for this episode. Thank you for listening, and thank you for accompanying myself.

我的自閉症兒子與充滿奇遇的人生My Autistic Son and a Life Full of Adventures.mp3

播客實錄：我的自閉症兒子與充滿奇遇的人生
這是我的第二期播客，我想和大家介紹我的自閉症兒子安喆。
我的兒子安喆，出生時一切看似順遂。我很幸運地在10月懷胎後，於醫生預估的預產期當天準時生下了他，我的人生中藏著許多這樣的奇蹟。幫我接生的醫生，恰巧是我交情很好的同事的先生。多年前，這位同事是我工作學校黑光劇團的導演，曾邀請我擔任美術指導，讓我受寵若驚。後來她先生從大醫院獨立出來開了小診所，還曾邀請過我，可惜當時我有事未能前往。
懷孕後，婆婆和大姑（我先生的姐姐）向我推薦了一家離家不遠的小診所，她們一直習慣在那裡看診，口碑很好。我跟著前往後才發現，主治醫生正是那位同事的先生——他是位資深且口碑極佳的醫生。當時我們彼此都十分驚訝，也格外開心，彷彿是命運讓我們再次相遇。後來我才得知，這位醫生因年紀漸長，早已不再接手接生工作，只負責家人或孫輩的接生診療，卻因為我和他太太的交情，破例為我服務，這份照顧讓我十分感動。
看診過程中，他還主動問我是否要照4D胎兒照片，我驚喜地答應了。後來我無意間看到醫院的收費廣告，才知道這項服務是額外的並不便宜，當我向他提及付費時，他卻笑著說「沒關係」。不過當時胎兒已經較大，我堅持付費完成了拍攝，也真切感受到了他的特別關照。他的專業也令人信服，預估的預產期分毫不差，安喆果然準時降生。
生產前還有個小插曲：醫生告知我，我的骨盆比常人偏小，而安喆的頭骨又比一般嬰兒偏大，順產機率不高，讓我做好剖腹產的心理準備。我雖有些擔心，但始終相信他的專業判斷。生產當晚是深夜，我發現羊水破裂，先生立刻送我搭計程車前往診所，我急忙聯繫主治醫生。接電話的同事說，師長丈剛換好睡衣準備上床休息，他再趕緊下床整裝出門，讓我先堅持一下，醫生隨後就到。這份特殊的關照讓我無比感動，要知道他本已不接接生的案子，卻待我如親人。醫生趕到時，我已十分辛苦，但在他的協助下，生產過程比預期順利得多，折騰也少了很多，竟然沒有開刀就順利產下嬰兒。
孩子出生後並沒有馬上哭，這讓醫生和護士有些擔心，我聽到他們輕輕拍打孩子的大腿，甚至拍出了聲響，心裡滿是不捨。好在沒過多久，安喆就發出了響亮的哭聲，大家這才鬆了一口氣。護士告訴我，孩子哭聲響亮，應該沒有問題。出生後的各項檢查也都正常，只是有一点点輕微黃疸——聽說客家人的孩子較容易出現這種情況，但並不嚴重，醫生建議在保溫箱觀察3天後就能回家。我生完孩子需要住院3天，剛好能陪著他，出院時他還需再觀察3天，很快我們就把他接回了家。
原本我們打算喂母乳，我帶安喆去哺乳室時發現，其他媽媽進入哺乳室，孩子很快就結束了吸吮，在其它母子進出使用的來去之間，安喆卻相對吸很久，感覺挺費力，以至於小臉都漲紅了，吸得十分用力外，我也感到陣陣疼痛，甚至護士進來時，驚訝的說妳還在這裡啊！後來孩子因為黃疸住院，我回家休養時擠了母乳，裝在奶瓶裡給他喂食，沒想到他幾秒鐘狼吞虎嚥就喝完了。有了這次體驗後，他再也不願意直接喝我的母乳了。我這才意識到，喝母乳對他來說很辛苦，而我擠母乳也格外困難，耗時很久卻只能擠出一点点，或許我就是那種奶水較少的媽媽吧。不過我的小兒子就不一樣了，他全程喝母乳，可能是因為沒機會握住奶瓶，而且他很願意吸，他沒有黃疸，也沒有住院，所以兄弟倆的餵養經歷沒法對比。小兒子個子偏小，我有時會想，不曉得是否和我奶水不足，他嬰孩時從來沒真正吃飽過有關...。
今天本想以大兒子安卓為主角，沒想到也順帶提到了小兒子，其實也挺有意思的。因為大兒子的特殊情況，我和小兒子之間差了4歲。後來我以小兒子的名義申請了兩年育嬰假，事實上，我是想用這兩年多陪伴安喆，同時也全心全意照顧小兒子——因為不清楚安喆為何會患上重度自閉症，我格外重視小兒子的陪伴與教育，擔心他也出現類似狀況。
那段時間，台北市政府剛推出「親子館」這項德政，還有一種叫做「育兒友善園」的場所，簡直是新手媽媽的福音。安喆也去過幾次，只是當時剛成立不久。這些親子館和友善園分佈在台北市各區，開放時間如同上班一般，大概從早上8點到下午4點或5點，向未入學的親子開放。裡面擺滿了各種孩子能玩的玩具，堪稱「玩具城堡」，還有專業的老師。不同場館的特色不同，有的每天會有老師講故事，還會準備道具——有一家親子館讓我印象深刻，老師講關於豆子的故事時，會準備紅豆、綠豆、黃豆、黑豆、芝麻、扁豆等十幾種豆子，讓孩子們親眼看一看、親手摸一摸。
　　小兒子那時候年紀還小，聽故事時根本坐不住，像小蟲一樣蠕動式的在地上爬來爬去，還常常爬出教室。我只好一邊聽故事，一邊忙著找孩子、把他抱回座位，整節課都忙得不可開交，但也正因如此，他聽了很多很多故事。
其實我是個路癡，誇張到高中畢業後去補習時，吃飯的地方離補習班走路不到3分鐘，我跟著室友走了半年，可一旦室友生病缺席，我就找不到補習班的位置，在巷子口猶豫不決，最後只能打道回府。但「為母則強」，這句話在我身上得到了印證。當時手機剛開始有谷歌搜尋功能，我靠著搜尋導航、記路線、問路人，克服了路癡的難題，走遍了台北市所有的親子館和育兒友善園，偶爾迷路也总能順利找到。那段時間，我覺得自己克服了全世界最大的困難，也因為孩子的成長，找到了這些充滿愛的地方。
在親子館的兩年裡，小兒子玩遍了各種玩具，聽遍了無數故事，我也陪著他一起體驗，度過了非常快樂的時光。同時，我也給大兒子安卓定下了一個目標：每天給他念20本童書。當時台北有24小時開放的誠品書局，聽說負責人是虧本經營，只為給大家提供優質且免費的閱讀空間，此外，我還會帶安喆去圖書館，每天找20本童書，認真地念給他聽。有時候當天狀態不好或太累，沒能完成20本，我也會在第二天補回來。雖然我不知道他能從這些故事中收穫什麼，但我始終堅持著，對自閉症的他來說，這或許是最難的事。
而小兒子每天在親子館或友善園裡待近8個小時，充分接受遊戲和故事的薰陶。如果不是因為孩子，我想我大概還是那個工作狂——全心投入創作時，可以不吃不睡、甚至不太去洗手間連續3天，結果到研究所上課時在課堂上打瞌睡。也正因如此，我曾得罪過老師，有一門重要課程因為打瞌睡被老師給了六十幾分的低分當掉，不得不再去其他學校類似課程旁聽別的老師上課補修學分，再修習一學期補上，但幸運的是，因為是第一年就修課，我還是在兩年內順利完成了研究所學業。
我的人生平凡卻充滿奇妙的故事。大兒子安卓到現在都沒有語言，國中畢業後進入了特殊學校。聽說讓孩子學古文、念古文很好，所以我帶安喆和小兒子去讀經班學習了好幾年，我一直很感謝讀經班的老師，至今每年都想送份禮物表達心意。這位老師完全不收學費，就算班上只有兩個學生，也會按時上課，他本身還在大學兼課，帶讀經班已經超過30年了——我大姑的孩子當年也上過他的課，大姑比我大一輪，我們都屬牛。
