8.12.26
I turn 30 years old in six days. Last year at this time I was wandering around Shanghai alone and then hiding in my hostel room, turning up and the AC and then turning it down. Sometimes August feels like a cruel month to have been born in. There's sunlight everywhere, but where are the people?
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Crying on the phone to A at midnight, I tell him, I just feel like I can't get anything right in life or love. I felt very young in that instant. We're all here, and then one day we're gone. All I wanted was for you to say, give me a second, I'll give you a call, I want to hear your voice, and you're not alone.
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What kind of beast would turn its life into words?
What atonement is this all about?
– and yet, writing words like these, I’m also living.
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Sometimes I have to laugh at myself. All this fear that nobody loves me. Yes I'm afraid. Yes I'm laughing. When we hide from each other, we are also hiding from ourselves. I'm writing to you and also through you. What was I trying to do? Oh yes, that walk up the snowy hill in the height of winter, the moonlight through the trees, the memory of holding your hand for the first time, and the shadow of the tree behind me on the wall...
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