LINK 2021 by English Society, A.A.H.K.U.S.U.

LINK 2021_ english Society, A.A.H.K.U.S.U. Session 2020–2021

S IN IG OR

Looking Back Our beginnings starting lines recommendations

TABLE OF CONTENTS: P.3 d r o w e For P.4-6 Looking Back

P.7-1 5 Our b eginn ings 5 RKS: 3 .P16- E WO INES V GL I T EA TIN R C TAR P.36-38 S Recommendations 2

FOREWORD:

Where do we begin? For one, if you're reading this, it means we've successfully published LINK 2021, which is a feat within itself. To me, LINK is what I originally signed up for when I decided to apply for this position: the chance to continue expanding and working on my editorial skills. But along the way, I've discovered so much more fun and joy to this "job" and I've learned a lot as well. Ironically enough, working on this issue of LINK actually felt like a way to reconnect with my own roots, just as the theme of LINK 2021 suggests. The theme of "origins" was something we had settled on early in October 2020. At the start, we thought a lot of people around us were worried and stressed about the future: the great unknown which spreads before us yet to be seen. However, how many of us truly take the time to reflect on our past and how our individual experiences have led us to become the people we are today? I thought it would be interesting if we could all return to our origins and retrace the many steps we've all taken to arrive at our current locations, and see that where we go from here is up to each and every single one of us to decide. It's shocking to realise how fast time has passed since I first took on this role and how far we've come since then. I have to thank the other members of my session for always being there for me through the thick and thin during this year, I am grateful to have met all of you. Following the reflection of the past in this edition of LINK, I eagerly look forward to meeting all the readers in the future. Until next time!

~ Sharon Editor

LOOKING BACK

Inauguration Ceremony [27/11/2020 ] The annual Inauguration Ceremony took place on 27 November 2020, which marked the passing of the baton from the session 2019–2020 to session 2020–2021. The Ceremony was held in hybrid mode due to the pandemic, and a livestream of the event was available during the commencement of the Ceremony. Following the official installation, our Executive Committee members were excited to see what else the year ahead would bring. We sincerely express our most heartfelt gratitude to our guest of honour, Dr. Jaspal Naveel Singh from the School of English, as well as the representatives from other higher education institutions, representatives from other societies of the University, and all guests of the event for joining us during our Inauguration Ceremony. We hope that all guests, both present and online, were able to enjoy the Ceremony to its fullest!

Society Booth [25/01/2021 – 26/02/2021 ] Our first booth of the year took place within three weeks spanning from 25 January 2021 to 26 February 2021. The main purpose of the booth was to allow members and other parties to purchase our Society products at the booth, but interested students could also register to become one of our members. Throughout the course of hosting this booth, we were able to interact with our Members and get feedback on the events they would be interested in partaking in. During the weeks the booth was held, we decided to switch between either online and physical mode weekly taking the condition of the pandemic into consideration. The decision as to which mode we would choose for the following week was announced on our social media three days prior to the start of the week. Thankfully, we were able to hold all three weeks of our booth in physical mode, the best outcome given the situation. We’d like to thank anybody who came and visited our booth, we would not have met success without your support!

English Festival 2021 “Postcolonialism: REDEFINING Home Through Literature in English” [13/03/2021 – 07/04/2021 ] English Festival 2021, themed “Postcolonialism: Redefining Home Through Literature in English”, was held successfully from 15 March to 7 April 2021. Through the Festival, we hope to not only create a welcoming environment for the use of the English language on an academic basis and stimulate intellectual exchange between students and guests, but also to encourage participants to ponder the topic of postcolonialism and its connection with home. The Festival started off with our Book Fair, which was held from 15 to 19 March 2021 at Run Run Shaw Podium. We are grateful to have Bleak House Books as our supporting bookstore, supplying us with a selection of postcolonial literature as well popular books. A Book Donation was also organized two months prior to the Fair. Students and staff are invited to donate their well-loved books, which could be redeemed by members during the Fair. Next up, our Poetry Writing Workshop themed “Home” was held on 22 March 2021 on Zoom. We are delighted to have invited Ms. Collier Nogues as our guest speaker for the event, and participants had a chance to try their hand at writing poetry during our Workshop. Our third event of the Festival was our Academic Talk on the theme of “Decolonisation”, which was held on 30 March 2021 on Zoom. We are honoured to have invited Prof. Eli Park Sorensen to give the talk, who encouraged everyone that participated to ponder on the theme of decolonisation in literary works and introduced related literary pieces. Last but not least, our Academic Dialogue on “Hybridity and Diaspora” was held on 7 April 2021 on Zoom. We are grateful to have invited Dr. Anjuli Gunaratne to lead our discussion on the theme, as well as on Nguyen’s Fatherland, which echoes with postcolonial discourse. We hope that all participants had a great time, and are inspired to continue exploring the theme of postcolonialism.

OUR BEGINNINGS MEET OUR EXcOs

Ronny Chan Chairperson_ Acting General Secretary_ MBTI: INFJ

Favourite Word:

Melancholy

Favourite Song:

Song of Downiness - My Little Airport

Favourite quote:

ZOdiac: Scorpio

prospective Major/Minors:

English Language and Linguistics COmparitive Literature Education

Most obscure interest:

Bending Plastic forks and spoons in restaurants

“There are so many ways of being despicable it quite makes one’s head spin. But the way to be really despicable is to be contemptuous of other people’s pain.”

- James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room

“Your soul is rooted in your body”, you whispered to my ears. You had me lie in the garden, gently caressed my hands, and started gashing my skin. I tried to bear with the pain as usual but my tears worked up a little. You stared at me for a moment with your fierce gaze, then continued to sow a thin layer of seeds deep under my flesh and water my body with a stream of viscous liquid. Several days later, roots extended and formed a rhizomatic network, taking up nutrients from my organs. An aura mixed with a subtle yet palpable smell of blood lingered in my nose. I silently watched roses growing out of a body that never belonged to me—with their petals pitifully falling apart. You said, “let there be light”, and light shone into your stomach. You formed me with dust of the ground, breathing into my nostrils the breath of life. I heard you murmuring “I love you” to me in an undiscovered language through the thin uterine lining with veins and arteries running all over its wall. Yes, I knew you loved me, like a lot. When I was a toddler, you led me to a house in the wilderness and asked me to take all my clothes off. Curtains swayed back and forth, paralleling tidal waves that bobbed in the ocean. A soft beam of light shone into the void, casting a shadow onto the wall with white paint peeling off it. I closed my eyes, imagining myself as a garden as instructed. “I couldn’t”, I muttered. No orchids sprouted up from my body, nor did butterflies flap their wings on my nose. I only saw a silent female body lying supine on an operating table, with its eyes gazing into the illusory nothingness above it. Orange flashes coming from her chest surrounded her. You cautiously scrutinized my body with a magnifier, divided it into two halves with a blue marker, and cut away the weeds growing below my navel. You started screaming with your loud voice reverberating inside the house like a ghost. Shocked, I stood still in the centre of the house, with my legs trembling all along the way. Regaining composure, I apologized. “Floriculture is a kind of relationship-building. Only by humbly obeying me and putting all your faith in me could your body blossom with flowers. I love you, darling”, you spoke with a tender voice, gently kissing my forehead. Out of love, you fed me with gluey mud, massaged my body, and irrigated me with a stream of words spoken monotonously. You once told me, “Life moves in a spiral motion. Running in a circular trajectory, we return to the epicentre again and again.” I love you too. So I slept in the garden, enjoyed the summer breeze, pictured myself being compressed into fragments and converted into fertilizers and buried into the mud as if returning to your uterus. Spores descended at my hair filaments; burnt intestines slowly disintegrated from my body, returning to the nature where orchids blossomed.

