2024年11月下旬阿嬤跌斷了大腿，所幸，阿嬤復原得良好，精神不錯、食慾也很旺盛。
In late November 2024, Grandma fell and fractured her thigh. Thankfully, she recovered well—her spirits were high, and her appetite was strong.
在這樣的狀況下，理應我應該比往常更勤勞去探望阿嬤，但⋯⋯
Given her condition, I should have been visiting her more often than usual. And yet…
我現在很怕跟阿嬤相處。
Lately, I’ve been afraid to spend time with her.
因為阿嬤每次見到我，不管大家正在聊什麼話題，她總會像拿利刃割破氣氛般，對我說「一定至少要生一個小孩啊！」
Every time she sees me, no matter what we’re talking about, she always finds a way to slice through the conversation like a sharp blade:
“You have to have at least one child!”
阿嬤也會盯著我的肚子看，「好像有大了點，是不是有了？」
She stares at my stomach.
“It looks a little bigger… are you pregnant?”
阿嬤也曾摸過我的肚子，「是不是有了？」
She reaches out, places a hand on my belly.
“Are you pregnant?”
阿嬤對我說生孩子的好處是「有伴」、「老時有人會端熱茶給你喝」。
She tells me the benefits of having children—“You’ll have company,” she says. “When you’re old, someone will bring you hot tea.”
我對阿嬤的期待早已是只有「健康」而沒有「善解人意」了，但每每聽到阿嬤對我說出千篇一律的「一定至少要生一個小孩」感到疲倦跟懼怕。
I no longer expect Grandma to be understanding. I only wish for her to be healthy. But every time I hear her repeat the same line—“You have to have at least one child”—I feel exhausted. And afraid.
疲倦的是被反覆用同樣的價值觀攻擊；懼怕的是——阿嬤除此之外對我再無話可說。
Exhausted by the relentless pressure of the same values being imposed on me.
Afraid—because beyond this, there’s nothing left for us to talk about.
結婚之前跟阿嬤一起生活，雖然每天對話不多，但總算是還能「分享大小事」，結婚後搬離家，每次探訪阿嬤時，她對我說的話只剩下「吃飯」、「生孩子」、「這個帶回去吃」。
Before I got married, I lived with Grandma. We didn’t talk much, but at least we shared the details of our days. After I moved out, our conversations dwindled to just a few phrases: “Come eat.” “Have a baby.” “Take some food home.”
我完全可以理解阿嬤的價值觀，所以我可以明白阿嬤期待我生產是「對我好」的想法。但我總感到很遺憾，除了生產我再也不能帶給她任何意義了。
I understand where she’s coming from. I know that, in her mind, urging me to have children is for my own good. But I can’t help but feel a sense of loss—because beyond childbirth, I no longer hold any other meaning for her.
澈底意識到這點的時刻是，去年從日本旅遊回來後，跟阿嬤分享一點旅遊見聞，阿嬤聽完之後只回了我「以後不要再出國了，把錢省下來生小孩。」
I realized this fully last year, when I returned from a trip to Japan. I excitedly shared my travel stories with her. She listened, nodded, then simply said:
“Don’t travel abroad anymore. Save that money for having kids.”
除了生小孩，送禮、送錢、談天、陪伴，任何行為都無法帶給她快樂。因為不生小孩就是不合格的子孫、不合格的妻子。
Nothing else matters to her—not gifts, not money, not conversations, not my company. Because if I don’t have children, I am an inadequate granddaughter. An inadequate wife.
前幾天也去拜訪了阿嬤，我只待了大概兩小時，雖然阿嬤很想要我留下來吃晚餐，但我落荒而逃了。
A few days ago, I visited her again. I only stayed for about two hours. She wanted me to stay for dinner, but I fled.
畢竟，這些陪伴都沒有擁有胎兒來得重要。
Because in the end, no amount of time spent together could ever compare to the presence of an unborn child.
我其實蠻羨慕阿嬤的兒子、女兒，因為他們早已當父母甚至爺奶了，和阿嬤就能肆無忌憚地聊天與陪伴，因為他們再也沒有需要阿嬤擔心的事情，只是阿嬤依然會問那些還沒結婚或還沒生育的孫子，「什麼時候娶老婆？」、「什麼時候要懷孕？」
I envy my uncles and aunts. They’re already parents, some even grandparents. They can chat and joke freely with Grandma, because there’s nothing left for her to worry about when it comes to them. But for the grandchildren who aren’t married or haven’t had children yet, the questions persist:
“When are you getting married?”
“When are you having a baby?”
跟阿嬤聊天會獲得很挫折的感受。
Talking to Grandma always leaves me feeling defeated.
保持沈默已經是我最大的孝心了。
At this point, staying silent is the greatest act of filial piety I can offer.
遲來的啟蒙 Start From Here Now 