2026年1月25日 星期日

辦公室從來不教的事:一個寫給年輕員工的故事

 辦公室從來不教的事:一個寫給年輕員工的故事


小林剛進入一家市區的行銷公司,開始她的第一份正式工作。剛畢業的她相信,只要努力工作、對每個人都友善,一切就會順利。主管微笑,同事一起吃飯聊天,她心想:「我好像融入了。」但幾個月後,她開始注意到一些細節——那些從來沒有人在學校告訴她的事。

有一天,她發現同事馬克在公司裡總是笑嘻嘻,開玩笑、點頭、說「做得不錯」,但下了班,他從來不按讚她的貼文,從來不傳訊息,也從來不打電話。小林有點難過,但資深同事陳先生直接說:「如果一個人從來不在工作之外聯繫你,他其實就是不喜歡你。在成人世界,大家戴著面具生活。他們客氣,是因為不得不,不是因為真正在乎。」

還有另一位同事麗莎,小林其實不太熟,但她總是在問:「你最近怎麼樣?」、「你在做什麼案子?」,那種關心聽起來有點太過火。陳先生看出小林的困惑,低聲說:「突然對你生活特別好奇的人,多半是老闆的眼線。你可以誠實,但不要把心事全倒給他們。」

小林也看到角落那個安靜、被大家稱為「老實人」的王先生,常常被忽略或嘲笑。有人笑他太軟弱,但陳先生提醒她:「不要欺負老實人。他們看起來無害,但再平靜的河也有氾濫的一天。如果你逼得太狠,總有一天會後悔。」

她開始注意到更多事情。一位主管林先生,總是完美無缺——從不遲到、從不犯錯、從不顯露壓力。陳先生說:「那是因為他還不信任你。當一個人完全不暴露缺點,表示他還在觀察你。」但當另一位同事李小姐開始聊起她的家人、父母、生活壓力時,小林感覺到一種改變。「當一個人願意跟你談家庭,代表他已經放下戒心,願意相信你。」

有一天,小林因為一個小錯誤對同事大發脾氣,兩人當場吵架。她以為關係就此破裂,但陳先生說:「如果對方會生氣、會跟你吵,代表還有修復的空間。如果對方什麼都不說,只是慢慢疏遠你,那才是真的想跟你斷絕往來。」

她也學會看眼神。當有人跟她說話時,總是低頭或不看她的眼睛,她發現對方通常顯得無聊或心不在焉。陳先生說:「不敢跟你對視的人,要麼是自卑,要麼只是在敷衍你。」

久而久之,小林明白,光是安靜並不能保護自己。「沉默是金,」陳先生說,「前提是你要有實力。如果你默默無聞又不善表達,大家只會忽視你。」她開始在會議上發言,分享想法,主動提問。

她也學會不要輕易相信那些承諾好處的人。「突然說『我可以幫你升職』或『我可以介紹你認識老闆』的人,多半是想從你身上得到什麼,」陳先生提醒她,「真正的幫助,不會附帶條件。」

一年後,小林不只是在公司生存下來,她開始理解那些沒人明說的規則。她知道客氣不一定是友誼,關心不一定是善意,沉默也不一定是智慧。她依然努力工作,但現在她會觀察、傾聽,在說話或信任之前先思考。

而這,陳先生說,就是年輕員工與年輕專業人士之間的差別。



What the Office Never Teaches You: A Story for Young Employees

 What the Office Never Teaches You: A Story for Young Employees


Lena had just started her first real job at a busy marketing firm in the city. Fresh out of university, she believed that if she worked hard and was nice to everyone, everything would fall into place. Her manager smiled, her colleagues chatted at lunch, and she thought, “I’m fitting in.” But after a few months, she began to notice patterns—small things that no one had ever told her in school.