讀經班的課堂上，我的兩個孩子總是在追逐打鬧，完全不聽老師講課，只有我在努力跟讀，現在想起來真的很對不起老師。後來讀經班就只剩下我們家和另一個家庭，那個家庭裡有個叫小白兔的漂亮小女孩,讀經特別認真，也很尊敬老師。即便學生這麼少，老師依然堅持開班，而且是純義務的。現在大家都更願意讓孩子學英文、學才藝，讀經這種傳統學習方式漸漸沒了吸引力，孩子也難管教，但老師每次課後都會買冰淇淋或小禮物送給孩子。我還記得他送過小白兔Hello Kitty鉛筆盒，送過我們孩子鋼筆，還經常請大家吃冰淇淋。他當老師不僅沒有收入，還要自己花錢、花時間，還要容忍我們孩子的調皮——小兒子會在地上爬行耍賴，大兒子在教室整場奔跑，跑著跑著會把拖鞋從5樓往下丟，我就得下樓去撿，上演「你丟我撿」的遊戲；大兒子還會衝出教室，就算門鎖上也能想辦法打開，我常常追著他跑遍廁所、衝下五樓。有一次撿拖鞋時，因為二樓是二手市場，看見掉落位置，衝下樓撿拾時拖鞋已不見，他只能光著腳回家。現在回想起來，真是發生了很多誇張的事，但我這個新手媽媽就這麼硬著頭皮堅持了下來。
奇怪的是，孩子們沒學到多少，我卻背會了很多古文，從《論語》《大學》《中庸》到《弟子規》《三字經》，甚至幾千字的文章都能牢牢記住。老師都驚嘆不已，說他教了這麼多年都沒背下來，我一個曾經最怕背書的人卻做到了。其實我上學時偏科很嚴重，文科背書常常不及格，還因為考六十几分被老師按「差一分打一下」的規矩懲罰過；但數理卻格外擅長，數學和理化不用刻意計算，在腦子裡推演方程式就能輕鬆考到九十几分。當年為了學美術，我放棄了擅長的數理，現在生活中數學邏輯卻很差，說起來也算是個「怪胎」。
我曾辦過一個名為「以兒為師」的個展，那是在我懷孕前的最後一個展覽。當時我還沒生孩子，從學生身上學到了很多本事，也獲得了不少靈感，展覽中不僅有我的作品，還有幫助我成長的孩子們的作品，我把它們輸出成影片、光點，還有透明的大型壓克力板裝置。後來整理工作室時，我丟掉了這些裝置作品，不過好在其他沒丟的作品，竟非常意外的被一位博物館館長所願意收藏，這個感人的故事，有機會再聽我細說。
回到小兒子的成長，他在親子館的日子裡，我每天帶他去那裡，沒帶奶瓶，就在哺乳室喂母乳。他食量不大，我奶水也不多，喝完奶我們就繼續參與親子館的各種遊樂設施。現在回想起來，那段時光是我人生中非常珍貴的回憶。
總之，因為有了特殊的孩子，我的人生變得格外不同。曾經的工作狂，為了孩子克服路癡，走遍台北市的親子館；曾經怕背書的人，為了孩子背會無數古文。我陪伴孩子們學習，他們看似沒學到什麼，我卻收穫了成長與感動。這個世界對我格外溫柔，那些相遇、關照與堅持，都成了生命中最珍貴的禮物。
謝謝大家。
My Autistic Son and a Life Full of Adventures
This is my second podcast episode, and I want to tell you about my autistic son, Anzhe.
My son Anzhe seemed perfectly healthy at birth. I was fortunate to give birth to him right on his due date after a full ten months of pregnancy, and my life is filled with such little miracles. The doctor who delivered him happened to be the husband of a good colleague of mine. Years earlier, this colleague had been the director of the black light theater troupe at the school where I worked, and she had asked me to serve as the art director—a great honor for me. Later, her husband left a large hospital to open his own small clinic and even invited me to visit, but unfortunately, I was occupied with other matters and couldn’t go at that time.
After I got pregnant, my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law (my husband’s elder sister) recommended a small clinic near our home, where they had been regular patients and which had an excellent reputation. When I went there, I was surprised to find that the attending physician was none other than my colleague’s husband—a senior doctor with outstanding credentials and a stellar reputation. We were both amazed and delighted to see each other, as if fate had brought us together again. I later learned that due to his advanced age, he had long stopped taking on delivery cases and only provided obstetric care for family members or the grandchildren of friends. Yet because of his wife’s friendship with me, he made an exception to help me, and this special care touched me deeply.
During my prenatal check-ups, he even offered to take 4D fetal photos for me, and I happily agreed. Later, I accidentally saw the hospital’s price list and realized this service was an extra and quite expensive. When I mentioned paying for it, he just smiled and said, “It’s okay.” But since the fetus was already quite large by then, I insisted on paying for the photos, truly grateful for his special consideration. His professionalism was also impeccable—his predicted due date was spot on, and Anzhe was indeed born right on schedule.