From time to time, I ponder the very reason for my existence. I, without a doubt, am a heavenly gift to my parents who have given birth to me and brought me up until today. While I cannot deny the profound gratitude I have to them, it is through these years of adulthood that I understand that children cannot forever stay in the love and care of their origins, of where they have been staying for the first two decades. It is time we truly thought about another anchor of our lives. The book of Genesis in the Bible narrates how God creates the universe in seven days. From a Catholic perspective, it only takes as short as a week for the entire world to be brought to existence. But for ordinary humans like you and me, never is it too surprising for us to spend our lifetime constructing our ideal self. I see origins here not only as where we come from, but also where our values, as well as personalities, are rooted. These are the building blocks of the life we want to lead. Most of the time, I would say these are from our aspirations, which my personal experience could exemplify. I knew from the age of 16 that only by equipping myself with holistic skills can I be provided with choices, from university admission to career options and other life decisions, all you can name it. This mindset is where all my actions originate from. I take on roles and positions that sometimes overwhelm me. Despite knowing I am far from athletic, I engage in sports that require minimal cardio strength – archery. On a side note, I have been expanding it to another type of exercise that is comparatively more demanding. Academic-wise, I made up my mind to pursue Education because I am inspired to educate. All the commitment and determination are based on solely intention — I want to be who I want to be. That is why I said our ambitions and charactersstemfromthedesiretobecome‘perfect’ in our definition. For me, the anchor of my life is the expectations I have for myself. It may take me months and years to achieve them. Regardless, I will not give in. For my yearning is my origin, and my origin is the exact reason why I yearn and exist.

Vanessa Tse External Vice-Chairperson_ Acting marketing Secretary_ MBTI:

Isfp

ZODIAC: Virgo

PROSPECTIVE major/minors:

English Language and Linguistics Education

Favourite word:

lmao

Favourite song:

Pachelbel's Canon - Johann Pachelbel

most obscure interest:

chur

Favourite Quote:

“All the world’s a stage” - William Shakespeare, As You Like It

jenny ng Internal Vice-Chairperson_ Acting financial secretary_ MBTI:

Most obscure interest:

ZODIAC:

Favourite Quote:

ESFP

Aquarius

PROSPECTIVE major/minors: surveying

Favourite word: Euphoria

netflix documentaries

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly in to the past”

Favourite song:

Levitaiting - Dua Lipa

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The great gatsby

“There are no accidents, everything comes full circle.” (Carol) Growing up, I seldom look back to my past, as the past is irreversible but the future is yet to make. Last semester, I took a course related to philosophy which encouraged me to dive deep into my origin. As time goes by, our memories fade. We start to forget the decisions we made and the events that we went through, but they are significant parts that make up our lives and shape us into who we are today. I do believe in destiny and determinism. When we make decisions, do we have free will, or are the results are entirely determined by unalterable past events?

“Man is born free and everywhere he is in chains.”—Jean-Jacques Rousseau Although what Rousseau said might appear to be paradoxical, it is deemed true. Free will, similar to negative liberty (freedom from), means that there is no external factor or obstacles that stop you from doing what you want or affect your decisions. Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle believe that we are born with free will, as our actions are solely based on our knowledge. They come to this conclusion basically because there are random and spontaneous events that are inconsistent with previous events. Undoubtedly, men are born with a certain extent of freedom, but apparently, it is not the same case when we are making decisions. Our decisions are not solely determined by our own wills at that particular moment but also constrained by many external factors like laws, religions, social norms, the education we received, and the ideas that are instilled in us when we were children, as well as our past experiences.

“A man can do what he wills but he cannot will what he wills.”—Arthur Schopenhauer The future, the present, and the past are inseparably intertwined. Every event that happens in our life is not accidental, they all have causes and are closely connected with choices previously made. Thomas Hobbes, a determinist, holds the view that no matter how much effort we make, we are still unable to break what has been set by past events. Sometimes we feel like we process free will because we assume that our present decisions are one of the crucial elements that lead to the final outcome. However, it is just an illusion, we are merely the characters but not the author of the story.

“You seek resolutions and explanations because you are young. But you will understand this one day. ” (Carol)

Sharon Lee Publication Secretary_ Acting Promotion Secretary_ MBTI: ENTP

ZODIAC: Gemini

PROSPECTIVE major/minors: English studies Psychology

Favourite word: forlorn

Favourite song:

Fineshrine - Purity ring

most obscure interest: Triangles

STATES: I watched an ice cube melt today. (It was one of those days.) The weather was lukewarm, the way an average day in autumn slowly evens out to be. Me and a glass with the cube within, held at impasse, neither yielding. (They come and go and come and go.) There were probably better uses of my limited time. I watched it melt, solid to liquid, losing corporeal form, sense of self. I poured it back into the tray. (This one went. But it’ll be back.) Then I watched it begin again.

How does it happen that our lives can drift far from our selves, while we stay trapped in time, queuing for death?_

with loss to assonance with bliss. Then love comes, like a sudden flight of birds from earth to heaven after rain.”

Favourite Quote: “Above the prayer of rain, unacred blue, not paradise, goes nowhere endlessly.

It seems nothing will shift the pattern of our days, alter the rhyme we make_

- Carol ann Duffy, Rapture

Ashley Siu Academic Secretary ENFP

PROSPECTIVE major/minors: English studies French

Favourite word: Surrender

Favourite song:

Enzalla - Fireflies

most obscure interest: Chillstep

- Harper Lee, to kill a mockingbird

Capricorn

“I think there’s just one kind of folks. Folks.”

ZODIAC:

Favourite Quote:

MBTI:

To the sea: I. Your golden waters glisten in the sun, Rising from its long slumber, water-fall Spilling, over-flowing, so icy one Lingers to caress warmth’s faint, subtle call As they drag their hands through your tug of war, Teasing, untangling blue from foamy white; Yet I could never tame the tumbling tide as they lap the sea-shore, Slipping away from soft fingertips tight, A shrouded façade of all stored inside. II. Breath, dear — my lungs are your sweet relief. Break Free from the shore, from faintly flickering stones (bleached white at night to the stark grays Of skin) and flee, else red ribbons clinging to that silently rearing head of yours will slice clean my lips, deprived of your kiss, and bleed our hearts dry. Alas, you have won: I am a creature born To breath the air and walk the earth; that is, Until my breath is stolen by the sun.

Percy lam Social Secretary Acting promotion Secretary MBTI:

Favourite word:

ZODIAC:

Favourite song:

PROSPECTIVE major/minors:

most obscure interest:

ENFP

Mellifluous

face - got7

Libra

language and communication linguistics

99% dark chocolate

To everyone who is reading this, Here is your desired and long-needed dose of positivity.

