But now that I am old, moving every year closer to the end of my life, I also feel closer to the beginning. And I remember everything that happened that day becasue it has happened many times in my life. The same innocence, trust, and restlessness; the wonder, fear, and lonliness. How I lost myself. I remember all these things. And tonight, on the fifteenth day of the eighth moon, I also remember what I asked the Moon Lady so long ago. I wished to be found.

And after I played them both a few times, I realized they were two halves of the same song.

No two languages are ever sufficiently similar to be considered as representing the same social reality. The worlds in which different societies live are distinct worlds, not merely the same world with different labels attached.

That is the way it is with a wound. The wound begins to close in on itself, to protect what is hurting so much. And once it is closed, you no longer see what is underneath, what started the pain.

I felt foolish and tired, as if I had been running to escape someone chasing me, only to look behind to discover there was no one there.

I hid my deepest feelings so well I forgot where I placed them.

I'd like to be more forgiving. There are times when I've had a hard time forgiving people who have betrayed me.