Ask Me What I Can Do, but Only I Understand My Lyrics

I can't say for sure how many things I know how to do. I forget a lot of my skills until someone asks me about them, and then I suddenly realize that, somehow, I can actually do that.

Maybe it's because I get bored easily. I love trying new things, and over time I've accumulated all kinds of scattered skills, some of which I'm good at and others I've only dabbled in.

On top of that, I have a set of words I've made up just for myself. They're not for communicating with other people; they exist only to express my own feelings and thoughts, and hardly anyone in the world can understand them.

This book records the disorderly but honest self I've come to know: the abilities that only surface when someone asks about them, and the made-up language that exists only in my inner world. There are no grand truths here, just an attempt to sort through what's inside me.