有捨必有得 Making Space for Light
有捨必有得
第一次上花道課時，我遲遲不敢下剪。
眼前有些花開得正好，有些枝葉伸展出優美的弧線。它們都很美，美得令人不忍心捨去。於是我拿著剪刀，反覆猶豫，總覺得若把它們剪去，彷彿失去了一些什麼。
老師只是微笑著說：
「有捨必有得。」
當時的我並沒有真正明白。
後來才慢慢發現，花道裡很多重要的事情，並不在於「增加」，而在於「減去」。
減去多餘的枝葉，
減去凌亂的方向，
減去那些看似美麗，卻無法真正成就整體的部分。
有時候，一枝花離開了作品，整個空間反而開始呼吸；
有時候，一片葉子被剪去，留下的線條反而變得更加清晰。
原來，捨去從來不是失去。
它是在為另一種美騰出位置。
後來我開始覺得，人生何嘗不是如此。
我們總習慣把很多東西握得很緊：
某段已經走遠的關係、
某種不再適合自己的期待、
某些身份、執念，甚至過去的自己。
我們害怕放手。
因為總以為，只要再努力一點，再抓緊一點，也許就不會失去。
然而生命有時像花道。
並不是把所有東西留下，便會變得更完整。
有些枝葉若不修剪，便看不見天空；
有些東西若不放下，便沒有空間讓新的光進來。
我想起《進擊的巨人》裡一個讓我無比感動的想法：
「能夠帶來改變的人，是那些有能力捨棄某些東西的人；無法捨棄的人，便無法改變。」
以前我覺得「捨棄」是一件很悲傷的事。
後來才明白，它更像修剪枝葉。
不是因為它沒有價值，
不是因為它不美，
而是因為生命正在邀請我們，看見更遼闊的風景。
如今，每次練習花道時，我仍然會仔細凝視每一片花瓣、每一段枝條。
然後安靜地問自己：
什麼應該留下？
什麼應該放手？
因為真正的完整，或許從來不是擁有得更多。
而是學會在適當的時候，溫柔地捨去。
也許人生最深的豐盛，不是在手裡握住多少東西。
而是在經歷無數次取捨之後，仍然能夠為靈魂留下呼吸與光的空間。
Making Space for Light
The first time I attended an Ikebana class, I hesitated to make the cut.
Some flowers were blooming beautifully; some branches curved with quiet elegance. Everything seemed beautiful, too beautiful to let go of. Holding the scissors, I hesitated again and again, feeling that if I cut them away, I would somehow lose something precious.
My sensei simply smiled and said:
“In letting go, there is another kind of receiving.”
At that time, I did not truly understand.
Only later did I realise that many important lessons in Ikebana are not about adding more, but about removing.
Removing unnecessary branches.
Removing distractions.
Removing things that appear beautiful, yet do not allow the whole arrangement to become what it is meant to be.
Sometimes, after one flower is removed, the entire arrangement begins to breathe.
Sometimes, after a single leaf is cut away, the remaining lines become clearer.
I slowly understood:
letting go was never truly a form of loss.
It was making space for another kind of beauty.
And perhaps life is not so different.
We hold tightly to many things:
relationships that have already drifted away,
expectations that no longer fit who we are,
old identities, old attachments, even former versions of ourselves.
We fear letting go.
Because we imagine that if we hold on a little longer, try a little harder, perhaps nothing will disappear.
Yet life often resembles Ikebana.
Keeping everything does not necessarily make an arrangement complete.
If branches are never trimmed, the sky cannot be seen.
If certain things are never released, new light has nowhere to enter.
I once came across a powerful idea:
“People who can bring about change are those who are capable of abandoning everything… People who cannot sacrifice anything cannot change anything.” from “Attack On Titan”
I used to think sacrifice was something sorrowful.
Now I think it resembles pruning branches.
Not because they lack value.
Not because they are not beautiful.
But because life is gently inviting us to see a wider horizon.
Even now, whenever I practise, I still pause and quietly observe every petal and every branch.
And I ask myself:
What should remain?
What should be released?
Because perhaps true fullness never comes from possessing more.
Perhaps it comes from learning, at the right moment, to let go with gentleness.
And perhaps life’s deepest abundance is found not in what we hold in our hands—
but in the space we leave for light and breathing within the soul.
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