There was a little episode before the delivery: the doctor told me that my pelvic bone was smaller than average, while Anzhe’s skull was larger than that of most newborns, making the chances of a vaginal delivery quite low. He advised me to mentally prepare for a cesarean section. Though I felt a little worried, I trusted his professional judgment completely.
The delivery happened late at night. My water broke, and my husband immediately sent me to the clinic by taxi. I hurried to contact the attending physician. The colleague who answered the phone said that the doctor had just changed into his pajamas and was about to go to bed, but he would get up right away, get dressed, and head over. She told me to hang in there, and the doctor would arrive soon. This special care filled me with immense gratitude—after all, he had stopped handling deliveries long ago, yet he treated me like family.
By the time the doctor arrived, I was already in great pain, but with his assistance, the delivery process was much smoother than expected, with far less hassle. Miraculously, I gave birth vaginally without needing a cesarean section.
After the baby was born, he didn’t cry immediately, which worried the doctor and nurses. I heard them gently patting his thighs, even making audible slapping sounds, and my heart ached for him. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Anzhe let out a loud cry, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The nurse told me that a baby with such a strong cry was probably perfectly fine. All the post-birth check-ups came back normal, except for a slight case of jaundice—I’ve heard that Hakka babies are more prone to this, but it was nothing serious. The doctor recommended keeping him in an incubator for observation for three days before he could go home. I needed to stay in the hospital for three days after giving birth anyway, so I got to be with him the whole time. After discharge, he needed another three days of observation, and soon we brought him home.
Originally, we planned to breastfeed. When I took Anzhe to the breastfeeding room, I noticed that other mothers and babies finished nursing quickly, coming and going in turn. But Anzhe took a much longer time to nurse, seeming to struggle a great deal—his little face would turn bright red from the effort, and I felt sharp pains with each suckle. Once, a nurse came in and was surprised, saying, “You’re still here?” Later, when the baby was hospitalized for jaundice, I went home to recover and pumped breast milk to feed him in a bottle. To my surprise, he gulped it down in just a few seconds. After that experience, he refused to breastfeed directly ever again.
