I retrace my journey, back to the days when I wrote like a teen.  Like someone who had all the heart to speak … with unpolished candidness, daring, but naive.  And now, I speak a little better, but the flames have been blown off one after another.  It is indeed now a little dimmer, but a new beginning yet still.

I marked this day on my virtual calendar.  As I steered away from FaceBook.  For some time, I used that outlet to express, obviously, with the intrinsic desire to be read and understood.  But I suppose with age, the desire to be read and understood wanes and while I still want to be read and understood, let those who actually stumble upon here get a little taste then.

I am translating my mother’s painting teacher’s autobiography from Chinese to English, and I wish that one day, someone actually cares about what I truly had to say, what I have said.