“There’s no place like home”

Favourite Quote:

- victor fleming, the wizard of oz

“Origins”, it is such a vague term with so many interpretations, let alone it being your school or just where you deem yourself to belong, even as biological as the combination of two sexes that created you. There does not seem to be an answer manifesting out of the blue. The origins of the universe and humanity have been two of the most fascinating doubts scientists have grappled with throughout history. No matter what theories or algorithms we try to apply in the realms of science, there will always be, even guaranteed to have, exceptions or new discoveries that lead to further questions. A race is on. Whether our curiosity will take the lead or will the Universe collapse onto itself, transforming into a bottomless void while possibly annihilating all that remains, is quicker. Despite the perpetual and dreadful mist of wonders, there is one point every ideology can unanimously agree: The probability of you reading this passage is far too low to be the reality. You can win all the lotteries around the world every day in your life consecutively until you die, and the percentage will still be significantly higher. What are these seemingly unrelated facts trying to imply? As if everything we once knew and attached to was just a flaw in the borderless sheets of programs coded by God Himself, the malicious bug in the system who grew self-conscious and began destructing the peace within Mother Nature. Nonetheless, even if we were merely a mistake or solely a coincidence, it would incontrovertibly still be a magnificent, seamless one. The universe managed to survive the Big Bang, dispersing matters into the vacuum. The matters then managed to collide with each other even at the slightest chance, creating planets and stars that keep us from flying away. The chemical substance then managed to stay in contact, forming the earliest form of life. Living creatures are then managed to evolve, generating wisdom to discover new things. Last but not least, there is you, managing to be born with one of the countless sperms trying to get to the ovum. Being able to read this passage is not a must. Rather, it is a beautiful moment to be cherished at all costs. I am not ending this with those unrealistic messages, but please, hold your heads high. You are not nobody, you are who you are, radiating warmth and hope when the darkness is trying its hardest to devour you. You may look identical to the others from afar, but in the end, you will always be so much different than the others. From your origins. Best, Percy

I open my eyes, blink, close my eyes, and blink again. Zephyr wafts up the curtain, and the sunlight streams through the window pane into a spot on the floor, drawing a rainbow halo. The night is farewelled, and here comes a new start. “Morning, the commencement of the day, but what’s my outset?”, I thought, looking out the window. Rubbing my eyes, stretching and yawning, my gaze eventually set on my notebook on the wooden desk, with pages blowing in the wind. Crawling out of bed, I began flipping through my jotter, where my thoughts and every bit of me rest, and perhaps where my origin is.

Keanna Chan programme Secretary_ MBTI: ENfj

ZODIAC:

Scorpio

PROSPECTIVE major/minors:

English Language and Linguistics Education Counseling

Favourite word: afterglow

Favourite song:

to let a good thing die - bruno major

most obscure interest: Fairy lights

Favourite Quote:

“I am nothing special, of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts and I’ve led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough.” - nicholas spark, the notebook

Phosphenes make me dizzy. In my blurry vision, I still see the word “me”, right in the middle of a page, linking all my feelings in dribs and drabs. Scanning a page full of messily-organized ideas, I’m still miserable. Origin, the beginning of everything, but what is the origin that makes me “me”, the individual different from anyone else? We were all told that there are various ways of explaining what the origin of “us” is. From theories about human evolution, to God forming man with the dust of the ground and breathing into his nostrils the breath of life. And some say that family is our origin, as our parents gave birth to and raised us. No matter scientific or religious, the beliefs emphasize that we, as humans, are derived from something, or somebody. Yes, we all started the same way as a newcomer to the world. Are we really one-of-a-kind? We are all physically composed of cells, but minds differ. We were given life, but could we rely on something or someone to grow and develop? To me, thoughts and decisions, are fragments in life that shape us into who we are today. We are what we think. Every fresh idea, every new perspective, or basically all subtle experiences we have are our origins. Thinking, or living itself are processes of discovering, evolving and accepting or shifting. We might not be aware of these little yet countless fragments in life, as it is often when we look back that we realize we have moved on or completed something, but we are changing, growing, day by day. Yes, we are our own origins. Remember where we came from, and why we started. Time to begin a new day, and embark on a new journey.

Creative works

Starting Li

nes

Learning

We all fall at different places, along the road we tread, beaten from the many travelers who walked down the same path as us

I used to think that I could be better.

Your voice is a warmth that catches, on the hem of your sweater, on the corner of your mouth, on the buzz of the stagnant air,

Sydney Chan

Like better was just something achievable.

a stark contrast to how my world has dulled to a monotone gray over the span of a forenight. “There’s more to life than this, “ you say.

Solid.

or perhaps tangible.

If I were better maybe I could

stronger or

more likable or just more, in general. But I

soon realised that there was only one of me and to overthink was to disown my being learning.

so I am now

This is something I am still learning— how to be unabashed, unflinching without fear.

myself

shame or

This. This, a concept without meaning, a vague notion to encircle a period of time and a measure of effort and hard work. There is more to life than this. Thinking about it, you’re right, really. you’re rarely wrong. I’ve had years and years to learn this, but it doesn’t make the truth sting any less. “Is there?” I laugh listlessly, hiding his face into my collar there is a hole here, worn from use, burned into the fabric over the years. This is a kindness I’ll allow myself. “Not for me, I don’t think.” You laugh and open your arms and in I fall, a different sort from failing. “There will be tomorrow,” you tell me, and the warmth of that tugs at me. Many people have fallen before me, and I will surely not be the last. Where we get up is where we begin.

Zheng Xingyou

On Failure

Memoir Pahuna Gulati

* Quotes taken from the lyrics in “Before Sunrise” by Lana Del Rey and “Milkshakes” from Before Sunrise “Who are you? Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?” ~ Here’s a funny story. Someone asked me this one time: “Who do you associate with?” And I couldn’t think of people. I am the Walrus from the Beatles’ song which Lennon probably wrote when he was high… I am the mystical bird Phoenix from the Egyptian folklore which would regenerate over and over again… I am the Tortoise competing with the hare(s) in a race of some sorts… When was the time when you had your dreams laid out for you? Well, I hypothesized a reality where I would start the quest of my envisioned dreams from a foreign land which would lay the golden eggs of fortune in coming years. The people in this land are strange. They are this “5 years from now” people. I respond to their uncountable questions by talking about my aspirations from life. Turns out I only had my destination planned. And not the journey. The uncountable questions becoming all the more uncomfortable with each passing day… And some days, I would feel so lonely here, in this foreign land. The one which was supposed to lay the golden eggs of my fortune.. Sometimes I would sing a song to myself. Hum a melancholy. To dampen my solitude. ~

“I am a delusion angel I am a fantasy parade” I noticed myself questioning my dream every day. When was the time when you had your dreams laid out for you? Somedays I would feel like driving myself into some ‘Mayajaal’ or a trap of illusions. I noticed I started resembling these strange people. I was turning into a “5 years from now” person. Either things were happening so fast, or I was too slow and lagging behind. Maybe this Tortoise beats the odds of time, who knows? ~

I didn’t complain. I kept moving on. Sometimes, some things would give me joy. Some other times, they would break me. But I regenerated. Again and again. From each experience…

“Don’t you know me? Don’t you know me by now?” ~ Some familiar faces stuck with me in the foreign land and some didn’t. And each face only briefly aware of the hubbub running in my head. The very thought gave me both solace and shudder. Each dawn opened upon me a new possibility of rediscovering myself. Maybe it isn’t supposed to be a destination? Maybe it was only a journey after all… Maybe it was not supposed to be this way? ~

“You have no idea where I came from We have no idea where we’re going Lodged in life” It turned out that some of the people were not so strange after all. They were as clueless as me. And maybe that is why they became familiar faces. They helped me in my transition back to a “Now” person. Some stuck with me and some didn’t… My head feels like a blank canvas sometimes. No direction of thought. No color. “But I didn’t really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is” I was a nomad after all. I had been traveling for a long long time. I was tired and weary. I neither belonged to my homeland nor this foreign land and its strange people. I wanted a home. When was the time when you had your dreams laid out for you?