I then realized that breastfeeding was a huge struggle for him, and pumping milk was equally difficult for me—it took a long time just to get a tiny amount. Perhaps I was one of those mothers with low milk supply. My younger son, however, was different—he was breastfed the entire time. Maybe it was because he never got used to a bottle, and he was happy to nurse. He didn’t have jaundice and never needed to be hospitalized, so there’s really no comparing the two brothers’ feeding experiences. My younger son was a small baby, and I sometimes wonder if it was because my milk supply was too low, and he never really got full when he was an infant…
I had intended to focus on my elder son Anzhe today, but I ended up talking about my younger son too. Actually, it’s quite interesting. Because of my elder son’s special needs, there is a four-year age gap between him and his younger brother. Later, I applied for two years of parental leave under my younger son’s name. In reality, I wanted to use those two years to spend more time with Anzhe, while also devoting myself wholeheartedly to caring for my younger son. Since we didn’t know why Anzhe had developed severe autism, I paid extra attention to my younger son’s upbringing and education, fearing he might face the same situation.
During that time, the Taipei City Government had just launched a wonderful initiative called “Parent-Child Centers,” along with facilities known as “Family-Friendly Playgrounds”—they were absolute lifesavers for new mothers. Anzhe visited a few of these places too, though they were just newly established back then. These parent-child centers and family-friendly playgrounds were scattered across every district in Taipei City, with operating hours similar to office hours—roughly from 8 a.m. to 4 or 5 p.m.—and they were open to parents with preschool children. They were packed with all kinds of toys for kids to play with, truly “toy castles,” and staffed by professional teachers. Each center had its own unique features; some even had teachers who told stories every day, complete with props. One parent-child center left a particularly deep impression on me—when the teacher told a story about beans, she prepared more than a dozen types of beans, such as adzuki beans, mung beans, soybeans, black beans, sesame seeds, and lentils, letting the children see and touch them with their own hands.
My younger son was still very young at the time. He couldn’t sit still at all during storytime, wriggling around on the floor like a little worm and often crawling out of the classroom. I had to listen to the story while constantly chasing after him, picking him up, and carrying him back to his seat. I was kept on my toes throughout the entire class, but thanks to that, he got to listen to countless stories.
Actually, I’m terrible with directions—so bad that after graduating from high school, when I went to cram school, the place where I ate was less than a three-minute walk from the cram school. I followed my roommate there every day for half a year, but if she was absent due to illness, I would get completely lost, hesitating at the alley entrance and eventually having to go home. But the saying “a mother’s love makes her strong” really proved true in my case. Back then, smartphones had just started to have Google Search and navigation functions. I relied on search navigation, memorized routes, and asked passersby for directions, overcoming my sense of direction challenges and visiting every single parent-child center and family-friendly playground in Taipei City. Even when I got lost occasionally, I always found my way in the end. During that time, I felt like I had overcome the biggest difficulty in the world, and because of my children’s growth, I discovered these wonderful places filled with love.
Over those two years at the parent-child centers, my younger son played with all kinds of toys and listened to countless stories, and I got to experience it all alongside him, creating some of the happiest memories of my life. At the same time, I set a goal for my elder son Anzhe: to read him 20 children’s books every single day. Back then, Taipei had 24-hour Eslite Bookstores. I heard that the owner ran them at a loss, just to provide everyone with a high-quality, free reading space. In addition to that, I would take Anzhe to the library every day, pick out 20 children’s books, and read them to him carefully. If I was having a bad day or feeling too tired to finish 20 books, I would make up for it the next day. I didn’t know how much he could take in from these stories, but I kept at it anyway—for him, a child with autism, this was probably one of the hardest things to do.
Meanwhile, my younger son spent nearly 8 hours a day at the parent-child centers or family-friendly playgrounds, fully immersed in games and stories. If it weren’t for my children, I think I would still be the same workaholic I used to be—when I threw myself into a creative project, I could go without eating, sleeping, or even using the bathroom for three straight days, which led to me dozing off in class when I was in graduate school. As a result, I once offended a teacher. I failed an important course with a score in the sixties because I fell asleep in class, and I had to make up the credits by auditing a similar course taught by another teacher at a different school, studying for another semester to make it up. Fortunately, since I had taken the course in my first year of graduate school, I still managed to complete my degree in two years as planned.
My life is ordinary, yet filled with wonderful, unexpected stories. My elder son Anzhe still hasn’t developed verbal language skills. After graduating from junior high school, he enrolled in a special education school. I heard that learning ancient Chinese prose and reciting classical texts is very beneficial for children, so I took Anzhe and his younger brother to a classical recitation class for several years. I have always been grateful to the teacher of that class, and even now, I want to send him a gift every year to express my thanks. This teacher didn’t charge any tuition fees at all—even if only two students showed up for class, he would still hold the lesson on time. He also taught part-time at a university and had been running the classical recitation class for more than 30 years. Coincidentally, my sister-in-law’s children had also attended his class years earlier. My sister-in-law is 12 years older than me, and both of us are born in the Year of the Ox.
