This is not a finished book, it is a book in progress
It is possible that I will add a new chapter to it every moment, including the road I have traveled, the people I have met, the words I have said, the crafts I have learned, and the nights I have spent. I don't know when it will be finished or what it will ultimately look like, but I want it to be a book that I keep living and writing.
It's not about "how to heal," nor about "how to get out." It is just a book about how a person still chooses to live after being broken, and records everything truthfully. I wrote about how I survived depression, how I continued to walk at night after losing my grandma, and how I relied on medicine and Taoist scriptures to survive those mornings when I didn't want to wake up. I also wrote about how I learned bartending, photography, and wood carving, how I wrote lyrics on rainy nights, how I set out to watch the sunrise at Qipan Mountain at four in the morning, and how I lit an incense stick for myself in front of the altar.
This book contains pills, wooden hairpins, the sound of rain in the early morning, the silence in front of grandma's grave, the smoke of the market, and the wind on the top of the mountain. It is not to prove anything, it is just to put the days I lived in page by page, so that you can see the traces of a person moving forward in chaos.
I don't know how many more pages I have left to write or what the next page will be. But I promise, every page is written by my own hand.
Live and write until the day you can no longer write.