Suddenly everything I envisioned for myself felt empty and selfish. Those were not my dreams. Sometimes you need to close your eyes to wake up. This time my dream was different. I dreamt of the land I was born to… I dreamt of the familiar faces… I dreamt of a familiar sun overlooking familiar trees with a familiar horn blaring in the background… I dreamt of my home.

“Because I was born to be the other woman Who belonged to no one Who belonged to everyone Who had nothing Who wanted everything” ~ I am the Walrus from the Beatles’ song which Lennon probably wrote when he was high… I am the mystical bird Phoenix from the Egyptian folklore which would regenerate over and over again… I am the tortoise competing with the hare(s) in a race of some sorts… I am Alice who just woke from her splendid dream and is trapped in reality. She wants to go back to her Wonderland. (Maybe, I do associate with a person after all.) Time’s arrow is ticking. Tick! Tick! Tick! Maybe Alice will recreate her dream in the cursed reality. Maybe this Tortoise beats the odds of time, who knows? All the best to Alice. And the Walrus. And the Phoenix. And the Tortoise.

Reach Savita mallik

being an astronaut just seems so much like one of those childhood dreams we all give up theoretically I know they exist and are real people with real lives if they’re own. but still, they seem fantastical to a child learning reality, and could you really blame me? reality is cruel, and hope is another one of those childhood dreams, we all give up in the end. so to think that there are still people out there, who believe in more who can believe in something better just seems childish in comparison, Just like the way astronauts do, to a child, innocent still.

Child of God, what do you fear most? As you link you arms with other lambs joyous, gleeful blessed by grace? As you sing his name the holy breath that precious bread those promised words? As you bow your head in unheard prayer in complete faith in abandonment? Is it the answer, or the silence, that you fear more?

Lachlan Li

Kneel

Ghost

Angelica Teacer Spirit of the fallen Waiting Weightless You consume my mind like air. Your careless claim on my liberty I shall never grant Such is the consequence for flaming amazement In the cabins of my heart I plead, swallow not the words I intend to speak Twist not the dull images I see Release me from the bands of yours Set me free from your vice-like hands I know I must choose to go Breathless Begging As I fall on my knees.

Yield neil Luo

Some trees are so ancient they become unshakeable. I once spent an afternoon in California under the summer sun hiding in the shade the Jurupa Oak offers, playing the tourist for the day. The guide said that it would take nothing less than an earthquake to bring the oak down and I had pressed a palm to the bark, and gazed upon a tree which has and will continue to outlive me. Firm, sturdy and unwavering. I had wanted, desperately, to be the same. Wanted the same safeness and security that they had, that they will never be shaken.

Photography clement tsanG

Inside this frame is a thin slice of time, its sharp edges tightly glued to the rabbet. Wipe the dust off its transparent surface, as if stroking your dead lover’s face, gently— for time could flake off easily. Close your eyes. Examine it from left to right: bodies brushing past each other, their contours merging with the blue and black, distorted by light. Three fingers crystallized. Trembling lips froze. Multi-colored chants overlapped with shadows cast on walls. Do not scan this photo too closely—for its punctum gashes your soul, until the camera lens turns you into a dead object of the gaze. Look outside. Maybe, cars whiz off, running over blood-covered corpses buried underground. Maybe, more black clothes evaporate. Maybe, more words effaced by rain that pours every day. Believe me— everything inside the frame remains unchanged except that they are no longer present in the photograph.

Ouroboros anonymous

There is a person who I used to hate. A person who drove me to distance and reshape myself as far from him as possible. But, after my winding journey into adulthood, where am I now? Ironically, it seemed that I have returned to my origin. Though my origin is not my past self, my current seclusion mirrors how I fail to open my windows in the past. Today, my windows remain shut, but I somehow willingly allowed it that way. With this article, I shall trace my life story, not just for my dear readers, but for myself too, since my mind is constantly complicating everything about myself and the world. Let me start by introducing two aspects of myself, that despite all the laborious transitions I have inflicted on myself, they always emerge unscathed. The first is my optimism: regardless of all the depressions, breakdowns, trauma, and uncertainties I have experienced, in the end, I am indulged in a naïve yet compelling hope, constantly whispering, “There’s always a way out.” The other is my mentality: though it only came to my attention when I was 15, Asperger syndrome has always been a subconscious part of me since I was diagnosed at 6. This is what locked up my windows in the first place – locking me away from all the voices incoming, locking me into my ever-expanding universe. This is also the main culprit that haunts me into endless loops of reflections. Malicious as it may seem, I never hated it – I just hated my past self. Then how revolting he may be for me to see him as Mr. Hyde? Very simply, it is because he only reminds me of disturbing memories, and disturbing memories are all I could ever recall from my childhood, which I am ashamed of till nowadays. I remember the boy flipping through a dictionary in clear daylight right during a dictation, then felt wrongly accused as the teacher hit the roof for no reason because no one ever told him that reference books are not allowed during dictations. I remember the boy who indulges in a sea of vanity as he silences his other classmates with his sharp and unrelenting tongue but never truly understood what it means to be called ‘annoying’. I remember the boy who was mocked by a bunch of senior girls in an extra-curricular class and cried for help but never came to mind Confucius’s Golden Rule of reciprocity. I especially remember the boy who lives seclusively in his world, disconnected from the outside world, and refuses to let any light through his window. Or perhaps, he never could let them in – the curtains have already been deflecting them. The trauma came wave after wave, and amidst the tempest, he nonetheless finds himself subconsciously muttering, “There’s always a way out.” It was only until the boy saw the first silver lining shining through the curtains that he started to wonder. A crucial ‘friend’ he met since he entered secondary school often told him how he spoke strangely with a mean undertone. He did not understand it at that time – for he never tried to understand anything ‘emotional’ at all – but at least he thought about it. Then, at a random moment in his third year at secondary school, one question abruptly flickered through his mind: what am I doing? He never took any feedback towards himself seriously, except for that constant comment on his talking style – perhaps it was because that classmate was his ‘friend’. His ‘friends’ in primary school never criticized him, and this is the only criticism he has ever received from a ‘friend’. Strangely, he even saw this as the ‘good’ kind of criticism – a criticism that he never sought to reject.

