Whatever comes to mind. Sometimes a story I read, sometimes something that came to me while holding my mala beads.
On TikTok, a woman wrote: 'Three weeks in, my shoulders finally let go.' She was doing Baduanjin — the slow routine I watched my grandfather do in the park and found unbearably boring as a kid. Nine hundred years old, it has traveled from a Song dynasty official's midnight to a New York balcony.
A blonde girl on TikTok lit her first moxa stick, and the comments ran into the tens of thousands. I stared at the screen — not surprised that foreigners found moxibustion, but because the smell seemed to drift right out of the screen. My mom has been doing it for thirty years. "A seven-year illness needs mugwort aged three years."
A blonde woman on TikTok was scraping her jaw with a small white stone. The comments were all "adding to cart." I stared at that stone for a long time — it's a gua sha board. My mom keeps one in her bedside drawer, buffalo horn. In my home it treats heatstroke. Across the ocean, it's a $35 beauty tool. Same board, two destinies.
A blonde girl on TikTok doing Ba Duan Jin with imperfect form. After three years of practice, I realize — it doesn't matter if your form is perfect. What matters is whether you're willing to give your body eight minutes a day.
A TikTok video of a girl sunning her back went viral. This is exactly what my mom forced me to do every summer — and I finally understand why.
I never thought I'd become a morning exercise person. Then I saw the whole world doing Ba Duan Jin on TikTok. A Chinese practitioner rediscovering their own culture through foreigners. After 30 days, my shoulders loosened, my neck stopped cracking, even meditation felt more grounded.