During the recitation classes, my two boys were always running around, chasing each other, and completely ignoring the teacher’s lessons—it was usually just me trying my best to follow along and recite. Now that I think about it, I really feel sorry for the teacher. Later, our family and one other family were the only ones left in the class. That family had a beautiful little girl nicknamed Little White Rabbit, who was extremely diligent in reciting the texts and very respectful to the teacher. Even with so few students, the teacher still insisted on holding the class, and it was entirely voluntary. Nowadays, most parents prefer to enroll their children in English classes or talent training courses, so traditional learning methods like classical recitation have gradually lost their appeal, and children have also become harder to discipline. But after each class, the teacher would buy ice cream or small gifts for the children. I still remember he gave Little White Rabbit a Hello Kitty pencil case, gave my boys fountain pens, and often treated everyone to ice cream. Not only did he not earn any money from teaching this class, but he also spent his own money and time, and he put up with my children’s mischief—my younger son would crawl on the floor and throw tantrums, while my elder son would run around the classroom the entire time. While running, he would throw his slippers down from the fifth floor, and I would have to go downstairs to pick them up, playing this “you throw, I retrieve” game. My elder son would even dash out of the classroom; even if the door was locked, he would find a way to open it. I often chased him all over the restrooms and down the five flights of stairs. Once, when I went downstairs to pick up his slipper, since the second floor was a second-hand market, by the time I rushed down, the slipper was already gone, and he had to walk home barefoot. Now that I look back, so many ridiculous things happened, but as a new mother, I just gritted my teeth and kept going.
Strangely enough, while the children didn’t seem to learn much, I ended up memorizing a great deal of ancient Chinese prose—from The Analects, The Great Learning, and The Doctrine of the Mean to Standards for Students and Three-Character Classic, and even long passages of thousands of characters. The teacher was absolutely amazed, saying that after teaching for so many years, he had never been able to memorize all those texts himself, yet I—someone who had once hated memorization more than anything—had done it. In fact, I was extremely lopsided in my studies when I was a student. I often failed the memorization parts of liberal arts subjects and was even punished by a teacher who followed the rule “one slap for each point below passing” when I scored in the sixties. But I was exceptionally good at math and science—I could easily score over ninety in math and physics without even needing to do deliberate calculations; I just worked through the equations in my head. Back then, I gave up my strong suits in math and science to study art. Now, my mathematical logic in daily life is terrible, which I guess makes me a bit of an “oddball.”
I once held a solo art exhibition titled Learning from My Students. It was my last exhibition before getting pregnant. At that time, I hadn’t had children yet, but I had learned a great deal from my students and gained a lot of inspiration. The exhibition featured not only my own works but also the works of the children who had helped me grow. I turned them into videos, light installations, and large transparent acrylic board installations. Later, when I tidied up my studio, I threw away these installation pieces. Fortunately, however, the other works that I didn’t discard were unexpectedly accepted into the collection of a museum curator—a touching story that I’ll save for another time if you’d like to hear it.
Going back to my younger son’s growth—during his days at the parent-child centers, I took him there every day without bringing a baby bottle, and nursed him in the breastfeeding room instead. He had a small appetite, and my milk supply was low, but after feeding him, we would continue to play with all the recreational facilities at the center. Now that I look back, that period of time was truly one of the most precious memories of my life.
In the end, having a child with special needs has made my life extraordinarily different. I used to be a workaholic, but for my children, I overcame my poor sense of direction and traveled all over Taipei City’s parent-child centers. I once hated memorizing things, but for my children, I memorized countless ancient texts. I accompanied my children in their learning—they may not have seemed to gain much, but I have gained so much growth and moved by every moment. The world has been extraordinarily gentle to me, and those encounters, acts of kindness, and moments of perseverance have all become the most precious gifts in my life.
Thank you all for listening.

