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关于历史书上哥伦布被认为是航海英雄，历史学家Howard Zinn写到：
摘自Howard Zinn的书籍<A People's History Of The United States>
       One can lie outright about the past. Or one can omit facts which might lead to unacceptable conclusions. Morison does neither. He refuses to lie about Columbus. He does not omit the story of mass murder; indeed he describes it with the harshest word one can use: genocide.
       But he does something else-he mentions the truth quickly and goes on to other things more important to him. Outright lying or quiet omission takes the risk of discovery which, when made, might arouse the reader to rebel against the writer. To state the facts, however, and then to bury them in a mass of other information is to say to the reader with a certain infectious calm: yes, mass murder took place, but it's not that important-it should weigh very little in our final judgments; it should affect very little what we do in the world.
       It is not that the historian can avoid emphasis of some facts and not of others. This is as natural to him as to the mapmaker, who, in order to produce a usable drawing for practical purposes, must first flatten and distort the shape of the earth, then choose out of the bewildering mass of geographic information those things needed for the purpose of this or that particular map.
       My argument cannot be against selection, simplification, emphasis, which are inevitable for both cartographers and historians. But the map-maker's distortion is a technical necessity for a common purpose shared by all people who need maps. The historian's distortion is more than technical, it is ideological; it is released into a world of contending interests, where any chosen emphasis supports (whether the historian means to or not) some kind of interest, whether economic or political or racial or national or sexual.
       Furthermore, this ideological interest is not openly expressed in the way a mapmaker's technical interest is obvious ("This is a Mercator projection for long-range navigation-for short-range, you'd better use a different projection"). No, it is presented as if all readers of history had a common interest which historians serve to the best of their ability. This is not intentional deception; the historian has been trained in a society in which education and knowledge are put forward as technical problems of excellence and not as tools for contending social classes, races, nations.
       To emphasize the heroism of Columbus and his successors as navigators and discoverers, and to de-emphasize their genocide, is not a technical necessity but an ideological choice. It serves- unwittingly-to justify what was done. My point is not that we must, in telling history, accuse, judge, condemn Columbus in absentia. It is too late for that; it would be a useless scholarly exercise in morality. But the easy acceptance of atrocities as a deplorable but necessary price to pay for progress (Hiroshima and Vietnam, to save Western civilization; Kronstadt and Hungary, to save socialism; nuclear proliferation, to save us all)-that is still with us. One reason these atrocities are still with us is that we have learned to bury them in a mass of other facts, as radioactive wastes are buried in containers in the earth. We have learned to give them exactly the same proportion of attention that teachers and writers often give them in the most respectable of classrooms and textbooks. This learned sense of moral proportion, coming from the apparent objectivity of the scholar, is accepted more easily than when it comes from politicians at press conferences. It is therefore more deadly.
       The treatment of heroes (Columbus) and their victims (the Arawaks)-the quiet acceptance of conquest and murder in the name of progress-is only one aspect of a certain approach to history, in which the past is told from the point of view of governments, conquerors, diplomats, leaders. It is as if they, like Columbus, deserve universal acceptance, as if they-the Founding Fathers, Jackson, Lincoln, Wilson, Roosevelt, Kennedy, the leading members of Congress, the famous Justices of the Supreme Court-represent the nation as a whole. The pretense is that there really is such a thing as "the United States," subject to occasional conflicts and quarrels, but fundamentally a community of people with common interests. It is as if there really is a "national interest" represented in the Constitution, in territorial expansion, in the laws passed by Congress, the decisions of the courts, the development of capitalism, the culture of education and the mass media.
       "History is the memory of states," wrote Henry Kissinger in his first book, A World Restored, in which he proceeded to tell the history of nineteenth-century Europe from the viewpoint of the leaders of Austria and England, ignoring the millions who suffered from those statesmen's policies. From his standpoint, the "peace" that Europe had before the French Revolution was "restored" by the diplomacy of a few national leaders. But for factory workers in England, farmers in France, colored people in Asia and Africa, women and children everywhere except in the upper classes, it was a world of conquest, violence, hunger, exploitation-a world not restored but disintegrated.

I was thinking that I should make an English diary to record what Derek and I have been though in our life. Sometimes I realise it's good to have history to check, from which one can know what he or she has lost and gained with the passage of time. However, in most cases, one usually gets lost in the big maze of life--forgets what he or she wanted, forgets the way he has passed, forgets the starting point and the termination, that's why history is necessary to light the fire of memory, to give one another chance and maybe the only possible chance to experience what one has experienced before. What's interesting is that memory can not only bring you the "same" history itself, but can also bring you the "same" sense, the "same" feeling, and the "same" touch in the heart. It's like that memory, with a stretch of its arm, gently caresses your deep soul which has been buried by the dirt of time. One may think "you can not step in the same river", which is also right for the process of memory. One can experience the history, the feeling and the sense again, while one is not the "one" any more. This new "one" goes through the history with a status of "other", not "me". The "separateness" of time/memory resembles a scalpel which cuts "me" to several different pieces of "me", thus, in the process of memory, "me" is converting between its subjective role(in previous real life) and its objective role(in memory). I think it's similar to the process of aesthetically experiencing modern art which labels momentary "presence" (when communication, common experience, overlap, or acknowledgement happens on subject, sometimes on both object and subject) as its essential feature.

Derek has a bacterial or fungal infection (or allergy) on his right eye for several days. I'm really worried, so is he, I guess, but he doesn't like to show his feelings on his face.(Derek was doubting what i wrote, so he gave it three question marks ??? ) We've been in the hospital to see the doctors for about 7 or 8 times. Something is getting better, something remains still. What makes us worried is the low knowledge level of the doctors rather than the disease itself. Derek has been through many annoyances since he moved to China. I hate that I can't help. I really appreciate his love, his bravery, and his strong will, which I will bear in my mind and heart for all my life. I hope he will be fine tomorrow.

Today is Mother's Day. I was thinking I should say something to my Mom, however I don't know what to say. I say "I love you" to Derek everyday, but I feel awkward to say that to my Mom. I believe love doesn't need to be said out, love is not words. My Mom can feel me, I can feel her, that should be enough (or not?). I can still remember how happy my Mom and Dad were when I bought them some gifts with the first money I made. They didn't care if the gifts were what they needed, what they wanted was my love. I did too little for them, sometimes I feel I'm too self-willed. Love is understanding even though they don't agree with me, love is forgiveness even though I hurt them, love is to devote everything without complaint, love is the happy tear in their eyes when they are thinking about the happiness I bring to them, love is the worried eyes when they are viewing my back on my way to the next city that is far away. Love doesn't give me hope but gives me warmness. Love is irreplaceable.

爱情的再次到来，很奇特，也很突然。

跨越了半个地球的距离，跨越了7年的光阴，跨越了世俗的顾虑。超脱在两只手相合的瞬间。

我的心软了，太真了以至于无法相信，太大了以至于无法怀抱。D说那就“让我载着你吧。”

早上起床，端详着D，绿色的眼睛霎那间将我拥抱，将我带入一个从未到过的地方，那种颜色那么简单，像是湖水，那就是他的19岁的颜色，我哭了，D轻轻的抹去我的泪水，他也哭了，而我们都不知道为什么我们哭了。

也许是这幸福太奢侈了，太奢侈了。。。。