One day, she realized that one of her teammates, Mark, was always cheerful at work—joking, nodding, saying “Good job!”—but outside the office, he never liked her posts, never texted her, never called. Lena felt a bit hurt, but her older colleague, Mr. Chen, put it bluntly: “If someone never contacts you outside of work, they don’t really like you. In adult life, people wear masks. They are polite because they have to be, not because they care.”

Then there was Lisa, a colleague she barely knew, who kept asking, “How are you?” and “What are you working on?” in a way that felt a little too curious. Mr. Chen noticed Lena’s confusion and whispered, “People who suddenly care too much about your life are often eyes and ears for the boss. Be honest, but don’t pour out your soul to them.”

Lena also saw how the quiet, “nice” guy in the corner, Mr. Wang, was often ignored or mocked by others. Some joked that he was “too soft,” but Mr. Chen warned her, “Don’t pick on the quiet ones. They may seem harmless, but even a calm river can flood. If you push them too far, you’ll regret it.”

She began to notice other things too. A senior manager, Mr. Lin, always seemed perfect—never late, never wrong, never showing stress. “That’s because he doesn’t trust you yet,” Mr. Chen said. “When someone hides all their flaws, it means they’re still watching you.” But when another colleague, Ms. Li, started talking about her family, her parents, and her struggles, Lena felt a shift. “When someone shares their home life with you, they’re telling you, ‘I trust you enough to drop my guard.’”

One day, Lena snapped at a coworker over a small mistake and they argued loudly. She worried she had ruined the relationship, but Mr. Chen told her, “If someone fights back, there’s still hope. If they just go silent and slowly disappear from your life, that’s when they’ve decided to cut you off.”

She also learned to read body language. When people avoided eye contact while talking to her, she noticed they often sounded bored or distracted. “If someone can’t look you in the eye, they’re either insecure or just pretending to listen,” Mr. Chen said.

Over time, Lena realized that silence alone wouldn’t protect her. “Silence is golden,” Mr. Chen told her, “only if you’re already strong. If you’re unknown and quiet, people will just forget you exist.” She started speaking up in meetings, sharing her ideas, and asking questions.

She also learned not to trust everyone who promised her shortcuts. “People who suddenly say, ‘I’ll help you get promoted’ or ‘I’ll introduce you to the boss’ usually want something from you,” Mr. Chen warned. “Real help doesn’t come with strings attached.”

By the end of her first year, Lena wasn’t just surviving at work—she was starting to understand the unspoken rules. She learned that politeness isn’t always friendship, curiosity isn’t always kindness, and silence isn’t always wisdom. She still worked hard, but now she also watched, listened, and thought before she spoke or trusted.

And that, Mr. Chen said, is what separates a young employee from a young professional.



我們先付錢讓自己發胖,再付錢讓自己瘦身:這個愚蠢的惡性循環我們還在買單

 我們先付錢讓自己發胖,再付錢讓自己瘦身:這個愚蠢的惡性循環我們還在買單



莫里森超市(Morrisons)推出的「減肥針月卡」並不是什麼創新,而是我們心甘情願參與的一個惡性循環的完美寫照。我們走進超市,把一車高糖、高脂、高熱量的加工食品丟進購物籃,然後再花更多錢去修復這些食物帶來的傷害——透過昂貴的藥物、健身房會員、減肥餐,以及現在的處方減肥針。我們實際上是在付兩次錢:一次是製造問題,一次是假裝在解決問題。

莫里森長期販售大量高糖、高脂、高熱量的加工食品,讓消費者變胖、精神不振、健康出問題。接著,同一個品牌又推出每月 129 英鎊的注射服務,聲稱可以抑制食慾、一年內減去高達 20% 的體重。有些顧客會覺得這是「便利」;另一些人則看穿本質:這是一個建立在「先讓你生病,再向你收費」的商業模式。正如網民所諷刺的:「先讓你胖,再向你收錢瘦下來。」

