Last night I dreamt I had written an essay, and after reading it, my mother sighed deeply, saying, "You wrote better in middle school." It's probably true. I've long since lost the knack for it.
This year, I felt for the first time that the tradition I set for myself—writing an essay each birthday—is a pain in the ass. I don't want to write because I have nothing to say. What happens, happens; I'd rather return life to life itself, without the need to erect monuments to witness my own change, fortunate or otherwise. Instead of constantly affirming my worth through words, I'd rather have sporadic, insightful conversations with friends in the moments between boiling noodles and frying eggs, then continue on with work. We talk and laugh without resting along the way. Time flows quietly, urging us to press on.
So, if this isn't my last birthday essay, then the next one will be my first true proclamation. I’m no longer interested in myself. Explanations and displays should be reserved for truly important matters. The essay in my dream probably failed due to its disjointedness. I think of those who have experienced less than I have, yet they still manage to write well. Maybe I just need to write about one thing. So I ask myself, if I had to choose one thing to write about between January and April, what would it be? My mind floods with countless moments, each leading inevitably to an end. Turning O. Henry’s short stories into chapters of a novel is for my twentieth birthday. But now where do I begin? And why bother? 若将共剪西窗烛，自话巴山夜雨时 (If we were to share a candlelit evening, discussing the rain in the Ba mountains).
I’ve already been away for a while, and this visit is specifically to say goodbye. But you know where to find me. Ninety minutes later, I came back to see you, reading a book next door at Bobst Library, a heavy rain fell on New York City outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, and now it has cleared, as if the rain had never come. Who could have guessed, when I arrived, it was still winter here.
Wow -- such a cool idea to write an essay at the same time each year. I appreciate how honest and sincere this piece of writing is and how you are willing to put it out there for the world to see. Not often do essays with such deep sentiment make it to the screen -- but I am glad to be able to read this one. Thank you for inspiring me to begin a similar tradition of my own -- and I hope yours carries on for many years to come!