In the summer of 2024, I had a minor surgery.
It was the first time in my life to undergo surgery. Though calling it "surgery" might be an overstatement—it was just the removal of a small vascular tumor, about the size of a fingernail, from my knee. It was done at a small clinic near my home.
The procedure was quick, performed under local anesthesia. The doctor even showed me the piece of tissue he had removed while I was still lying on the bed. It was soft, fleshy, and stained with a bit of blood—but not fresh and dripping, more like subcutaneous fat. The dead blood vessels had turned a deep reddish-black, sitting inside the triangular incision like a pupil. As I stared at that severed piece of
flesh, I felt as if a part of myself was staring back at me.
Thinking about it, wounds and scars seem to be a kind of metaphor. The passage of time, the healing of wounds. Barthes’ "punctum."
Those moments—indescribable, cruel, romantic.
2024年的夏天，我做了一个小手术。
这是我人生中第一次做手术。其实说是手术，也就是切掉了膝盖上一个指甲盖大小的血管瘤。在家附近的小诊所。 手术结束的很快，局部麻醉。医生甚至还给在病床上躺着的我看了我被切下来的那块组织。软趴趴的，肉乎乎的，沾着一些血迹，但却不是鲜血淋漓的，更像是一些皮下脂肪。血管坏死后淤血变成红黑色，在三角形的切口里，像瞳孔一般。我盯着那块被切下来的肉，感觉我仿佛被我自身的一部分凝视着。
仔细一想，伤口和疤痕好像是一个很好的隐喻。时间的经过，伤口的愈合。巴特所说的“刺点”。那些用语言无法说明的，残忍的，浪漫的瞬间。