don’t know where I’m going cause I don’t know where I’ve been

Perhaps as of late here I’ve been vague, maybe alienating or straight up harrowing. Well, see. I checked in a mental hospital, thought I was going to stay there for a handful of weeks and be up on my merry way again. It’s been ten months (apparently – where has the time gone). Full-time therapy and also I am trying working on my ghosting thesis. Life gets in the way of this and that and so on until I realised I stopped doing so many things I loved. Writing inane nothings, tinkering with websites until I give up crying out of frustration, spending half a day on an outfit and trying take a photo of it… I mean I guess people see it as so silly and narcissistic but it is really just very me. I miss it though I don’t feel like I have anything to show or share or give. It’s sort of also like the early quiet days, speaking in a void that may not be a void but you.

I’m scared that this blog will be cached and saved by google for future employers or even friends to find. But I don’t want to give in to that fear or that particular urge I feel to era make myself less than.

it whispers

Ōtomo no Yakamochi (Vol. 19, poem 4291) in Man’yōshū.


Currently I’m dipping my toes and fingernails in the realm of the impossible. The one where boundaries live. Maybe the true ghost realm (for me?). The one that’s easily forgotten, but once known, turns towards you with a painful weird sort of vengeance. Slippery, only vaguely visible, seemingly unreal, often cited as unnatural. Ghost-like; hard to catch, to see, to understand and when they do show themselves they bring a pain and truth hard to swallow. And as ghosts do, they make you look to the past and into yourself.

Difficult, too, because it often comes with the realisation you are not as emotionally impenetrable and tough as you might have believed and wished you were. Tip tap, clicking and clacking, tok tok tok tok clank clank clank and booming. The sound of people, places, things, situations, little sometimes petty things crossing, without regard. Because how could there be understanding when you never knew these were boundaries (not meant to be crossed)? Or when they were crossed so often it no longer seemed like a strict line. Or when you were brought up believing your lack of clean delineators is what made you good, open, special. And, you whisper, are you sure these are boundaries, why can’t they be crossed because, if you look at it rationally and you take in the context of all these years then perhaps stepping on me was justified? Don’t you think?

Breathe. Pause. Distance. Observe. Look.

Kai Cheng Thom, A Place Called no Homeland


Do I let myself collapse ever inward, or can I chose to expand and draw a criss-crossing of lines and tell you: beware not to cross them. In a sense, don’t I let my old self, or rather my self that lives in other’s eyes collapse? And if so, what will my expansion come to mean to those around me? I am scared to ask if anger is in the mix. What will you do when you are not allowed to stomp so casually anymore? Or not allowed to stomp at all?

Maybe I’ll hum, sometimes I’ll whisper but can I show my ghostly boundaries, say them aloud? I’m terrified.

Remembrance of Earth’s Past


Liu Cixin has made me question every sci-story every invented for its lack of vision. Cixin’s The Three Body Problem was so grand in scope, so truly “hard sci-fi” yet at the same time managed to capture humanity, individualism, doubt uncertainty, unfailing hope. All while narrating the start and end of our entire universe (as we know it).

When I first started the first novel of its trilogy I remember nearly wanting to quit on every new page I turned. I thought, it’s too heavy, it’s too dense, there’s too many characters to keep track of, I don’t understand the history of 1960s communist China well enough! And so on. Luckily, sometimes, I can be quite stubborn so I kept reading. And somewhere around a 30% progress I couldn’t stop reading the strange mix of whodunnit metaphysical existential mystery novel it had become. Complete with a mysterious game mixing history and improbable planetary revolutions. I thought of Gibson’s Neuromancer and general Kafka but there’s no point in comparison.

Then I met the woman who pressed a button and became a revolutionary and inspired an inevitable followers dissipating into various factions. The game. The daughter. The mysterious suicides. Who can stop reading after that?

But what impacted me most and I mean truly changed my outlook on life, fiction, the universe, was the last book of the trilogy: Death’s End. How can I even mention anything that captures the scope of the book? There is Sophone; particle, electron, photon and I know her as 子, in an alphabet I cannot even comprehend. The infatuated student who buys a star and lets his brain float in space. The female scientist from another era sleeping and waking throughout time till the end. The Wallfacer, and how I wish I could really understand him. Aliens we never get to see or meet but who permeate every aspect of earth’s life as soon as that one button’s pushed. An universe beyond our comprehension. How can it work? But also: why not? I don’t have a scientifically inclined mind but I did not need to and there is always imagination to fill any gaps.


Now I turn on Netflix, catch some sci-fi show (and though I am aware of the inherent racism, lack of budget or maybe lack of dare. I realise it want to say something about Humanity or Society but all it often does is fall into the same old black and white tropes of evil versus good, it throws in some unbearable romantic plot with no feeling whatsoever, I suppose to keep those ladies watching, and mostly is nothing more but propaganda for that One (pseudo-)democratic government or rouge group to save all those oppressed peoples who know of nothing better, who have no culture of their own, who have no thought of their own. I read yet another sci-fi novel, finish the last page. Close that Netflix tab and I cannot stop thinking: who will every make me wonder, imagine, astound, feel and realize the beautiful and ugly complexity of life as much as Cixin did?