The Gift

Writing as an analysis

It’s not just I am tired of letting life happen to me. I probably just don’t wanna wait, at all.

Love of a foreigner

My alienation to the language and my unfaithful interpretations of it romanticized everything he said to me. I built up my life on it until one day he left me for good and I realized he was and would never be there for me. I was not only a foreigner to this country, but to the little space I once thought we would reside and build our world together.


Dec 8th, 2012

I regard writing so highly, not because of my affiliations to the fictional world or to the deliberation of the past, but I am rather very self-consciously writing my way out of them. Through writing, I try to discover how little I have lived to the contingent making of the selves and how much I have been shaping my life like I am creating a character. I wanted so much to be perfect, not in the sense of being good at everything and having a perfect life, but to have a deliberative and reflective life trajectory so that at the end of the day, I can say that I choose the way I live. But truth is, by living a life that’s based on an idea for fiction, on thinking about “how to live”, I lost so much more from just living it. Nearly all my intimate relationships fail, because I am in a major commitment with myself, a relationship so demanding that I have to turn blindness to the ones I have with other people. 

Dec 19, 2012. 12:51 AM

As I retell the story for the thousandth time, I realize this reconciliation has left out what constitutes the heart of all romance, the longing to be wanted and the need to be seen as extraordinary. Me being in love and later forced out of love cannot be rendered emancipatory only because in the end I manage to yield honor to both sides in this fateful and compassionate affair. Outside this pathos and the endearing mutuality of sufferings that come to dominate my memory, another process is at work—the denigration of my dignity, the denial of my feelings and the necessary forgetting of the unreciprocated encountering. Even though in this relationship, everyone is right and no one is truly wrong, as the memory is reconciled, I am more and more divided. Healing from the affirmation that he only finds me ordinary is not the same as doing justice to the emancipating dream that I could be not.

She refuses to take in what others say about what she has experienced, including the one who’s also involved in this relationship. Love, or not love—she denies such distinctions. The world does not work this way, she says, and relationships are so much more complicated. It is a world, which will be better interpreted if we see human relationships in terms of affiliations or company. 

Of the great project to establish real connection between human beings by way of sexual love, only a velleity toward oneness with others remains, submerged on vague and groundless talk about community, while actually we all remain selves and others

—Love and Friendship. By Allan Bloom

I think I may finally define my problem: nihilism and how to respond to it, in political realms and in private matters, such as romance.

That is, if there is a void at the heart of my metaphysical beliefs, if I seem to fail to make judgement of any kind, what shall I do?

It takes me 4 years and I am relieved, for now.

The reason consequences furiously hunt us down is not merely that we are half-blind, and unfortunate, but that we go on doing the thing which produced these consequences in the first place. What we need is not rebirth, or salvation, bu tthe courage, or plain prudence, to see and stop. To abdicate. But what do we need in order to do that? It would be salvation.

—Stanley Cavell, “The Avoidance of Love”

Bless those who challenge us to grow, to stretch, to move beyond the knowable, to come back home to our elemental and essential nature. Bless those who challenge us for they remind us of doors we have closed and doors we have yet to open.


Yet such judgements depend on, among other things, the lucidity of the background vocabulary in which we represent, to ourselves and to each other, the nature of the political problems we face, the stakes of the decisions we confront, and the range of possibilities we possess. And when an often-used vocabulary of this sort obscures as much as it clarifies, political theorists are faced with another set of tasks, at once diagnostic and reconstructive: to bring the obstruction into view; to demonstrate its implications; to understand its sources; and, in the courses of all that, to work toward an alternative and more perspicuous language. It is this sort of background conceptual work- not yet prescriptive, but certainly normative-that I undertake in the following chapters with respect to the idea of recognition.

—Bound by recognition, by Patchen Markell

Living in every moment wondering if you are loved is simply torture. I sometimes wonder if it’s worth it to have faith in love, which like most things in the human world is deceiving and vulnerable. It makes me think about what this belief really means. Is it to believe that love is attainable, only many times it requires strength and patience? Is it to believe that the action of loving is divine and educational? Is it to believe that both the verb and the noun of love is not only healing but also revealing? Where does this love come from and where does it go?



我如果真正信仰愛,那愛應從何處來,應到何處去。如果我們經歷的是真正嚴肅的愛,那難道真的還能像我所說的那樣"在感情上不存在任何道德底線"嗎?對他來說,一顆Guarded Heart真的使他免予我正在受的煎熬嗎?我們難道不都因自己的懦弱與有限而痛苦嗎?