Everyone has a story. I don't believer anyone can go through life without encountering at least one amazing thing.

I walk out of the room, lurching under the weight of the lesson I've learned less than one hour into wifehood: How quickly the sweetest love turns rancid when it isn't returned. When the one you love loves someone else.

There was an unexpected freedom in finding out that one wasn't as important as one had always assumed!

Or is this how humans survive, shrugging off history, immersing themselves in the moment?

I tried to hold on to this compassion, sensing its preciousness, but even as I reached to grasp it, it dissipated into wisps. No revelation can endure unless it is bolstered by a calm pure mind- and I'm afraid I didn't possess that.

Monday is the day of silence, day of the whole white mung bean, which is sacred to the moon.

How can I forgive if you are not ready to give up that which caused you to stumble?