Whatever comes to mind. Sometimes a story I read, sometimes something that came to me while holding my mala beads.
For three years my desk faced away from the corridor, and I thought I was just tired. Then an elder asked: what's behind your seat? In Chinese, a sense of safety is measured by your back — a mountain to lean on. Not superstition, but observation the body already knew. A small story about moving a desk.
A friend woke at 3 a.m. to a figure standing at the foot of the bed — her own reflection. Half a world apart, cultures that never met are afraid of the same piece of glass. Unwrap the frightening language, and what's inside is the same simple thing: a good night's sleep.
A friend lit a bundle of sage to purify her new apartment. Watching the smoke, I thought of the peach wood sword at home. Door gods, spring couplets, cinnabar, red string — behind the Chinese system of protection lies one ancient question: when you're afraid, what can your hand hold?
Cleaning out a drawer, I found a stone Pixiu I bought years ago for thirty yuan. The vendor said it has a mouth but no other end — nothing comes out. Now foreigners on TikTok call it the money beast. I finally understood: it isn't for asking wealth. It's for watching over what you have.
A while back I had dinner with a friend. She looked at me, started to say something, then stopped. Then she said it anyway: "You're not a bad catch, you know. How come nothing's ever happening?" I sm...