幾年後，當我再次帶團來到哈佛，學生們已在離哈佛較遠的學院上課，我們無緣再度在同一校園相聚，也無法再一起踏上紅線、走進教室。到哈佛，對我而言，只剩匆匆的參觀與追憶。
然而，紅磚校舍、河畔光影、綠意小徑，依舊歷歷在目。
那一年，我是窮苦的進修學生，
她則是正規的學子。
劍橋的暑期課程，
讓我們在 Robinson College 相遇。
我只得以短暫住在她樓上的閣樓，
簡陋卻能望見河水悠悠。
她常喜歡拾階而上，
坐在斜窗前，看河面上倒映的雲影與划過的舟槳，
彷彿世界都靜止在那一刻。
劍橋的餐點昂貴，
我們常常帶著笑，將日子過得簡單。
有時是一碗泡麵——
從倫敦中國城背回來的那份珍惜，
熱氣裊裊中，竟像是最盛大的盛宴。
我們在課堂上互相勉勵，
在閣樓裡彼此傾聽。
她帶著她的夢，我背負著我的家與責任，
短短一個夏季，
卻留下了一段難以忘懷的相知相惜。
後來，各自奔赴他鄉，我的學業也因現實而中斷。
多年之後，偶然翻起一疊舊相片，
那微笑的身影忽然將我拉回那個夏天。
河畔的風，閣樓的窗，泡麵的香氣，
依然鮮活如昨。
我常想，她如今可還安好？
是否也偶爾想起，
那年夏天，劍橋的陽光下，
一個來自非洲的女子，與一個來自東方的青年，
用並不流利的英文，
卻寫下了一段真摯的篇章。
A Recollection of Paths Not Taken
In 1984, when Robinson College in Cambridge was still in its early years, I found myself standing at a remarkable crossroads. Having just graduated from college, I received the opportunity to apply to Robinson College, with the intention of pursuing further studies in linguistics. It was a time of great promise, and fortune seemed to smile upon me. Through the ROC’s prestigious Zhongshan Scholarship, I was awarded close to one million NTD, the equivalent then of around seventeen thousand British pounds. It was more than a financial grant; it was a symbol of recognition, a door opening toward an academic future I had long dreamt of.
The process of applying to Robinson College was filled with anticipation. Linguistics, with its intricate connection between language, culture, and thought, was my chosen path, and Robinson, though young among the Cambridge colleges, was vibrant, forward-looking, and intellectually ambitious. At that moment, I felt as if the world were within reach.
And yet, life seldom unfolds in straight lines. Out of deep respect for my father’s wishes, I chose not to pursue this opportunity abroad. Instead, I remained in Taiwan, taking on the responsibilities of teaching and contributing to my family. The following years brought other opportunities to stay connected with Cambridge. I attended three summer sessions, immersing myself in that storied environment where history and scholarship are inseparable. Those summers remain vivid: mornings of lectures, afternoons of quiet study, evenings wandering the courts and gardens where centuries of scholars had walked before me.
Still, the demands of life weighed heavily. Teaching was not merely a profession but a necessity, ensuring stability for my family. Soon, with the births of my two children, my responsibilities deepened, and the dream of a prolonged academic journey in Cambridge receded quietly into the background.
Now, looking back a decade later, I hold no regrets, only gratitude. Though I did not remain abroad to pursue a full course of studies, those moments—applying to Robinson College, receiving the Zhongshan Scholarship, walking the grounds during the summer sessions—remain part of me. They shaped my outlook on scholarship and life. The paths we choose may not always be those we first imagine, but they lead us to where we are meant to be, weaving family, duty, and intellectual pursuit into the fabric of our own unique journey.
