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Her Love moved to anticipation.
She shifted Her Gesture
around the timid, velvet –
Softness – a Tenderness gently welled Her;
Her Sweetness, Her Silence was better
than laughter,
memories,
desire,
lust.

My birthday is in winter.

On December 9th 2005, I was born.

It was “the best day of my life.”

I love to feel, and my life allows me to experience things, to touch the water bottle next to my bedside, to see the beautiful garden outside my windows, to smell the slightly strong candle scent in my dorm room, to hear the loud exploding sounds of fireworks, to taste spice from all over the world, to interact with people, to have genuine conversations, to travel, and to be myself.

I experience devastation, anger, and helplessness very often, and music helps me cope.

Honestly, I am glad to be where I am,
“Right now, I'm just happy to be alive.”

Spring, for me, is ephemeral. Spring is a rush of ecstatic feelings that won’t last - but I wish it would stay forever. Spring was before high school, before worrying about colleges, before all pain. Spring is an infant-like, innate happiness.

Spring means putting on headphones, traveling to my favorite french concession coffee shop in downtown Shanghai, and immersing myself in 70s Japanese jazz while sipping perfectly brewed coffee.

The song - カーリーとキャロル - from Shigeo Sekito’s album (the world ii) perfectly epitomizes such feelings. Every time I listen to the exquisitely constructed melody with woodwind instruments, I am dragged through space and time, to my hometown, to where I was born, and to where I grew up. A few years ago, this song brought me pleasure. Now, this song brings me much more than simple pleasure; it brings me a feeling of home and a desire for my family to reunite again.

The other day, as I was contemplating adding more parts to this series, I saw a book on the shelves of our local bookstore called Stories From the Tenants Downstairs by Sidik Fofana. I was stunned because it was such an amazing novel. The characters felt alive, everything felt real. From the well-captured vernacular English to the amazing descriptions of characters' gestures, pain, happiness, growth... An amazing book.

Coincidentally, this series was supposed to be like that, too -- excluding the community aspect while focusing on individual households. Slowly, it seems like the characters are just disconnected. I'll wait for some inspiration before continuing the series, perhaps inspiration I will receive after finishing Fofana's novel.

UPDATE April 17:
Still haven't finished the novel - I kinda got lost in some character relationships.

I visited Mrs. Romero in her quiet little house on a hill by the southern coast of Maine. The salty stench of seaweed hung heavily in the air while I slowly trudged towards her discolored house. I stood in front of her door and pressed the rusty doorbell. “Bzzzzz,” the bell led out a loud whirring sound. As I waited for her to open the door, the gusts of winter ocean breeze gashed my face like countless bee stings. I pulled up my red scarf and rubbed my hands impatiently. After what felt like a whole hour, I heard loud footsteps from striding to the door. “Oh, there you are,” she said as she unbolted her door locks one by one, “I’ve been waiting for you.”