Laminated ink

As much as I rejoice in spilling my guts to a modest readership of unknown strangers and cheerleader-like family relatives, I halt myself from giving away everything.

I’d like to think that our coloring books are just windows into who we are, and we are all working to understand each other’s. 

It took time for me to confront the fact that wushu wasn’t just a stereotype I was undeniably bound to or a guilty pleasure I was obligated to stow away.

Just like Aly, I, too, feared attention of any form: class presentations, piano recitals, popcorn reading.

I believed my teacher when she explained how drawing trees could help you find peace in the midst of chaos. I liked that idea.

I dived into the unbounded archive of my mind, seeking something meaningful to paint and to show that I wasn’t an empty, echoic body.

I’m unable to precisely pinpoint the moment when you went from a harmless acquaintance to a song.

As I shift to the infinite online universe, this corner of the internet is like my public diary — or, at its best, the entries I wish to share with you.