Before he found an answer, another question swiftly came as well: what have I done? It was only by this very moment, that he finally realized how stubborn he was for ignoring the hidden rules; how ignorant he was for turning a blind eye to others’ disgust; how pathetic he was for suffering under the invisible yet frighteningly omnipresent loop of karma. “I speak strangely with a mean undertone”: this comment, initially black-and-white in his monochrome mind, is instantaneously colorized. At first sight of real colors in his hermitic universe, he was plunged into an abyss beyond anyone’s wildest imagination. He suddenly realized how grotesque and lonely he was, but he spoke no words, for he never knew how to describe it. To put it simply, he suddenly found that he hates himself. But then in a split-second, a third question flashed through his collapsing mind: what will I do? Yes, indeed: what will he do? To him at that instant, the damage he had done is already imminent, and everything seems too late to reverse. However, once again, an inner voice whispers, “There’s always a way out.” Immediately, the abyss he was helplessly falling into vanished into thin air, and then he told himself in enthralling determination, “It’s time for real change.” This was when the boy started becoming alarmingly aware of the ‘demon’ – Asperger’s – that caused all that rampage in his past years. That rampage made him look troublesome. That rampage that made others disdainful. That rampage that made him a deplorable fool. More significantly, this was when ‘emotions’ and ‘other people’ truly meant something to him – something that other people like him would never realize. The snakehead is now leaving its coiled-up body, diving headfirst into the uncharted: anywhere I could go, anywhere but my gruesome past. The boy began unfolding the curtains, and as the bedazzling light poured in, this was when his heart turned from rigid stone to carbon – dull, brittle, crumbling, yet has the potential to glitter and persevere like no other. As a lifelong home-dweller before his epiphany, his first exploration of the outside world would instinctively keep him on high guard. And he constantly mumbled as he trod: I cannot go back, not back to my despicable past. Any adverse reaction, response, or even expression from others could trigger a crippling fear deep down his mind. While this fear seeps through his entire body whenever he does something ‘irritating’, he marks each of them down meticulously and urges himself: never again. Never again, for I would become that deplorable fool once more, and that deplorable fool should belong in the past, he thought to himself.

As a million rays of the resplendent new world shone through him from the window gap, he began to discover color in everything he comes across – colors he had never felt before. From joy to sorrow, from affection to hatred, and even from confidence to fear – all these emotions that are ubiquitous to everyone from the start finally meant something to him as an adolescent. From this sudden realization, an apparition got the better of him: the apparition of his past ignorance. He was not ignorant in the intellectual sense, for the only gift (or possibly, yet another curse of concealment) Asperger’s has given him is an enhanced IQ level; he felt he was the most ignorant of all, for he could understand anything but the commonplace emotions and temperaments, which everyone else takes for granted. After that, yet another realization struck him: he suddenly understood why Pride is the most heinous of the Seven Deadly Sins. He was once unwittingly embodied with this cardinal sin that has attracted every source of dissatisfaction; that has plunged humanity, and especially himself, into the fiery purgatory of loneliness. Now, for he had regained control over himself, he is more determined than ever to exterminate this demon once and for all. And for that to succeed, his mindset undergoes a pessimistic transition that amplifies his shortfalls – especially his reprehensible past – over his accomplishments. By the time I reach the Promised Land, he then envisions, I shall become a better person – a person just like everyone else. The words “never again” have gradually shaped an inborn fear and reflexive reaction towards any action he considers ‘hazardous’ and ‘vainglorious’ – even towards the most trustworthy of his companions. As the girl peeped through his firmly shut windows, this caught his attention, since no one has ever been so intimate to himself before. He tried to explain his situation to her but all she could see are lips mouthing words ever so desperately. Despite this, it is imminent to her the plight he is undergoing, and she expressed a face of lament. It is such countenance, so gentle and potentially empathetic that he momentously acknowledged how amiable humans are. This was when the girl decided to stay by his windows, come rain or shine. However, no amount of compassion could translate the boy’s unstable mindset into meaningful expressions to her, for he is an especially unusual persona she has met. Despite all her repeated assurances, despite how she kept on insisting “it’s OK, take it easy”, she could not halt the boy from frantically apologizing again and again. She tried and failed to comprehend the boy’s sudden twist of personality – for he never knew how to describe it. She heard the word ‘sorry’ more than anyone else, and she thought that this phenomenon was irrational. However, it is only rational to one – the better the person, the more I should mind my words, the boy would explain to himself alone. For the ‘altruistic’ people he comes across, he looks up to them like gilded statues, and thinks to himself: they are the most sacrosanct of all, and hence they deserve my utmost respect. And me? Just a mindless snake slithering through the tall grass, that could shatter anyone’s heart with a single hiss of its forked tongue. But he never disintegrated from all the sanctions he threw on himself, thanks to that whisper which has accompanied him on the road to the Promised Land: “There’s always a way out.”

Indeed, optimism has saved the boy multiple times from the brink of mental collapse, but as the days flew past, his artificial pessimism had taken its toll. He realized one time, when he uttered the first word in front of the assembly, strange enough, his whole body was frozen by an eerie, shivering fear. As he tried to remain composed, he thought to himself in bewilderment: I used to present dauntlessly in front of the crowd, but what on earth is this heart-pounding sensation? During classes, upon reaching his topics of enthusiasm, he opened his mouth, yet no words came out. Again, he thought, I used to be the most proactive student of my cohort, but how come I fail to come up with anything at all? Approaching adulthood by the end of his high school studies, he somehow sensed that the Promised Land is near. However, something is not right, he tells himself, and is my current self the ‘better person’ I am seeking the whole time? A person with many acquaintances, but no one he could call a true friend? A person who finally can (basically) experience and communicate thoughts, but shuts himself further away as a result? A person who has improved himself considerably, but feels more guilty and shameful than ever? After these repeated interrogations, a possible solution lit him up immediately: he might have journeyed too far, that he completely missed the Promised Land! This instant was when the snake realized that it has slithered from utmost extroversion to utmost introversion, made a hairpin turn, and frantically darted its head for the genuine Promised Land – where he can finally be like everyone else. Once again, there goes the whisper by the ear, “There’s always a way out.” While the reticent boy – now an adult – attempted, again and again, to retrieve at least bits of his past confidence, it came to his mind that he was just as desperate as the boy years ago, struggling to escape the shadows of his sworn archenemy. He was profoundly desperate, so desperate that he has accomplished what he never thought he would. On his blank social media profile, his heart was in his mouth as his finger hovered over the ‘Post’ button. He met strangers online to collaborate on a v oluntary project, where he met even more strangers. He joined a few student societies upon his university admission and abruptly (or instinctively) decided to become an Executive Committee Member in a split second. Looking back at all these (regrettably) intrepid feats, to the boy’s amazement, none of these have failed miserably. He has amassed thousands of followers on social media, had an enjoyable summer with his nameless, shapeless companions, and met like-minded colleagues and superiors alike in a compact yet amicable student society. However, as he continued to brainstorm, he asks himself: is all these sufficient to bring back my old proactivity?