從學生到播客：一段關於聲音的旅程 From Student to Podcast: A Journey of Sound.mp3

大家好。我本來想先用英文開場，一來是練習一下英語能力，二來也想把說英文變成習慣。不過我的英語水平實在有限，想說的話、想表達的想法，總是沒辦法清晰地傳遞出去。所以呢，接下來大部分內容，我還是用中文跟大家分享吧。
我會想到錄自己的聲音，其實是因為我曾經有個特別棒的學生——他叫Steven，是個小小的魔術師，還運營著自己的YouTube頻道。我認識他的時候，他才上三年級，但做的很多事，都超出了同齡孩子的範疇。不過從外表看，他總給人一種和這個世界「格格不入」的感覺。
比如，雖說他是我的學生，卻沒法像其他孩子一樣正常上我的課。但他有個更棒的舞台，一個完全由他自己搭建的舞台。也是透過他，我才知道了IG（也就是Instagram）——以前我根本不知道這是什麼。有一次我還把「Instagram」念錯了，現在想起來還覺得好笑。
有一回，因為他是我的學生，就試著來聽了一次我的課。那天我鬧了個笑話，我倆都笑得特別開心。但我倒覺得，錯了就錯了嘛，這種無傷大雅的小失誤，我完全能接受。
這事就不多說了。後來我自己也開了個小小的Instagram帳號，其實主要是用來跟自己對話的。不過我把這段經歷當開場，是因為我一直記得Steven——他真的是個特別優秀的孩子，也是他教會了我用IG。
其實我開IG，不是想推廣什麼特別厲害的理念，單純是因為Steven身上有很多讓人覺得可愛的地方。但後來我發現了更有意思的事：聽自己的聲音，試著用聲音跟自己、跟別人交流。
按我現在的情況，沒太多機會跟別人聊天。而且我本身性格就偏宅，不太喜歡花時間跟人應酬，反而跟自己對話這件事，我做得更自在些。
跟自己說話的時候，偶爾會冒出一些想法——或許別人也願意聽聽，就算只是隨便聽聽，能激發點不一樣的思路也挺好。抱著這個想法，幾年前我開始做播客，在喜馬拉雅上開了好幾個節目。
說起來也是偶然，當時無意間發現了播客這個東西，現在都快忘了最開始是怎麼知道的了。不過還是得提Steven——是他告訴我，原來聲音也能當成交友的方式。比如他曾經發過一段語音給我，我當時就覺得「這也太方便了吧！」我平時本來就忙，在手機上打字又費時間，後來視力越來越差，打字就更費勁了。
那時候喜馬拉雅開播客還不用花錢，也沒什麼門檻，只要想做就能開。早期有幾個播客對我影響挺大的，聽別人分享經歷的時候，我才發現原來能從別人的故事裡學不一樣的思考方式。這對我幫助特別大，因為那時候我的生活，表面上看其實挺封閉、挺枯燥的。
不過我總能找到自己想做的事，就是沒什麼時間做——一般得等家裡人都睡熟了才行。我家有個失智的婆婆，24小時都需要包尿褲與悉心照顧，還有個重度自閉症的孩子，也特別需要人盯著。有好幾次，我還得去警察局報孩子走失，有時候找不到人，拜託警察幫忙找人之外，還得請家人、朋友協尋代禱。
在這種情況下，能真正面對自己、做自己喜歡的事，就只有深夜的時候了。那段時間，我會覺得「自己才是生活的主人」。雖然時間很短，也很珍貴，甚至有點像「在透支一點點生命」，但現在回頭看，我覺得特別值。
我說話可能沒什麼邏輯，想到哪說到哪，也沒個開頭結尾，但我挺開心的——因為終於能跟自己好好聊聊了。現在是半夜，我聲音得小點。對了，現在幾點了？我看看手錶——顯示3點32分，但這錶不準，得減個7分鐘，應該是3點05分左右吧。算錯了也沒關係，反正天還沒亮，特別早。
我剛從床上起來，想到點事兒，就隨便說說。也不知道這段能不能當播客內容，其實就是我跟自己的對話而已。我沒指望別人會聽，也不要求自己說的每句話都對。
不過今天聽播客的時候，聽到一句話我特別喜歡。那個主播說，他老闆跟他們說：「拜託你們別追求完美了，你們根本不需要完美。」這句話說得太深得我心了！我們本來就不需要完美，說實話，就算拼盡全力，也不可能做到完美。
為了「完美」折騰自己，真的特別消耗精力。我之所以這麼說，是因為我大半輩子都在追求完美——從小時候一直到現在，我都五十多了。很多人不敢說自己的年齡，但我覺得這沒什麼好藏的。不是因為我看來顯年輕，而是就算你不說，別人看你樣子也能猜個大概。藏這種明眼人都能看出來的事，真的沒意義。
哎呀，又扯遠了，剛才說到哪都快忘了。不過現在這樣也挺好：我能隨便說自己想說的，不用管別人愛不愛聽——只要不傷害別人，不逼著別人聽就行。也不用怕自己說的話讓別人不舒服，願意聽就聽，不願意聽就滑走，多自在。
回想我這一輩子，沒幾個人願意好好聽我說話——不管是我的學生（我教過的學生其實挺多的），還是我的孩子。我有兩個孩子：老大是重度自閉症，你說一個自閉症孩子，能指望他聽你說多少話呢？老二是個小藝術家，我這麼說真不是誇張——他上五年級的時候，參加畫畫比賽拿的獎金就超過5萬塊了。
但我覺得這也說明不了什麼，畢竟不是所有藝術家都要靠比賽證明自己，而且他還只是個孩子。我經常跟他開玩笑：「你確定你是我生的嗎？」他以前會說：「對啊，我是！」現在他長大了，還會反問我：「不然呢？我媽還能是別人？」
可能是他爸爸教得好——我先生和老二，在我心裡才是真正的藝術家。至於我，就是個教美術和創意課的老師而已，沒什麼特別的。
我想說的是，我生活裡願意聽我說話的人真的不多。我爸媽一輩子都是老師，連我爺爺在抗日戰爭時期（日本佔領中國的時候）也是老師——那時候當老師多不容易啊。可能就是因為家裡這股「教師基因」太強了，我最後也成了老師。其實這真不是我一開始想做的工作。
但我爸跟我說：「想不餓肚子，就去當老師。」那時候我其實考上了關渡那所有名的藝術學院（專門培養藝術家的），但還是聽了我爸的話，選了教師這個職業。後來我還挺感謝我爸的——你想啊，我嫁的人已經是藝術家了，要是我也是搞藝術的，真不知道日子會過成什麼樣！不過現在我也想通了，人生所有的安排，說不定都是最好的。
我這輩子做過的選擇，從來沒後悔過。不管選了什麼，我都會儘量去適應生活給我的「框架」或者「形狀」。就像被放進一個固定形狀的杯子裡，我會試著改變自己的「形狀」去貼合它。有時候覺得自己就像變形蟲，特別能適應環境。
但本來是圓的，非要逼自己變成方的、橢圓的、花朵的形狀，甚至是兔子的形狀（別人想讓你變成什麼樣，你就得變），感覺跟耍猴似的，特別不自在。因為那不是我本來的樣子，所以每次「變身」都得花時間。這個過程對我來說挺難的，因為我本來就不聰明。既然不聰明，就得花更多時間去迎合別人的期待——其實挺累的。
也不知道還能錄多久，怕時間不夠，那就先說到這吧。今天就分享這些啦，謝謝大家。如果真的有人聽到這段錄音，我會謝謝自己——終於有勇氣錄了第一期播客，一期只說自己想說的話的播客。
希望這段音頻能真實地展現我這個人，就算裡面有很多錯，我也挺開心的——因為這就是最真實的我。謝謝大家。
Hello everyone. I originally planned to start in English—partly to practice my English skills, and partly to make speaking English a habit. However, my English is quite limited, and the thoughts and feelings I want to express often don’t come across clearly. So for most of what follows, I’ll be sharing in Chinese instead.
The reason I began recording my own voice actually goes back to a very special student I once had. His name is Steven. He’s a young magician and also runs his own YouTube channel. When I first met him, he was only in third grade, yet many of the things he did were far beyond what children his age usually do. On the surface, though, he often seemed a little out of sync with the world around him.
Although he was my student, he couldn’t attend my classes in the same way other children did. But he had an even better stage—one that he built entirely by himself. Through him, I also learned about IG, or Instagram. Before that, I didn’t even know what it was. I once even mispronounced “Instagram,” which still makes me laugh when I think about it now.
