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【透视社·健康科普】烧水除塑有方法饮水安全新招揭秘_我的网站

女婴起名王者荣耀

A |

Elliot James Reay sings on stage at a Chinese live show. Photo: Courtesy of UMG
Elliot James Reay could have copied every other Western act and sung a Taylor Swift cover. Instead, he took 1950s rock'n'roll to a live TV show where autotune is switched off and discovered a version of fame that Britain has forgotten.
Elliot James Reay was traveling in the US, trying to finish a song, when his manager called. There was an invitation to join Singer 2026, a prime-time live music show in China. Reay didn't hesitate. He had traveled the world before he was a full-time musician, but had run out of money before reaching China. "I went everywhere but China," he said while sitting for an interview with the Global Times, sitting in the office of his label in Beijing, from which the Palace Museum can be seen not far away.
Reay is, in the West, a very 2020s kind of artist. He began posting short covers on short video platform TikTok in 2019; during the UK Covid lockdown, he chose to focus on growing his fan base. He now has millions of followers across platforms, and his debut single notched 10 million views before it was even released. In the British industry, this is both a leg-up and a trap. "You can have all the followers," he says, "but they don't guarantee people will buy tickets."
In China, that equation flipped.
Elliot James Reay sings on stage at a Chinese live show. Photo: Courtesy of UMG

Elliot James Reay sings on stage Photo: Courtesy of UMG
Nervous again
The Chinese show, Singer 2026 is broadcast completely live, with no pitch correction. For Reay, who had played enough small gigs to feel comfortable in his own skin, it was a shock. "I haven't felt nerves in a long time," he says. "But I've never been in a competition before. To have my singing judged against other people made me really nervous."
He watched Week One's performances from the wings and saw why. "The standard was terrifying," he says.
But the format, he admits, is something the UK no longer has: a televised singing contest that treats vocal ability as a public event, not a pre-packaged product. "It made me feel like I just started my career again."
Reay's lane is retro. Not as pastiche, but as lineage. He wears the silhouette of Elvis Presley, sings in the grain of 1950s pop, and writes songs that sound like they were cut from a Sun Records demo. He could have sanded it down for Chinese audiences, but he didn't.
"Someone has to start the wave before you can see it," he says. Among the songs he performed were "Unchained Melody" and his original track "I Think They Call This Love," which he co-wrote with his girlfriend. He points out that the Beatles still sit next to Taylor Swift on the radio, and that pop started in the 50s. "It's the foundations of pop," he says.
Learning to feel the words
In the final, Reay performed a bilingual version of the Chinese song "Hou Hui Wu Qi" (The End of the World). It was his first time singing in another language. He spent five days learning the Chinese lyrics, listening to the original on loop.
"There are sounds in Chinese we just don't have in English," he says. "I couldn't hear the difference at first. I'd say it, and Helen (his translator) would say, 'No.' I thought I was saying the same thing." Eventually, he stopped trying to hear it and started trying to feel it. "It became more about how it felt to say it. How I place my tongue in my mouth," he says.
He didn't understand the meaning until day three. "Helen gave me a card with the Chinese characters and the English translation. It's very poetic," he says. The performance received a strong reaction, with it being called an attempt at "cultural fusion."
He had saved his own original, "I Think They Call This Love," co-written with his girlfriend, for the same final. He had held the song back deliberately. "I knew that any week was my last week," he says, "but I knew that if I made it to the grand final that I had to do it then." He had no idea it would become the last song of the entire show.
When he finished, he walked straight off stage, took his girlfriend's hand, and the two of them left together, a moment that trended on Chinese social media that night.
The song is about the exact point they realized they were in love; it was also the first track of his career he fully believed in and pushed into the world. Having her there to watch it live, after weeks of her only seeing performances on a phone in a hotel room, "tied the whole thing in a bow at the end."
A touring musician, not a TikToker
Reay is open about the tension between his origin story and his ambition. "I don't want to be a TikTok celebrity," he says. "I'm a musician. I want to tour."
The platform gave him an audience, but it also boxed him in. He remembers friends who wrote incredible songs during lockdown, while he chose to build a fan base. Now, he says, some of those friends have had to stop writing and make TikTok videos instead.
China, he says, gave him permission to be both an online creator and a live performer. Universal Music, his label, didn't push him to chase trends. "They never said, 'Do this, do that,'" he says. "They supported what I wanted to sing, and then they made it the best version they could."
Before Reay, a string of international artists had already found warm receptions and career-shifting opportunities in China. Kazakhstani singer Dimash Kudaibergen, Malaysian star Shila Amzah, US country artist Mickey Guyton, British vocalist Jessie J, and French singer-songwriter Joyce Jonathan all won large Chinese audiences through high-profile television appearances and live performances, each using the platform to open a new chapter in their careers.
He's already planning a return. He wants to bring a tour. He wants to buy the traditional instruments he saw on set and take them home to England. "I'm going to learn how to play them," he says, "and maybe put them into my music."
The advice he'd give other Western artists looking East is to stay loyal to yourself. "Be yourself," he says. "It's very easy to want to change yourself to fit into a market, but at the end of the day, if you stay true to yourself, you'll be happy."
"In the UK, I felt like I needed to do other things to make other people happy," he says.
"If I hadn't stopped doing that, I wouldn't be sitting here. I wouldn't have done the show. My whole journey would be different," he says.
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B | 水是构成人体成分的重要物质并发挥着重要的生理作用，足量饮水是保障身体健康的基础，也能帮我们维持正常的身体活动和认知能力。近期，《美国国家科学院院刊》发布了一项惊人研究，揭示每升瓶装水中平均含有约24万个可检出的塑料微粒，并且，瓶装水在我们反复开关以及高温暴晒的条件下会使水中含有更多的微塑料。

