Chinese Medicine and Dignity
When herbal medicine becomes an excuse that preserves dignity, the faith behind it may conceal a helplessness we have failed to see.
- Life
- Reflections
When herbal medicine becomes an excuse that preserves dignity, the faith behind it may conceal a helplessness we have failed to see.
I try to fill every wait and use every spare moment. In the end, it seems no time has been wasted, but I have been scattered into little pieces.
I’m not usually drawn to rap, but this song is an exception. PO8’s verse feels like poetry—perhaps that is what makes it humane.
September is already here and I still have not found a job. On paper this stretch looks free, yet worry about the future keeps me from resting. I keep waiting for the calm that will come after things are settled—and I keep putting life off until tomorrow.
After twice being carried along by angry narratives, I had to ask myself: are we really looking for the truth, or do we prefer stories that fit what we already believe and can bear our emotions?
Even after that emergency story did not hold up, shake-to-open ads still leave me sad: once metrics outrank safety and dignity, we are losing the idea of putting people first.
Maybe what we lack now is this kind of optimism.
The words we said—the beautiful summer has all passed.
Freedom once meant escaping constraints. Now that I have it, endless choices have made it harder to settle into anything—and left me missing the less-free days when everything felt more precious.
Some songs become bound to a time in our lives; whenever we hear them again, the past returns with them.
It is raining tonight. It rained last night too, and I thought of this poem.
In a dream I met someone with no clear face—perhaps no one from waking life at all—yet he was the first to make my heart surge. Years later the details are broken, but the feeling remains.
The accompaniment is better than the full track
Drawing a person's entire character from one small thing—or stretching a single moment into a prophecy about the future—is irresponsible.
Maybe in some parallel world, there aren't so many regrets.
Death was once a word we were not allowed to speak. As loved ones grew old, fell ill, and left, it slowly entered reality—not with answers about life's meaning, but with a clearer view of how finite and fragile we are, and how tomorrow was never guaranteed.
An argument in a game made me reconsider anger, kindness, and boundaries—and how I should face people who offer no kindness in return.
It, too, accompanied me through the long years.
A quiet summer, with stars scattered across the sky.
This is a love poem.
I call the silence, sadness, and negativity spreading from person to person in this disillusioned age sadness-negativity syndrome.
I have so many thoughts, yet I don't want to write. But what becomes of them if I don't? By now, even I am tired.
Rather than a carefully polished monument, I would leave behind the secrets, shame, and darkness that reveal a whole person who truly existed.
A medal can establish the distinction of its recipient, but it cannot automatically establish the superiority of a system. Two medals should not be allowed to hide the real questions.
I often imagine how a future, successful self would see me now. So much that once felt life-or-death later barely matters.
The bathroom may not be comfortable, but at home it is one of the few places that becomes yours simply by closing the door.
If we may never grow old, why mortgage all of today to a future we can only imagine?
Design moves toward perfection through revision, yet also reveals its imperfections with every pass; I grow tired in the patching, and more realistic in the gauntness of reality.
A child bought a bag of ice cream for fifty cents, and it reminded me that some joys used to be cheap and simple.
The day is always full of things, while evening is much calmer. Whether for work, for life, or even for doing nothing, it is a fine hour.
My mind is often full of thoughts, yet they dissolve the moment I try to write them down.
From a shelved attempt at running a public account to discovering an independent blog that helped me learn: why I want a place of my own online.