It all started with "Lover".
I was only fifteen years old at the time, and I lived in darkness, like a clump of moss hiding in a dark, moist corner. Until I read Duras, my heart skipped a beat: Oh no.
I finally understood vaguely what the teacher's purpose was in repeatedly advising that some books were not suitable for reading. Meeting "Lover" was my destiny. Since I was fifteen years old, I have been obsessed with the hot sea in the South Ocean, the futile dams, the crazy breeding of Asian tiger mosquitoes, and the sea mud in the green water. It was as if I had stumbled upon a scandal, as if I had stumbled upon some indecent secret as I passed by the blinds. So close, the hot and wet breath of the person in the room came almost close to the face. Through the gap, I could see the soft skin as colorful as gold, and the virgin blood flowing through the ankles.
There is no winter in Saigon. The white patches on the beach are the snow in Saigon. Time turns into scalding liquid in the high temperature, pouring down from the tops of pedestrians' hair. Their skin color is bright yellow, like a piece of butter that is about to melt. I felt that everyone and everything was being buried alive by the white sands of Saigon. The ripe and hot vortex overflowed from the words, and I was twisted into the heart of the vortex made of human flesh, turning into mud, powder, and juice. This is the source of my desire, the origin of my obsession. I am a tree or a fish, half in water and half in air. In those groggy days, I imagined that the young body was slowly being eaten by soft white silkworms, and that the man was stained with tears and having sex with her that was stained with tears.
I long for a man who is as weak as a child.
*On the surface it is a youth novel, but in fact it is a crazy literature.
Purpose: No ideal is worth the expense of physical and mental health.