這個循環還沒有結束。除了減肥針,同一個平台還販售治療暗瘡、胃酸倒流、早洩、勃起功能障礙、偏頭痛等藥物——這些問題中的許多,其實都直接與我們靠加工食品、壓力與睡眠不足養成的生活方式有關。我們買下傷害身體的產品,再買下掩蓋症狀的產品,同時還說自己「在照顧健康」。

最愚蠢的是,我們並不是被迫的,而是自己選擇的。沒有人拿槍逼我們買巧克力、汽水和即食餐。我們買,是因為它們方便、快速、短期看起來便宜。但長期來看,我們付出的代價更高——不只是金錢,還有體力、健康與尊嚴。我們不斷重複同一個模式:消費、受苦、吃藥、再消費。

這不只是莫里森的問題,而是整個現代消費體系的寫照。企業設計出讓人對糖、鹽、脂肪上癮的產品,再賣給我們聲稱可以修復傷害的「解決方案」。政府、廣告與社群媒體把過度消費正常化,而真正的營養教育、烹飪能力與自我照顧知識卻薄弱或根本不存在。我們被困在一個迴圈裡:用自己的消費習慣,資助自己的痛苦。

如果我們真的想打破這個循環,就必須停止幻想「買更多產品就能拯救自己」。我們必須開始問:當我們不健康時,誰在賺錢?是誰設計出讓垃圾食品成為「預設選項」的環境?更重要的是,我們是否真的願意改變日常習慣,還是會繼續付兩次錢——一次買毒藥,一次買解藥?

在誠實回答這個問題之前,我們只會繼續在這個愚蠢的迴圈裡打轉:吃明知對自己有害的東西,再為後果付錢,然後稱之為「進步」。



We Pay to Get Fat, Then Pay to Get Thin: The Stupid Vicious Cycle We Keep Buying Into

 We Pay to Get Fat, Then Pay to Get Thin: The Stupid Vicious Cycle We Keep Buying Into



This new “weight‑loss injection monthly card” from Morrisons is not innovation; it is a perfect illustration of a vicious cycle we have all agreed to play along with. We go to the supermarket, fill our baskets with cheap, sugary, ultra‑processed junk food, and then later pay even more money to fix the damage—through expensive drugs, gym memberships, diets, and now prescription weight‑loss injections. We are literally paying twice: once to create the problem, and once to pretend we are solving it.

Morrisons sells shelves full of high‑sugar, high‑fat, high‑calorie products that make people gain weight, feel sluggish, and develop health issues. Then, through the same brand, it offers a £129‑per‑month injection service that promises to suppress appetite and help people lose up to 20% of their body weight in a year. Some customers will see this as “convenience”; others see it for what it is: a business model built on making you sick and then charging you to feel better. As one netizen put it, it is like “first make you fat, then charge you to get thin.”

The cycle does not stop there. Beyond weight‑loss injections, the same platform sells drugs for acne, acid reflux, erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation, and migraines—many of which are directly linked to the very lifestyle that cheap processed food, stress, and poor sleep create. We buy the products that harm our bodies, then we buy the products that patch up the symptoms, all while telling ourselves we are “taking care of our health.”

What makes this so stupid is that we are not forced into it; we choose it. No one is holding a gun to our heads to buy chocolate bars, fizzy drinks, and ready‑made meals. We do it because it is easy, fast, and cheap in the short term. But in the long term, we pay more—not just in money, but in energy, health, and dignity. We keep repeating the same pattern: consume, suffer, medicate, repeat.

This is not just about Morrisons; it is about the entire modern consumer system. Corporations design products that hook us on sugar, salt, and fat, then sell us the “solutions” that promise to undo the damage. Governments, advertisers, and social media normalize overconsumption, while real education about nutrition, cooking, and self‑care remains weak or absent. We are trapped in a loop where our own spending habits finance our own misery.

If we want to break the cycle, we have to stop pretending that buying more products will save us. We must start by asking: who profits when we are unhealthy? Who designs the environment that makes junk food the default choice? And most importantly, are we really willing to change our daily habits, or will we keep paying twice—first for the poison, then for the antidote?

