It’s dark outside and I feel a tad morbid. I’m chatting with a friend who is probably secretly depressed because he’s too serious when he’s not smiling and he sighs a lot for a guy. I’m Kao Kalia Yang and I am only four feet ten inches tall and I am moody over the rains in December, the rejection letter I got from an agent today via email, and the dismal circumstances that keep my mom still at work as night falls and falls and falls on all of us, and same with my dad. And I feel that it should be colder outside and my jacket thinner so that I can feel more alive in the season. I’m reading The Rake because it is quality distraction. I can enter a world of polished writing that I probably won’t ever do very well at. No jealousy or yearning for that, just a certain appreciation and a sense of humor in the matter. I like it very well because it reminds me of what other people can do—talented and young, and probably feeling the same weight on their days and their dreams.
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