One time, since he was my student, he tried sitting in on one of my classes. That day, I made a small mistake, and we both laughed so hard. I didn’t mind at all—if you make a mistake, you make a mistake. As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, I think it’s perfectly fine.
I won’t go into too much detail about that. Later, I opened a small Instagram account of my own, mainly as a way to talk to myself. I mention all this at the beginning because I’ve never forgotten Steven. He is truly an outstanding child, and he was also the one who taught me how to use IG.
I didn’t start using Instagram to promote any grand ideas. It was simply because there were so many lovely qualities in Steven that touched me. Over time, though, I discovered something even more interesting: listening to my own voice, and trying to communicate—with myself and with others—through sound.
Given my current situation, I don’t have many opportunities to chat with people. I’m naturally quite introverted and don’t enjoy socializing much. Talking to myself, on the other hand, feels much more comfortable.
When I talk to myself, ideas sometimes emerge. I thought perhaps others might be willing to listen too—just casually, even. If it sparks a different way of thinking, that would already be enough. With that in mind, I started making podcasts a few years ago and opened several channels on Ximalaya.
It was quite accidental, really. I happened to discover podcasts, though now I can hardly remember how I first learned about them. Still, Steven comes up again—he was the one who showed me that voices could also be a way of connecting with people. He once sent me a voice message, and I remember thinking, “This is so convenient!” I’m usually very busy, and typing on my phone takes time. As my eyesight worsened, typing became even more difficult.
Back then, starting a podcast on Ximalaya didn’t cost anything and had very low barriers. If you wanted to do it, you could just start. Some early podcasts had a big influence on me. By listening to others share their experiences, I realized that you can learn very different ways of thinking through other people’s stories. It helped me a great deal, because at that time my life felt quite closed-off and monotonous on the surface.
I could always find things I wanted to do, but I rarely had the time. Usually, I had to wait until everyone at home was fast asleep. I live with a mother-in-law who has dementia and needs round-the-clock care, including diapers, and I also have a child with severe autism who requires constant supervision. There were several times when my child went missing and I had to report it to the police. When we couldn’t find him, I had to ask the police for help, as well as family and friends to search and pray with us.
Under circumstances like these, the only time I could truly face myself and do what I loved was late at night. During those moments, I felt like I was the true owner of my life. The time was short and precious, and it sometimes felt like I was “borrowing a little bit from my own life.” But looking back now, I feel it was absolutely worth it.
I might not speak very logically. I jump from one thought to another, without a clear beginning or ending, but I’m happy—because at last, I can truly talk to myself. It’s the middle of the night now, so I have to keep my voice down. What time is it? Let me check my watch—it says 3:32, but this watch isn’t accurate. Subtract seven minutes… that would make it around 3:05. Even if I calculated wrong, it doesn’t matter. It’s still very early, before dawn.