Until we answer that honestly, we will keep spinning in the same stupid loop: eating what we know is bad for us, paying for the consequences, and calling it “progress.”



我們仍未生活在民主之中:我們與一千年前的人毫無不同

 我們仍未生活在民主之中:我們與一千年前的人毫無不同


印度卡納塔卡邦馬斯塔拉神廟的駭人案件,不是一樁孤立的醜聞,而是一面鏡子。它照出的是:儘管我們有智慧型手機、有選舉、有「現代」制度,我們仍然活在一千年前那套權力、恐懼與沉默的體系裡。唯一的差別在於包裝:今天的國王穿著西裝和頭銜,而不是皇冠與刀劍。

在這起案件中,一名前神廟清潔工在多年被迫共犯之後,終於站出來。他聲稱,從1995年到2014年,他被強迫焚燒數百具屍體,多數是婦女與兒童,其中許多人遭到性侵,有些甚至只是幾個月大的嬰兒。他看著女孩被帶進來時衣服被撕破、身體佈滿傷痕,然後看著她們在火焰中消失,連同所有證據一起被抹去。他多年保持沉默,不是因為認同,而是因為上級威脅:只要他敢說,家人就會被「碎屍萬段」。這不是比喻,這是封建恐怖的語言。

當他自己的一名女性親屬也遭到神廟管理人員性騷擾時,他終於帶著家人逃離,並在十年間不斷搬家、躲藏,直到有勇氣報案。這不是一個正常民主社會裡公民的行為。在真正的民主中,人們不需要逃亡、躲藏、擔心生命安全,才能揭發罪行。他們可以走進警察局、提出控告,並相信法律會保護他們,而不是保護權力者。

但在此案中,被指控的對象與赫格加德家族有關,這個家族在宗教與政治界擁有巨大影響力。儘管神廟附近居民多次報案指稱有人失蹤,警方卻幾乎沒有動作。即使現在有了如此嚴重的指控與詳細供詞,神廟真正的負責人仍未被列為正式嫌疑人。這不是正義,這是舊有的「有罪免罰」模式:權力者決定誰該被懲罰,誰該被保護。

這說明,對大多數普通人來說,民主只是一種儀式,而不是現實。我們投票,但真正的權力仍掌握在世襲家族、宗教精英與地方強人手中,他們控制土地、信仰與恐懼。神廟不只是宗教場所,更是一個不受監督的權力中心,罪行可以在傳統與神聖的外衣下被隱藏。這名清潔工的故事,就是農奴、佃農、無聲者的縮影:每天見證邪惡,卻被迫服從或被毀滅。

我們喜歡自稱「現代」與「進步」,但圍繞我們的結構其實是中世紀的。權力仍集中在少數人手中,異議仍被懲罰,真相仍被掩埋。與一千年前的人相比,我們唯一的真正差別是:今天我們有相機、有網路、有標籤,但這些工具也常被控制、被審查、被宣傳與恐懼淹沒。

如果我們真的重視民主,就必須停止幻想「有選舉就夠了」。民主意味著沒有人凌駕於法律之上,沒有機構不可碰觸,社會中最弱小的人可以毫無恐懼地說話,而且會被相信。在這一天到來之前,我們並沒有生活在民主之中。我們只是活在同樣的舊世界:國王、神廟與恐怖——只是燈光更亮,藉口更糟。



We Are Still Not Living in a Democracy: We Are No Different from People 1,000 Years Ago

 We Are Still Not Living in a Democracy: We Are No Different from People 1,000 Years Ago



The recent horror story from the Mastala Temple in Karnataka, India, is not an isolated scandal. It is a mirror. It shows that, despite smartphones, elections, and “modern” institutions, we are still living under the same old systems of power, fear, and silence that ruled people 1,000 years ago. The only difference is the packaging: today’s kings wear suits and titles, not crowns and swords.

