A woman stuck on Earth

​There will be a celebration for my dad's 70th birthday while we're there. It’s a massive event—hundreds of people are invited, with a detailed program and a host to navigate the dinner through games, entertainment, and speeches. ​I was assigned to give a speech as his daughter. "Here, this is your script for the speech," my parents told me. They had written the entire thing. I am just supposed to walk onto the stage and read it out loud. ​"How can they do this?!" my husband reacted. "They truly control everything they can, and they never give you a chance to be yourself, do they? A 41-year-old woman isn't even given the chance to write her own speech..." Even after 17 years together, my husband is still in fundamental shock every single time things like this happen. ​But it’s true. This is the authoritarian relationship my parents and I have. Or, perhaps I should say, the authoritarian relationship they have enforced upon me. ​Family dynam...

The only thing we can think about now is the trip. And I know the only thing they can think about now is our arrival. We have all been planning, booking, and communicating for months—especially over the last few weeks. As I walk through this life's events, I understand more and more why there is absolutely no force in the universe that could sever my connection to that place, the place I still call home: because of love. I was born out of love and raised in love. All of my senses have been filled with love since day one, and all the lessons of life I learned there were about love. Love—unconditional love—from my parents, my grandparents, my uncles and aunties, my baby cousins, my entire extended family, my friends, my teachers, and my first love. My heart is always so full and ready to give because of them; I unapologetically receive and naturally give unconditional love because of each and every one of them. They poured love onto me, each day and each night, wherever I walked and ...

250 human years; 17 years of a taste of it. The self-immolation of Lobga Rangzen; the forever push-and-pull deep in the bones of my identity as a Han colonizer and a colonized, Indigenous South-Chinese. The stalled, unfinishable sci-fi novel turning into a raw reality in the awe of my new revelation; one story after another, new stories birthed by old stories that I am mindfully and intentionally navigating my path into. Is any of this real? I created this entire universe in my mind, didn't I? Visited M and Y in their Oakland apartment: "My consciousness, my mind, and my body are distinct from one another. My true existence—my consciousness—is not confined to my body and mind, but exists in everything in the universe; in fact, it is the universe itself, and I am the director of my own physical life's film," Y calmly narrated. "Consider yourself extremely rare, because you arrived at the gate of spirituality out of a sense of happiness, contentment, and fulfillmen...