At that moment, the snakehead found something lying amidst the bright-green pastures – a snake’s tail. The snake stared and sniffed at it: it seems so familiar, yet also seems so distant. There stood the boy by the windowsill bathing in a warm shower of sunlight, gazing at the pair of windows that did not budge despite his hysterical pushes. Still, he realized the gap is wide enough for the slim girl he has affectionately accepted to climb through and into his room. He realized he still fails at times in interpreting his current convoluted personality, which is even more incomprehensible than before. He realized he is still being diffident even after all those accomplishments. He realized he has met acquaintances plenty, but still, none he could truly call a friend. He realized that the motivational whisper, “There’s always a way out”, has never faded despite all the pessimism he created to restrain himself. Ultimately, and most crucially, he realized that his autistic side has never vanished, but became an intrinsic part of himself – his true self – instead. So intrinsic that it once seemed to have been lost in maturation but turned out to reemerge in the name of introversion. So intrinsic that he realized he liked it. Well, you may ask, how did he suddenly know that? Because that boy, who is currently organizing his exploding mind by writing a self-evaluating article titled “Ouroboros”, willingly closed the windows in front of him, and sat down on the floor beside her, to enjoy the rays pouring in. Thus, this was when the snake slid forth, opened its mouth wide, and devoured the snake’s tail – its own tail – firmly into its gullet. As its lengthy body now forms a serpentine hoop, the snake now is grateful that it has returned to the Promised Land – its origin. Indeed, there is a person that I used to hate, but not my origin. With my origin, now reincarnated in my introversion and humility and guarded by my immortal optimism, I reside in a newfound peace with the windows shut and the curtains wide open.

How we began to fall Jingyi Liu

You told me once, softly, with the lilt of a dream: I don’t believe in bad luck. I like to think this is where we began. Back then, I had replied: jokingly, with the air of a comedy Then what would you call us? Then I watch the side of your mouth curve upwards into a smile. A proper one, with all the full force of your intention. Icarus to the sun, I turn to you. You don’t realise that when you smile, you become an unstoppable force, like a comet blazing across the sky. Like this, without room for compromise. Your conviction could move mountains, I am just one of the many things moved. It’s persuasive, your confidence. It makes everything seem magnified like we are making history right now. I think I could get addicted to this, to you. And so, you told me once, I don’t believe in bad luck, but I do believe in good coincidences. And so that’s how we started.

Amnesia Tobias Sung

At first, there was only darkness. A great swathe of black nothingness that was somehow terrifying and calming at the same time. Nothing could happen here. No happiness, love or peace. No hate, anger and pain. Just...nothing. But then, out of nowhere, there appeared a tiny ball of light. It began to grow and grow until its white brilliance broke the dark veil that had once been everything. Slowly, rays of colored lights began to shoot out from the center, flying all over the bright canvas like fireworks. They collided with each other, shifting colors, changing shapes, forming objects. What had once been an abstract watercolor painting soon turned into a clear image. A hundred yellow light bulbs hanging in the air. A ceiling fan that seemed to turn forever. And faces. Faces that spoke in tongues that could not be understood, that sounded as if they were underwater. But just like the darkness, the glass wall through which the sounds could not penetrate was eventually lifted. The voice gained clarity just as the colorful rays of light had moments before. And it said just one thing, “Get out of my bar!” They threw him out onto the street, where he landed in a mountain of trash bags. What was this place? How did he even get here? Wherever this was it certainly wasn’t very nice. It smelled. People called you mean names. The dark void was a lot more inviting in comparison. At the very least, he had regained his strength and was able to stand up, albeit rather shakily. He looked around. He was standing on a rather dirty old street. It was dark, but a few dusty old street lamps lined up on the sidewalk gave off just enough light that you could see where you were going. As his eyes travelled around, he suddenly saw someone standing underneath one of the street lamps. Another man, wearing a uniform. Suddenly, a voice in his brain that had lain dormant for a long time came to life. “That’s a policeman!” The voice said. “A policeman? So?” He asked. “My God, you’ve forgotten everything. Don’t you know what policemen do? They help people. And you definitely need help. I mean just look at you!” The voice said rather rudely. “Now wait just a minute! I look…” Before he could finish, he happened to glance at his reflection in a storefront window. “Okay, okay, I get the picture. I’ll go talk to that pollsman.” He said defeatedly. “Policeman.” The rude voice corrected. The policeman was smoking a cigarette under the dim glow of the streetlamp. When he saw the man approaching, he took a step back. “Sir, are you alright?” He asked. “Yeah, I just...uh, I just need directions.” The man replied. “Okay then. For?” The policeman asked. “Life.” The man replied. The policeman stared incredulously at him for a while. “Sir, are you drunk?” He finally asked. “Well, someone did call me a drunk asshole a few moments ago, so it’s entirely possible.” The man said cheerfully. “Alright, I’m taking you back to the station.” The policeman said, gently grabbing hold of his arm and steering him down the street. Station? What station? Suddenly images began to flood into his mind. Gas station. Radio station. Train station. Wait. He remembered a train station. “They left you,” Another voice emerged from the dark recesses of his mind. A sad voice. “Who?” He asked.

“Do you have any family I could call? Friends?” The policeman asked, interrupting the man’s thoughts. The man thought for a while. Family? Friends? What were those? “They’re the people who love you, stupid.” The rude voice said. “They left you,” The sad voice said. “Sir? I asked if there was someone I could call for you?” The policeman asked once again. The man looked around and realized that they were no longer on the street, but in a...police station. That was the word he was looking for. He was seated on a rather uncomortable steel bench, with the policeman standing in front of him. “I don’t remember.” The man said. “Okay, how about an address. We can find someone to drive you home” “I don’t remember.” “Alright, at least give me a name.” “I...don’t remember.” “Oh, you’re an amnesiac.” The policeman sighed. “Well, all I can do is take your thumbprint and send it up to the folks at the Database Center and see if we can find you. But it’ll take a while for a low-priority case like yours. Maybe a few days, if you’re lucky.” “What should I do until then?” The man asked. “Stay out of trouble. You got any money on you? You could find a motel nearby. Plenty of cheap places in this part of town.” The policeman said. The man checked his pockets. The only thing he had on him was a faded movie ticket stub. He held it out to the policeman. “Is this money?” He asked. The policeman shook his head and chuckled. “Alright, I get it. You can stay at my place if you want. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s better than the cells here.” It certainly was quite a nice place. The policeman’s apartment was small and rather cramped, but it was warmly lit and comfortably furnished. A pretty woman with a rather large stomach opened the door and kissed the policeman on the cheek. But then she saw the man standing behind him, and her face fell a bit. “Honey, who’s this?” She asked. “Oh, him? A poor man I picked up off the street. He’s completely lost his memory, and seeing as he didn’t have any place to go I figured we could…” The policeman looked at the woman with a bit of a guilty look on his face. The woman hesitated for a moment, then turned to the man and smiled. “We’d be happy to have you.” During dinner, the man learned that the policeman’s name was Sid Silver, and the woman was named Julie Silver. They both had the same last name because they were married, which was something men and women did when they were in love. Usually, after they got married they would have a child. It took the man quite some time to believe that a little person was growing inside Julie’s tummy. He thought she just ate too much food. “We’re still thinking about what to name him,” Julie said, gently rubbing her belly. “Is a name really that important?” The man asked. Sid laughed. “I’d have thought you of all people would realize how important it is! If you had a name, you’d probably be home already with your folks. Now you’ve got to wait God knows how long until your files get back, if they even get back at all.”

