Assimilated
（同化）
（同化）
I’ve been assimilated.
I don’t want to admit it—but it’s true. Somewhere along the way, I stopped fighting. I cling to the chipped railings, peering through a narrow slit in the wall, eyes dull and fixed on the sky beyond. That used to be the place where my dreams lived. I wanted to be a pilot. Now, I drag heavy shackles on my feet, locked in a prison so deep that not even echoes return. And I’ve forgotten how to resist.
Each day, I wait for scraps—cold leftovers tossed through the slit under the door. When they arrive, I pounce like a starving animal. I’ve fought my cellmates for a few shreds of meat. That’s not me. But it’s who I’ve become.
At night, the bars are the only thing left glowing, pale under moonlight. They give off a chill. I lean against the wall, its edges stabbing into my spine. But that pain is the only sensation I still recognize, the only proof that I’m still inside a body. Sometimes I pretend I’m just lying in my college dorm bed, waiting for the alarm clock to ring again. When did my bones grow soft?
The absurd part is—I’ve started thinking this life isn’t so bad. It’s quiet. Predictable. No more gunfire. No blinding light. A peace shaped like numbness. But why has the sun drifted so far from me? Why has it become something I fear in my mind? I don’t know. I clench my fists and slam them into the floor.
But I don’t feel pain. Have I grown used to it? Have I begun to treat it as ordinary? They call this adaptation. I call it assimilation.
I don’t want to become the canary that forgets how to sing. I don’t want to fold my wild wings and be taught how to behave—how to be rational, mature, good. I don’t want my rage smoothed over by honeyed voices telling me it’s love. I don’t want to become everything I once despised. But I wander through the days, unsure of who I am. My thoughts are heavy. I no longer startle at the thought of escape—but I still can’t sleep. Sweat soaks my sheets. My chest feels hollow. Only when the baton strikes my back do I feel, strangely, alive again. Am I going insane?
I’ve never been the kind of person easily broken. But this torment is different—it isn’t loud. It’s subtle. It’s quiet. It seeps in grain by grain until one day, you wake up and you’ve become someone else. Someone quiet. Someone clean. Someone who fits their design. That means they’ve won.
But what about me?
I wanted to be a pilot. I wanted to fly toward the sun. I wanted to praise the stars. That was the old me. The me that had a dream. The one who’s left now just wants to survive—but even that feels impossible. Am I still myself? If I say I was once proud, once fearless, would anyone believe me?
I already know the answer.
I am in pain. Not from wounds, but from being cut off from who I was. But I want to fight. I want to dig. I need a shovel—any shovel, any shape. Anything that can chip at the walls. Day or night, I will keep digging. Even if the tunnel leads to a sewer instead of freedom, I will keep going. I just want to find a beach I dreamed of once. A quiet bar. A drink. I want to pour every tired day and misunderstood hurt into something warm, let it wash through me like tears in wine.
And then, maybe, I can become that version of me again—the one who walks into spring with her head high, her scars kissed away by a wind like a mother’s hand.
我被同化了。
我很不想承认这个事实。但我发现那毋庸置疑。
我扒着漆皮斑驳的栏杆，从狭小的缝中露出眼睛，呆滞的望着远处的天空。那是我的梦想所在的地方。我原本想成为一个飞行员，如今却带着笨重的脚镣，被锁进深不见底的冷狱。而我已然忘了怎样去挣扎。日复一日的，等待那填饱不了渴望的残羹冷炙，从门底的窗口扔进来。我会像久饿的饥民那样扑上前去。甚至还会为了几粒肉屑与狱友大打出手。
那不是我。夜晚。监狱里只有那些栏杆，在月光的照耀下，散发寒气。我靠着墙，背脊硌的生疼。但那是我唯一能抓住的感觉。仿佛我还躺在大学宿舍的床上，等待闹钟又一次在清晨敲响。我什么时候酥软了骨头？
令人发笑的是，我居然开始觉得这里的生活不错。安逸，平淡，少了枪林弹雨，少了刺眼的，刺耳的阳光。
为什么阳光离我这么远，为什么阳光在我心里成了这个模样。我无从知晓。我攥紧拳头，愤怒的砸在地上。
但我不疼。我是不是早就适应了疼痛，并把他当做理所应当。他们管这叫适应。我把他叫做同化。
我不想做那只忘记怎样去鸣叫的金丝雀。我不想收起我桀骜的羽翼，去被教导要变得理智，变得成熟，去被用柔情蜜意抚平易怒的情绪。我不想沦为我原本所鄙夷的一切。可是我踟蹰独行，脑袋昏沉。我在每天晚上入睡的时候，不会再为了奔逃而胆战心惊。可我依旧失眠。汗水把被单濡的湿透。心里空落落的。只有在接受警棍教训时才能找到当年的快乐。我是不是疯了？我不是容易被磨难拖垮的人。但这种磨难又不同以往。它太细微，太绵长，潜移默化的让我从头到脚换成另一个人。一个乖巧的，纯洁的，他们臆想之中的人。他们的目的达到了。
那我呢。我想成为一个飞行员，我想拥抱烈日，我想赞美宇宙星辰。但那是以前的我啊。现在的我，只想活下去，但又走的那么艰难。这还是我吗？一个一无是处，一事无成的人。当我谈起过往的那些骄傲，还会有人信我吗？我的答案很明了。我痛苦至极，我想打破这束缚我的牢笼。这一点点蚕食掉我的牢笼。我想重新站在阳光下。
我要开始努力了。找一把铲子，无论什么形状，什么材质，只要能挖的动墙上的石块砖皮。无论在白日还是黑夜，我要永无止境的挖下去。不管那个洞是通往下水道还是通向真正的现实世界。我想迈上我梦寐以求的海滩，找一个小酒馆喝两杯，把一切的疲乏和无人了解的伤痛就着酒液和泪水，冲刷干净。之后我就能再做回当年的那个我，勇敢的走向和煦的春风，她像慈母一样爱抚着我的双鬓，吻去我满身的伤痕。