In this case, a former temple cleaner came forward after decades of forced complicity. From 1995 to 2014, he says he was made to burn hundreds of bodies—mostly women and children, many of them sexually assaulted, some as young as infants. He watched girls arrive with torn clothes, bodies marked by violence, and then watched them disappear in flames, along with any evidence. For years he stayed silent, not because he agreed, but because he was threatened: if he spoke, his family would be “cut into pieces.” That is not a metaphor; that is the language of feudal terror.

When his own female relative was sexually harassed by temple authorities, he finally fled with his family and lived in hiding for ten years before daring to report. This is not the behavior of citizens in a functioning democracy. In a real democracy, people do not need to run, hide, or fear for their lives when they expose crimes. They can walk into a police station, file a complaint, and trust that the law will protect them, not the powerful.

Yet here, the accused are linked to the Heggade family, a religious and political dynasty whose influence reaches deep into local institutions. Despite repeated reports of missing persons near the temple, the police did little. Even now, with such grave accusations and a detailed confession, the real decision‑makers at the temple have not been formally named as suspects. This is not justice; this is the old pattern of impunity, where the powerful decide who gets punished and who gets protected.

What this reveals is that democracy, for most ordinary people, remains a ritual rather than a reality. We vote, but the real power still lies with dynasties, religious elites, and local strongmen who control land, faith, and fear. The temple is not just a place of worship; it is a center of unchecked authority, where crimes can be hidden under the cloak of tradition and divine legitimacy. The cleaner’s story is the story of the serf, the peasant, the voiceless—someone who witnesses evil every day but is forced to serve it or be destroyed.

We like to believe that we are “modern” and “progressive,” but the structures around us are medieval. Power is still concentrated in the hands of a few; dissent is still punished; truth is still buried. The only real difference between us and people 1,000 years ago is that today we have cameras, internet, and hashtags—but even those are often controlled, censored, or drowned out by propaganda and fear.

If we are serious about democracy, we must stop pretending that elections alone are enough. Democracy means that no one is above the law, that no institution is untouchable, and that the weakest person in society can speak without fear and be believed. Until that happens, we are not living in a democracy. We are living in the same old world of kings, temples, and terror—just with better lighting and worse excuses.



歷史不斷重演,因為我們不曾真正感受它:VR如何讓學生「親歷」過去

 歷史不斷重演,因為我們不曾真正感受它:VR如何讓學生「親歷」過去



俗話說「歷史不斷重演」,常被用來形容社會一再重複同樣的錯誤。問題不在於人們不知道事實;許多學生都能背出年代、人名與事件。真正的關鍵在於,歷史往往被當作遙遠而抽象的知識,而不是活生生的人類經驗。若沒有真正感受到過去的恐懼、困惑、希望與道德重量,人們就難以將這些教訓內化。

這正是虛擬實境(VR)可以改變一切的地方。學生不再只是「讀到」一場戰爭、一場抗議或一場饑荒,而是可以進入一個沉浸式的模擬環境,親身置身於那個時刻。他們可以在空襲後的廢墟中行走,聽到難民的聲音,或站在一場歷史性審判的法庭之中。當學習者「親身經歷」歷史,歷史就不再只是課本中的一章。

VR歷史教育可以:

  • 透過讓學生以不同時代、文化與社會階層的人的眼光看世界,培養同理心。

  • 在歷史條件的限制下,迫使學生做出選擇(例如在極權政體中決定是否發聲),進而強化批判性思考。

  • 將「宣傳」、「通貨膨脹」、「殖民」等抽象概念具體化,展現它們對家庭與社群的真實影響。

當然,VR並非萬靈丹。它必須經過嚴謹的歷史研究、多元視角與明確的教學目標來設計。教師仍需引導反思,提出嚴厲的問題,並把虛擬體驗與當代現實連結起來。但若運用得當,VR有助於打破重複的循環。當年輕一代真正感受到過去錯誤的代價,他們重蹈覆轍的可能性就會降低,人類也更有可能向前邁進,而不是在原地打轉。