I just got out of bed, had a thought, and decided to speak casually. I don’t even know if this can count as podcast content. It’s really just a conversation with myself. I don’t expect anyone to listen, and I don’t expect everything I say to be right.
Today, while listening to a podcast, I heard a sentence I really loved. The host said his boss once told them, “Please stop chasing perfection. You don’t need to be perfect.” That line spoke deeply to me. We truly don’t need to be perfect. Honestly, even if we give it everything we have, perfection is still impossible.
Striving for perfection is incredibly draining. I say this because I’ve spent most of my life chasing it—from childhood until now. I’m already in my fifties. Many people are afraid to reveal their age, but I don’t see the point. It’s not because I look young—because even if you don’t say it, people can usually guess. Hiding something so obvious feels meaningless.
Oops, I’ve wandered off topic again, and I’ve almost forgotten where I was. But this is fine too. I can say whatever I want, without worrying about whether people like it or not—as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone or force anyone to listen. If someone wants to listen, they can; if not, they can simply swipe away. How freeing is that?
Looking back on my life, there really haven’t been many people willing to truly listen to me—whether my students (and I’ve taught quite a few) or even my own children. I have two children. My eldest has severe autism. How much can you really expect an autistic child to listen? My younger one is a little artist—and I’m not exaggerating. When he was in fifth grade, the prize money he won from art competitions already exceeded 50,000 dollars.
But that doesn’t necessarily prove anything. Not all artists need competitions to validate themselves, and he’s still just a child. I often joke with him, “Are you sure you’re really my child?” He used to answer, “Of course I am!” Now that he’s older, he’ll reply, “Who else could my mom be?”
Maybe it’s because his father taught him well. My husband and my younger son are, in my heart, the real artists. As for me, I’m just an art and creativity teacher—nothing particularly special.
What I want to say is that there really aren’t many people in my life who are willing to listen to me. My parents were teachers their entire lives, and even my grandfather was a teacher during the War of Resistance against Japan. Being a teacher back then was no easy thing. Perhaps because this “teacher gene” runs so strong in my family, I eventually became a teacher too—even though it wasn’t what I originally wanted.
My father once told me, “If you don’t want to go hungry, become a teacher.” At that time, I had actually been accepted into the well-known Guandu art academy, a school dedicated to training artists. But I followed my father’s advice and chose the teaching profession instead. Later, I became grateful to him. After all, my husband is already an artist—if I were one too, who knows what our life would have looked like? Now I’ve come to believe that perhaps every arrangement in life is for the best.
I’ve never regretted any choice I’ve made in my life. No matter what I chose, I tried my best to adapt to the “frame” or “shape” that life gave me. It’s like being poured into a container of a fixed shape—I would try to change my own shape to fit it. Sometimes I feel like an amoeba, extremely adaptable.
But if you’re originally round and are forced to become square, oval, flower-shaped, or even rabbit-shaped—just because others want you to be—that feels like performing tricks in a circus. It’s deeply uncomfortable, because it’s not who I truly am. Every transformation takes time. That process is difficult for me, because I’m not particularly smart. And when you’re not smart, you have to spend even more time trying to meet others’ expectations. It’s exhausting.
I don’t know how much longer I can record—time might be running out—so I’ll stop here. That’s all I wanted to share today. Thank you. If someone really does listen to this recording, I will thank myself—for finally having the courage to record my very first podcast, one where I speak only what I want to say.
I hope this audio can truly reflect who I am. Even if there are many mistakes, I’m still happy—because this is the most authentic version of me. Thank you.

Bamboo：Autistic — Apeace Voice竹的星星小王子-自閉兒-期待聲音的安靜陪伴

歡迎收聽 Bamboo：Autistic。
我是竹。
我是一位媽媽。
這個節目記錄我和自閉症兒子的日常生活。
不是悲傷的故事，
而是學習、陪伴，和愛。
希望在此的內容不需沉重、不醫療、不勵志壓人，適合長輩、一般民眾、或許跟我一樣家裡住著來自不熟悉星球的小王子家庭，或是擁有其他特殊天使的父母們！
希望我的聲音或文字，可以帶給這個地球多一點點溫柔陪伴的力量，和一點點依稀隱晦的光。
謝謝你願意撥冗聆聽，讓不同的生命經驗有機會流淌。
Welcome to Bamboo: Autistic.
My name is Bamboo.
I am a mother.
This podcast records the everyday life I share with my autistic son.
It is not a story of sadness,
but a story of learning, companionship, and love.
I hope the content here is not heavy, not medical, and not inspirational in a pressuring way.
It is meant for elders, for the general public,
and perhaps for families like mine—
families living with a little prince from an unfamiliar planet,
or parents caring for other special angels.
I hope my voice, or my words,
can bring a little more gentle companionship to this world,
and a faint, quiet light.
Thank you for taking the time to listen,
and for allowing different life experiences to gently flow.