今天，我們站在這個舞臺， 懷著感恩，也懷抱驕傲， 迎來三條歲月之河在此處迴流— 中文學校半個世紀的耕耘， 文化協會四十五載的守望，《 千橡》雜誌四十年的接續書寫。 五十年前，一羣心懷夢想的人， 在南加州的陽光下，在洛城邊的橡園裡， 種下一粒種子— 印著炎黃的印記， 是文化的血脈，是歸屬的符號。 太平洋邊放下的紙船 飄著鄉愁，也載著 父母的叮嚀。 五十春秋，千人搖籃，中文學校 教孩子寫下第一個「家」的筆劃， 讓他們在橫竪之間找到根， 在方塊之中看見光。 四十五年，文化協會在康谷落地生根， 枝葉伸展著社區的脈動， 如燈塔，照見歸來的方向； 如港灣，安放每一個遠航的心靈。 在街市的紅燈籠下， 在春晚的笑聲裏， 在文化日的舞臺上， 傳遞著一份不改的驕傲與溫柔： 提醒自己從哪裡來， 知道未來還能走多遠。 鼓聲低沉，鑼音高亢， 每一次的擊打都伴着心跳的節奏。 四十年，《千橡》記錄著這片土地的故事。 目錄展開，看花開花落， 書頁翻過，聽潮落潮生。 從手抄的紙頁，到電腦的螢屏， 從剪貼、鉛打、鋼版印刷， 到如今的網路典藏、全球同讀— 每一頁，都浸著汗水與信念； 每一字，都回蕩著社區的脈搏。 《千橡》將屬於我們的故事， 綴成一串晶瑩剔透的珍珠。 把思念、努力與夢想， 編進康谷的微風。 有人說，我們只是過客。 可當我們回首， 樹已成蔭，根已深入地下。 而這片土地， 流淌著汗水和淚水的土地， 早已刻下我們的名字， 潮水衝不去， 野火燒不毀。 有人在燈影下輕聲問， 在這條奔流不息的歲月長河裡， 我們的故事，是否還能寫下? 更明亮的詩章？ 我說— 遠方從不是距離，而是心裡的光。 只要課堂裡仍有稚聲吟誦， 只要文化的火種在心中燃燒， 只要《千橡》的文字繼續溢出芬芳， 我們的路，就會越走越長。 文化永續，是我們穩穩託舉的信念； 薪火相傳，是我們世代守望的溫度； 馭夢千里，是我們共同奔赴的方向。 今夜，我們將故事收在記憶深處， 將夢想交給明天的腳步。 讓文化之光， 照亮每一個清晨的地平線， 讓每一次的出發， 帶回一片天邊絢麗的晚霞。 謝謝大家！ 你的參與， 讓故事得以繼續； 你的鼓勵， 讓每一次的堅持都有了意義。 願我們攜手同行， 讓夢想乘著風， 駛向更遼遠的天際。

Today we stand upon this stage, With gratitude in our hearts, and pride held high, As three long rivers shaped by time and age, Converge beneath the Conejo Valley blue sky— The Chinese School, fifty years of steady care, The CCCA, forty-five years of faithful giving, And the Thousand Oaks Magazine, forty years of passion shared, Each carrying its story, each still living. Fifty years ago, a gathering of dreaming hearts, Beneath the Southern California sun, At Los Angeles’ edge, among the oaks, Planted a seed — small yet solid one. It bore the mark of Yan and Huang, clear and bright, The living blood through which our culture came, A sign of home, of roots that bind us still, A shared belonging, and a shared name. Along the Pacific shore, frail paper boats were sent, To drift with longing on the open sea. They carried parents’ words, so softly spoken, And all the hopes of what we might yet be. In fifty springs and falls, the cradle of thousands— the Chinese School Has taught small hands to write the first true word: home, To trace its opening strokes, and learn, between each line and rule, Where roots take hold — and where the light is shown. For forty-five long years, the Association took root, In the valley’s soil it came to stand, Its branches spread with the rhythm of the streets, The living pulse of a gathered land. A lighthouse, showing paths of return; A harbor, where far-sailed hearts may stay, It casts its light on the homeward turn, And gives the wandering soul a place to lay. Beneath red lanterns in the market streets, In Spring Festival laughter, rising clear, On Culture Day’s illuminated stage, It passes on pride, both firm and dear, A reminder of where our journeys start to fly, A knowledge of how far we yet may roam. The drum beats low, the gongs ring high, Each strike aligned with the heartbeat of home. In forty faithful years, the magazine has told the stories of this land, both near and far. Its contents open wide to blooms and falls, Its pages turn with tides that ebb and are. From hand-copied sheets to glowing screens, From steel-plate press to digital archives read on the webs, Each page is steeped in sweat and faith, Each written word resounds with community’ footsteps. The stories that belong to ours, Are stringed bright, like pearls of crystal rain. Longing and labor, memory and dream, Are woven softly into the ocean breeze’ refrain. Some say we are only passing through. Yet when we turn and look behind, The trees have grown to cast their shade, The roots have reached where depths entwine. This land— A land through which our sweat and tears have run— Has long since carved our names to our heirs, The tides cannot wash them away, Nor can wildfire burn them down, like no one cares. You may ask, beneath the glow of evening lights, Within this river of unceasing time: Can our story still be written on? Can it yet become a brighter line of rhyme? I will answer— Distance is never measured by how far, But by the light the heart can hold. As long as classrooms echo with young voices raised, As long as culture’s flame is kept and told, As long as the TO Magazine lets its words release their scent, Our road will stretch, unbroken, long and bold. Cultural continuity is the faith we lift with care, Shared inheritance, the warmth we guard through time, Dreams that travel far and wide, Are the course on which our spirits climb. Tonight, we gather the stories deep within our keep, And place our dreams into tomorrow’s stride. Let culture’s light, Illumine every morning’s line of dawn. Let every journey outward bring us back A sky at dusk, with colors drawn. Thank you all! Your presence makes the story still unfold, Your encouragement gives meaning. To each step of perseverance, we hold. May we walk together, hand in hand, Let dreams ride on the wind’s command, And sail toward horizons ever more grand.