“Is that where names come from? The Database Center?” The man asked. “What? Haven’t you been listening? Whatever knocked you out really got you good.” Sid said. “Parents give their children their names. I just said me and Sid were still thinking about what to name our boy.” Julie explained. “And names aren’t just about registration and paperwork. Names have meaning. Like my name, Julie, means gentle.” “Don’t let that fool you, man.” Sid laughed. “When she gets mad, she is anything but gentle. See? That’s the problem with names. We give them to our kids before we even get to know them! I’m sure Julie’s folks were dreaming of some gentle angel, but what they got...” Julie shot him a look, and Sid wisely decided to stop. “The point is, when people are born,” he continued, “they are a blank slate. There’s no way of knowing who they will become. The whole naming thing is just trivial. Names hold no more meaning than your ID card number. Heck, at least your ID card number is unique. There are so many other Sids and Julies around the world. No, names don’t mean nothing. It’s what you do that matters.” “But if I don’t know my name or what I’ve done in the past, then does that mean I’m...nothing?” The man asked. “Of course not,” Julie reassured him. “You’re sitting here, aren’t you? You can hear us talking, taste the food we’re eating, feel the breeze coming in from the window? That means you’re alive. You exist.” “Anyway, let’s take a look at that movie ticket you got in your pocket,” Sid said, standing up from the dinner table. “I’ve got a scanner here that we could use to take a closer look at it.” “Sid’s hoping to become a detective one day. He’s always trying to find mysteries to solve.” Julie said proudly. She then realized that the man didn’t know what a detective was. “Oh, detectives... well, they learn about the past. They take clues, like that ticket stub you had in your pocket, and try to find out where they came from.” The three of them gathered around the computer and looked at the image on the screen. Sid fiddled with some buttons and suddenly the faded words became legible. “Alright, it says here you went to see...Octoman Strikes Again...Part II. Geez, how did something like that get a sequel? Okay, more importantly, you went to see it...a week ago! If you’re lucky, someone there might remember you. This was from...the Lynch Theater. That’s pretty close by! You could probably find your own way there tomorrow. I’ve got an early shift, so I can’t take you anyway. Speaking of which, it’s time to hit the hay. Let me show you where you can sleep.” Although it was just a couch, it was quite nice and comfortable. It was certainly heaven compared to the hard, wood floor the man had woken up on that morning. He began to cry, overcome with gratitude. “Everything alright?” Sid suddenly asked, walking over with some blankets. “I...just wanted to thank you...for everything.” The man said. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. It’s no big deal to let you crash on the couch. And, well…” Sid sighed. “You remind me of someone I knew before. He...used to be a really great person. When I was little, he taught me all about life and how the world worked. Years later, I ran into him wandering around the streets, wrapped in dirty rags and drunk out of his mind. He didn’t even remember me. He stayed with us a few months, and he wasn’t nearly as pleasant as you were. That’s why Jules was a bit wary about letting you in. It was rough seeing him like that, and well...I guess I just see him whenever I see people like you in the street.”

The next morning, Julie offered to walk with the man to the theater. It wasn’t far, and she needed to get out of the house anyway. Normally, she wrote computer code at an office, but she had been working from home in the later months of her pregnancy. “Do you remember movies?” She asked as they slowly walked through the busy city streets. “You spent way too much time watching those, bub.” The rude voice in his head made a rather unwelcome return. “Movies are nothing but people pretending to do things. Losers like you watch them to feel good about yourselves, like you’re part of something.” The man repeated what the voice said to Julie, but a bit more politely. Julie laughed. “That is partly true, but it’s so much more than that! Movies are beautiful things that let you see more than you ever could in your life. You can travel to distant lands, meet strange and exotic people, and have great adventures! I mean, sure, it is a way to forget about reality for a while, but there’s nothing wrong with that, as long as you don’t spend too much time in the movie world.” When they got to the theater, the man was a bit unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Julie was there to help. “My friend here has a bit of a problem with his memory.” She told the man behind the ticket counter. “He has a ticket for a movie here that played two weeks ago. Do you remember selling it to him?” “Why, of course I do! This man comes here all the time.” The ticket seller replied. “Did I ever tell you my name?” The man asked. “No, I’m afraid not. But you come here so often I’d know your face anywhere. The last time I saw you, what were we playing? Octoman...” “Strikes Again. Part II. At least that’s what the ticket says.” The man said. “Yeah! What a stinker that was. No wonder your lady didn’t come with you.” The ticket seller laughed. “I used to come here with someone?” The man asked hopefully. “Yeah. Not all the time, she only came when there was something worth watching. I did notice she stopped coming with you in the past few weeks, but I didn’t want to pry. I did see her once this past week. She came for the midnight show by herself.” “She did?! Did she say anything?” The man desperately asked. “No. I guess you two had that in common.” The Lynch Theater was the only clue to the man’s past, and so he clung to it desperately. He waited there every day at midnight, hoping to encounter this woman. But she never came. Weeks passed, and eventually the theater’s owner asked him if he wanted a job, seeing as he spent hours just waiting outside anyway. He got hired to sell tickets for the late shows, which he had once so often frequented himself. Enough time had passed that the man had started to forget about his quest for his old life. He had even adopted a new name, Harry Jones, which he found using a random name generator on the Internet. Ironically, Sid had forced him to do it, as he was tired of calling him “Man” all the time.

Harry loved his job at the Lynch Theater. It wasn’t particularly exciting, but it gave him purpose. The mysterious woman still lingered in his mind, but he had already given up hope that she would ever return. But one day, when he least expected it, he saw her. The street outside the theater was full of people, as the latest superhero film from Marvel Studios was premiering at midnight. Harry didn’t have much to do at the box office, as everyone had bought their tickets weeks in advance. As his eyes swept across the crowds of chattering movie fans, suddenly, there she was. She was standing at quite a distance, hidden among the crowds. Yet his eyes found her immediately. In an instant, everything around him disappeared. The ticket booth. The crowds of excited moviegoers. The world became nothing but a black void, and within it, there was only him and her. She was dressed in white and looked more beautiful than Harry could ever remember. How did he know it was her? He couldn’t quite explain. Staring into her eyes, he just knew it. Presently, those eyes were filled with fury, filling Harry with unimaginable pain, as if they were boring holes into his very being. But then, her face fell. The anger became replaced with sadness. Perhaps even regret. Her eyes spoke of a long and difficult history. A history that had been filled with much love and happiness, but had eventually given way to nothing but loneliness and isolation. Harry looked at her with pleading eyes, but she gently shook her head. He took a step forward, and she took a step back. As she did, reality came back. Once again, she was standing in the midst of a crowd of excited moviegoers. And he was sitting in his little glass box. As she disappeared into the crowd, fading from view like a mirage, all Harry could do was watch. ~ “Hey Harry, I’ve got a surprise for you,” Sid said as he came home from work one day. Harry was already dressed, getting ready to go to his late shift at the theater. “Well, whatever it is, make it quick. I’m already running late.” He said. Sid took out an envelope from his bag and handed it to Harry. “Well, the folks at the Database Center finally got around to running your thumbprint through the system, and they got a perfect match. They sent the results to the station this morning. For once, they actually got something done.” Harry froze. He couldn’t believe it. Contained inside that beige envelope was his true name, his true identity. The answers he had searched for, for so long, were right there waiting to be taken. So why was he hesitating? What was he waiting for? “Look, I’ll take a look at it after I get back from work. Can you just leave it on the shelf?” Harry asked, putting on his shoes. Sid looked surprised, but agreed. Many years later, after Harry Jones and everyone he had ever known were long dead, the old envelope somehow passed into the hands of an ephemerist, a person who collects old objects. It had never been opened. The ephemerist, wearing sanitized gloves, carefully pried open the letter, and extracted its contents. She read the document thoughtfully, marvelling at how well preserved it was. Normally, people would find something as ordinary as an identification record boring, but people in her field were fascinated by these relics of ages past, a way to glimpse into how life was lived. She tried to imagine what kind of life this man had led, what his dreams and fears had been. Little did she know, the man had also spent a long time figuring these things out for himself.