C | 这些纳米级的塑料颗粒能够进入我们的肠道或肺部细胞，进而穿越血液，抵达心脏和大脑，甚至对孕妇而言，它们能穿越胎盘，进入胎儿体内。　　那么，面对这样的污染，我们如何保障自己的饮水安全呢？把水烧开能否有效降低微塑料的含量呢？　　1.微塑料对人体有什么危害？　　微塑料是指直径小于5毫米的塑料颗粒，更小尺寸的还有微米、纳米级的微塑料，因此它也被统称为微纳塑料（MNPs）。微塑料来源于生产和生活，如汽车轮胎与路面摩擦、化妆品成分、洗衣废水以及塑料垃圾在陆地和海洋漂流中碰撞、分解等，都会产生大量微塑料。　　随着研究的深入，目前微塑料的概念已经扩大到从纳米到毫米的范畴（1毫米等于1000微米；1微米等于1000纳米），而且是形状多样的非均匀塑料颗粒混合体，肉眼难以分辨。微塑料对人体健康的潜在影响：包括可能诱发氧化应激、促进炎症、内分泌紊乱和代谢紊乱等，从而增加多种疾病发生风险。　　2.把水烧开是一种简单有效降低微塑料含量的方法　　近期关于瓶装水中微塑料的研究结果令人震惊，这让我们不得不重新审视我们的饮水习惯。

D | 对于大多数家庭来说，把水烧开是一种简单且有效的杀菌方法。　　关于微塑料，烧开水确实能在一定程度上降低其含量。当水被烧开时，微塑料颗粒会与水中的碳酸钙结合，形成沉淀物。通过简单的过滤，我们可以去除高达84%的微塑料。因此，把水烧开再喝，确实是一个降低微塑料摄入的有效方法。　　当水被加热至沸腾时，微塑料颗粒由于密度和大小的差异，会与水中的其他物质发生分离，一部分会沉淀到水底。因此，在烧开水之后，如果条件允许，我们可以使用过滤器或纱布进行简单的过滤，进一步减少水中的微塑料颗粒。

E | 　　3.如何保证饮水安全？　　（1）选择质量好的瓶装水：购买瓶装水时，注意查看产品标签和认证信息，选择有质量保证的品牌。避免购买来源不明或价格过于低廉的瓶装水。　　（2）定期更换水壶和水杯：即使是高质量的水壶和水杯，长期使用也可能磨损，导致微塑料产生。建议定期更换，保持清洁。　　（3）安装家用净水器：安装家用净水器可以有效去除水中的杂质和微塑料颗粒，提供更安全的饮用水。　　（4）使用不锈钢或玻璃材质水壶：烧水更安全，因为这些材质不易释放微塑料颗粒。　　所以，我们要尽量避免使用塑料水壶，尤其是在高温下，塑料中的化学物质可能会加速分解，增加微塑料的风险。减塑降碳。

F | 图源：卡乐图片（摄影/宁颖）　　4.减少微塑料摄入的生活小妙招　　科学家建议，由于微塑料主要通过饮食和器具进入人体，一些生活方式也有助于减少微塑料的摄入。　　（1）尽量减少选用预包装食品，特别是加工程度非常高的食品。每一个加工过程都可能会增加食品当中微塑料的含量，尽可能吃一些原型的食物，同时减少塑料容器包装的食品摄入。　　（2）平时不食用动物、鱼类的内脏。海洋本身就存在着微塑料的污染，鱼类以及海产品长期生活在这个环境中，所含的微塑料就会更高，经常食用海鲜或者深海鱼，摄入微塑料的含量也会增多。　　（3）减少外卖和快餐的摄入。外卖和快餐包装中常含有大量塑料，不仅可能产生微塑料，还可能含有其他有害物质。尽量自己做饭，既健康又环保。　　（4）不粘锅出现划痕后尽量不要再用。