Books & Reflections

You seem, in your great calmness and quietness of heart, numb to my kind of mental turbulence, great exuberance and unbearable heart pang. I envy your peace, but dislike your detachment, too cold for my heart overcome by feeling, by soaring and by the mire. Yours is the type of personality I have yet to understand, who remain an enigma and forever at a distance from me. Others do share your vulnerabilities and joy, and I was bitter, but I have understood that the contrast is

Yesterday I came across a random teacher's post about a question she sometimes adds to the end of her tests: “How are you? Are you happy? Stressed? Home life okay? School life okay? Tell me how you’re doing! Can I do anything to make your life better?" I read the question, and cried. It's the kind of presence I want to be, the kind of question I want to be asked. I get these flashes of wistfulness, of defiance (不服气), of regret (可惜). What a shame (好可惜), and I ache; it stings.

I say that I want to leave here for California, but a fortune-teller whisper suggests that I never will. Not because I'm trapped, but out of my own free will. How ironic, because New York City is this place that made me say "I feel trapped" and "I'm so stuck." This place makes me feel like I have no place. Whichever room I enter, I feel like either an outsider or an imposter. I'm not high enough yet not low enough; not cool enough and not uncool enough; not fancy enough and n

It's perception, Association, Reinforcement. There was a certain innocence between You and I. Yes, I can still trust. But there's always the battle of reservation, A certain heaviness, Confrontation of the heart. How do I trust You like a child again? I read of Your power with gravity, but not awe. When You exchange Egypt for me, I bring to You an objection, Instead of feel Your love, Though I believe it. Who is the clay to question the potter— I understand, but I blink back