Sharon Lee Basis of law, universal, the eight, sideways infinity. The beginning, the conclusion, all carefully hidden within. Belief is in the eye of the beholder, the proverbial. They say that the best things in life always come in a perfect pair. But I like to think that they come in the circular perfect eights. Your eyes, your hair, your mouth, your heart, your smile, your smirk, your grin, your laugh. Beautiful without compromise. Dangerous without intention. Equilibrium without end. Incomplete without you, you, you. Biotic, I think, written deep into the pages of my mind. Coded ones and zeros neatly tying each other into knots. By nature, eight is two zeros, two zeros form the origin, of you, of me, of where we are, where we begin and end, circles. Blood runs red, so does love they say. Blood runs blue, so does pain they say. Red and blue, spiralling forces. Love and pain, helical structures. Built upon eights of you and me, circular motion without end. Chasing non-existent endings, looping continuum, forever.

re co mm en da ti on s

movies Recommended by: Ronny Chan Recommendation: Nomadland Picture a vast, windswept landscape with sunset glow. What’d it be like if we became nomads and stayed there for a long period of time? Chloé Zhao in her film Nomadland (2020) offers us a glimpse of nomads’ lives. It’s a story about how one, after experiencing economic calamities and the melancholy of losing a person they hold dear, returns to the serene nature (aka their origins) to make sense of the absurdity of life these traumatic experiences lay bare to them. I especially appreciate a scene in which the director meticulously makes use of distance — as Fern, the female protagonist, leaves her house, walks past the fence and disappears from the screen, the camera remains still for a couple of seconds; this is followed by a series of shots that captures her car slowly driving away along the main road. The empty shots in this scene leave a private space for Fern to find inner peace. As the audience, we also regress to our childlike state/origins, let the cinematic apparatus take us to another emotion-laden realm, identify with the characters whose lives parallel ours, and grief over the minutiae (more precisely put, the punctum) in every single shot of the film. Go watch this movie, I’m sure it can heal the wounds in your soul! (If you’ve finished Nomadland, I highly recommend that you watch The Rider (2017) dir. Chloé Zhao as well!)

Recommended by: Keanna Chan Recommendation: Tangled Premiered in 2010 to celebrate Disney’s 50th anniversary, Tangled is a Disney film (musical) adapted from the German fairy tale Rapunzel. It modifies the original story by adding various stirring adventures and introducing new characters like Flynn Rider, a notorious and charming “thief”. The movie has always been one of my Disney favourites by bringing me comfort and reminding me of the intrinsicality of humans. The iconic song I see the Light touches my heart every time it plays…

“All those days chasing down a daydream All those years living in a blur All that time never truly seeing Things, the way they were Now she’s here shining in the starlight” After escaping from her tower and Mother Gothel, Rapunzel embarked on a journey together with Flynn to see the sky lanterns sent by her parents on her birthday. She is finally exposed to the outside world after spending eighteen long years in the tower. She started asking questions and learning the truth, despite being duped by Mother Gothel for most of her life. She takes the initiative and courage to experience and tries something new instead of staying in her comfort zone. Her fresh ideas, new perspectives always appeals to Flynn as she owns a very unique character. Eventually, by cutting her magical long hair that carries the power of the healing flower, her life starts all over again. She is no longer the Rapunzel that remains the puppet of Mother Gothel, but the Rapunzel that is mature, brave and determined. Watching the movie, it feels like witnessing Rapounzel’s growth. Rapunzel is her own origin. By questioning, discovering, trying, and evolving, she finally finds her true identity of being the lost prin cess and her life goals. The subtle yet sweet moments she spends with Flynn are fragments along the way that pushes her to discover herself and motivates her to become a better version of herself. We all at some point in our lives long for changes. Perhaps this comforting cartoon might encourage you to discover your origins, no matter old or new ones. Take heart, everything is going to be alright.

hobbies Recommended by: Ashley Siu Recommendation: Journaling Journaling, or the act of keeping a journal, is practiced by many such as notable diarists Samuel Pepys and Anne Frank. Nowadays, people journal for different reasons: some log their dreams, some record their travels, and others keep track of their daily activities and achievements. Some claim that through journaling on a daily basis, one could not only use the opportunity to relieve stress, organize thoughts, and reflect on their day, but it also allows us to look back and see how far we have come. Since keeping a journal is usually personal, one could devise and alter a method of journaling to their own liking. Hence those that find writing long paragraphs daunting and time-consuming could stick to journaling frameworks that allow them to briefly recount their day, whereas some may block out time to write in prose, poems, or even draw. As time passes, read your journals again, and relive the memories you have immortalized on paper.

songs Recommended by: Percy Lam Recommendation: On The Ground - Rosé The song talks about even when we seem we got everything from the world, what matters the most will always be on the ground. The lyrics “I work my whole life, just to get high, just to realize, everything I need is on the ground” means even when we earn hard to get to heights unreachable before, what we need will always be from where we started. The ground here is a metaphor, indicating our origins. The ground is usually where people want to leave in order to achieve greater things. Yet, such as family and friends, these are what make the “ground, a cornerstone to who you are today. Without the ground, you will not even have a place to stand and soar high. The song also uses the quote “what goes up must come down”. Even when new heights are reached, someday you will still go back to the ground for various reasons, like bankruptcy or health condition. The ground will always hold you back up whenyoufall,givingyouaplacetoland. Youroriginswill always be there supporting and affecting you. Recommended by: Sharon Lee Recommendation: Everything Moves - Bronze Radio Return On the surface, this upbeat Indie and Rock song describes somebody learning to dance and having fun though they are terrible at it, once you look deeper, the lyrics have many different layers which discuss how we find new beginnings with each step we take, and how we must continue moving forward against the pulse of time.

“You know that everything is moving now Lately I, can’t decide, run or hide Oh and when I do, I’m sure I’ll end up moving too” The lyrics of the song also talk about how we must keep finding new origins for us to be inspired and to live by, so that our passion is always ignited and we stay motivated. The lyrics also discuss how each of us is different and all walk different paths, just as how there are “so many ways to see the sunrise”.

“So lately I, wonder why, we rely, on the sure thing It’s too damn comforting To stay alive, overdrive, ‘til we find, something new To keep the pulse alive in you So many angles, so many lines So many ways to see the sunrise”

Acknowledgements: Publisher: English Society, A.A.H.K.U.S.U., Session 2020–2021 Editor: Sharon Lee [sharon.hkuengsoc@gmail.com] Facebook: www.facebook.com/HKU.English Instagram: @hkuengsoc Issuu: issuu.com/hkuengsoc Email: engsoc@connect.hku.hk Address: 2A01(1), Fong Shu Chuen Amenities Centre, the University of Hong Kong Disclaimer: - English Society, A.A.H.K.U.S.U. does not own any of the graphics or images in this publication (with the exception of original graphics and/or images) - The works submitted and printed in this publication may not represent the views of English Society, A.A.H.K.U.S.U. as a whole