获赞近千万！这位重新“养自己”的56岁阿姨火了

近日，@祝薪雁的视频账号火了。

这位阿姨的视频里镜头所及，不过是灶台窗边、街头巷尾的寻常。但她却拥有46.7万粉丝，视频获赞超948万。

Zhu Xinyan has recently gained widespread attention on social media. Her videos capture nothing extraordinary — just everyday scenes from the kitchen, windows, and streets. Yet, she has attracted 467,000 followers and received over 9.48 million likes.

原来真正动人的不在画面里，而是她为每个视频配上的文字——寥寥几句，白描感十足，温暖而自然，又透着诗意与哲理。

她的文字历经时间的沉淀，有着生活本身的质地与温度，轻易便能触到人心柔软处。

With a few spare, evocative sentences, Zhu transforms mundane scenes into reflections brimming with warmth, wisdom, and a gentle, philosophical grace. Her words, polished by a lifetime of experience, carry an authenticity that resonates deeply with a vast online audience.

Her writings offer a quiet antidote to modern anxiety. When feeling low, scrolling through her page feels like a moment of gentle solace.

mundane /mʌnˈdeɪn/ adj. 单调的，平凡的，平淡的；世俗的，尘世的

网友纷纷给她留言：“姨，太会写了，眼泪哗哗流”“就好像是我的邻居，只言片语里全是人间温暖”“真正的文学来自于生活吧”。

当你觉得“心里不得劲儿”时，也许她的文字能温柔治愈你。

她写陪伴母亲吃面：

我煮了两碗面，自己的那碗早见了底，便坐在一旁静静看着九十岁的妈妈吃。她碗里还剩大半，可每夹起一筷子面条都嚼得喷香，我瞧着这模样，心里乐滋滋的。

I cooked two bowls of noodles. Mine was soon empty, so I sat quietly watching my ninety-year-old mother eat. Her bowl was still half full, yet she chewed each bite with such relish. Seeing this filled me with joy.

这份乐里藏着暖，也悄悄裹着酸，我忽然明白，能这样看着妈妈好好吃饭，便是我此刻最珍贵的唯一。

That joy held warmth, but also a hint of ache. I suddenly understood: watching mom eat well is the most precious gift I have right now.

她写煎豆腐：

筷子翻豆腐，焦痕漫开，像未说的话生了斑。

Flipping tofu in the pan, the browning spreads like unspoken words developing spots.

她写参加宴席：

人凑得齐，看着闹，心里却空得慌。这饭，是送你的。

Everyone's here, it looks lively, yet my heart feels hollow. This meal is for you.

她写大姐搓“白粑粑”：

大姐搓的“白粑粑”，在锅里滚着滚着就黄了。她眼里的光没灭，只是添了层化不开的倦，人生大抵也是这般，熬着熬着就有了颜色。

The "white cakes" my sister rolls turn golden as they simmer in the pot. The light in her eyes hasn't gone out — it's just veiled with a weariness that won't dissolve. Life is much the same: we simmer and simmer until we gain our own color.

她写和同乡人一起烤火：

旧去新来，家乡火旺，挨着坐身暖，突然想起，鼻子一酸，又笑着往里靠。

The old year goes, the new arrives. The hometown fire burns strong.Sitting among my people, warmth finds me. A memory catches in my throat — I smile, and lean into them.

她写大鹅：

虽为家禽身，总跟主人半步远，拖车载物不偏倚，慢了等、快了撵，比人还知伴。

Though born as poultry, they follow their owner half a step behind, pulling carts without swaying, waiting if he's slow, hurrying if he's fast — more companionable than some people.

鹅叫得勤，院静得很，偏偏这生，怎么绕，都出不去。

The geese call often; the courtyard stays quiet. Yet this life, however you turn, never quite finds a way out.

她在路上看见两个小孩，写下：

佝偻的肩扛着两份喧闹，小脚步踩碎回忆，路边掉着我捡不回的童年。

Bent shoulders carry two loads of noise. Little footsteps crush memories. By the roadside lies a childhood I can't pick back up.

她写酸汤鱼：

鱼蜷酸汤，凉拌菜凉。满桌鲜，“喂”了窗。

Fish curled in sour broth, cold dishes chilled. A table full of freshness "fed" to the window.

她写煮鸡蛋：

蛋壳碎了不代表鸡蛋废了，反而少了一层束缚，能更快融入汤里、粥里，活出另一种滋味。

A cracked shell doesn't mean the egg is ruined. Instead, it sheds a layer of restraint, blending sooner into the soup or porridge, living a new flavor.

生活里的小意外从不是终点，只要内核还在，就总能熬出属于自己的温度。

Small accidents in life are never the end. As long as the core remains, we can always simmer into our own warmth.

根据阿姨写的《黔山的回忆》可知，她是七零年生人，长在贵州的山里。家里姊妹六个，母亲攥着锄头在坡地刨包谷，父亲退伍回来后被分配到公社上班。她回忆山里的“日子裹着山雾的潮，苦是土坎上的苔藓，浸在日子里，又黏着点柴火的暖。”

后来她终于走出了大山，“可梦里总飘着芭茅草灰的味、煤油灯的光，还有山路上，母亲提着饭竹筒走在前头的影子——这些碎在黔山雾里的细枝末节，早成了扎在骨血里的根，顺着血管，把山里的暖，牵得很长，很长。”

According to her work "Memories of the Guizhou Mountains", Zhu was born in the 1970s and grew up in the hills of Guizhou province. With five siblings, her mother dug corn from the slopes with a hoe, while her father, after returning from the army, was assigned to work for the commune. She recalls, "Those days were wrapped in the damp of mountain mist. Hardship was like moss on the earthen ridges, soaked into daily life, yet clinging to the warmth of the firewood."

She eventually left the mountains, "Yet my dreams still carry the scent of gray cogon grass, the glow of kerosene lamps, and the shadow of my mother walking ahead on the mountain path, carrying a bamboo lunch pail — these fragments, scattered in the Guizhou mist, have long taken root in my bones and blood, stretching the mountain's warmth long, so long through my veins."

她说：“半生走过，如今最盼两件事：一是把真心待我的人好好疼惜，让日子满是安稳；二是抱抱曾经那个慌慌张张、没被好好照顾的小姑娘，补她一场迟到的温柔。”

生活赠她以粗粝的过往，她却回馈以温柔的凝视与通透的解读。

阿姨的文字安然地呈现出生活本来的纹路，让你看见：每一个看似微不足道的瞬间，都值得被郑重其事地铭记与深爱。

She says, "Having lived half my life, I now hope for two things: first, to truly cherish those who have treated me with sincerity, filling my days with peace; and second, to hold that once frantic, poorly cared-for little girl, and give her the tenderness that arrived too late."

Life handed Zhu a rough past, but she returns its gaze with a poet's gentle eye and a philosopher's clarity. In a noisy digital world, her account stands as a quiet testament to a powerful truth: every ordinary moment holds a hidden depth, worthy of being noticed, remembered, and loved.

你平时有用文字记录感受的习惯吗？欢迎评论区分享。

来源：新华每日电讯 “CCTV纪录”微信公众号

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