年輕的記者 A young journalist-Jane

Today was different; she was not here to write but to reflect on her grandmother’s tales, which had recently woven their way into her writing.

2024.05.07

在繁忙城市的模糊中，在一個不尋常的安靜星期天，珍發現自己坐在一家小巧咖啡館的大窗戶旁。玻璃窗將她與外界隔開，同時也成為雨滴在其上繪製抽象藝術的畫布。她被迷住了，注視著那些沿著窗戶競速下滑的雨滴，每一滴都帶著霓虹燈光和城市生活的倒影。

珍，一名年輕的記者，常來這裡逃避無止境的截稿期限和新聞室的喧囂。但今天不同；她來這裡不是為了寫作，而是反思她祖母的故事，這些故事最近已經融入了她的寫作中。她的祖母，一位生動的說書人，一周前去世了，留下了滿是往昔趣事的日記。

當她的咖啡冒出的蒸汽將玻璃窗霧化時，珍的目光落在了外面一個在水坑中跳來跳去的小男孩身上，他的笑聲穿透了雨的單調低吟。他的快樂讓她想起祖母講過的一個故事——一個雨天帶來了一個意想不到的朋友和一堂關於在小事中尋找快樂的課。

受到啟發，珍打開了她的筆記型電腦，手指停在鍵盤上。今天，她將把這個故事抄寫下來，將祖母的過去與從咖啡館窗口看到的現在的生動脈動融合在一起。在她的故事中，她將捕捉生活中簡單快樂的本質，透過她的文字使祖母的精神永存，就如同雨水在玻璃上捕捉瞬間畫面一般。

In the blur of the bustling city, on an unusually serene Sunday, Jane found herself seated by the large window of a quaint café. The glass pane separated her from the world outside, but it also served as a canvas where the rain painted its abstract art. She watched, entranced by the droplets racing down, each carrying reflections of neon lights and city life.

Jane, a young journalist, often came here to escape the unending deadlines and the clatter of her newsroom. Today was different; she was not here to write but to reflect on her grandmother’s tales, which had recently woven their way into her writing. Her grandmother, a vibrant storyteller, had passed away a week ago, leaving behind journals filled with anecdotes from a bygone era.

As the steam from her coffee fogged up the glass, Jane’s gaze fell on a small boy outside, jumping from puddle to puddle, his laughter piercing through the monotonous hum of rain. His joy reminded her of a story her grandmother told her—the tale of a rainy day that brought an unexpected friend and a lesson about finding joy in little things.

Inspired, Jane opened her laptop, her fingers poised over the keyboard. Today, she would transcribe this tale, blending her grandmother’s past with the lively pulse of the present seen through her café window. In her story, she would capture the essence of life’s simple pleasures, immortalizing her grandmother's spirit through her words, just as the rain captured fleeting moments on the glass.

My Name is Jane.