Nastiness Diagnosis. Anthropology. Religion. Gender. Justice. A Personal Notepad For the General Public.
I decided that however busy I would be, I still need to squeeze out some time to think, for real, in Mandarin in its written form, furnished with its tonal rhythm, and beaten by its memorial legacy.
It’s not totally without rhyme or reason, but it’s mainly not a story of logic.
There are many times I thought I luckily avoided a lot of disasters, because of people’s help. Because of the selfless support of my beloved. Without these, long ago, I should have disappeared in this world. Or worse, I would have skewed up the whole thing, a total failure. Yet with the constant, or intermittent, oracle or revelation from the God-damn-IT God — it is declared that it is obligatory to accept my failure. It is mandatory to hear the sounds that articulate my indictment and to stare at my scarlet letter at every single night, in each morning that is welcome or uninvited by the world.
Sunlight, air, water, and sin.
My first sin is that I always assume that I am being kind to others, while benefiting from it. Yet only the first part of the story is compiled into an anthology of me, hard to recognize as an archeological site, a process in which the only clue to discover patterns is also a way that must destroy the possibility of its reconstruction.
I thought what I did was for other’s good. Even if that was also for my good.
I turned myself into the most tragic protagonist. I enlarged all pains, like someone who had never known what a pain is, for the first time being conquered by it, an angel that had been fallen with this rare and precious disease– an irresponsible illusionist who thought she was aloof from mundane rules and worldly wisdom.
Thereby nobody should have ever blamed me. No one should have blamed the most miserable one. No one should have condemned the fallen angel. No one should have scolded me and enumerated my wrong-doings, because I had sacrificed myself, being blind to my benefits while seeking temporary peace, unlimitedly rationalizing, unthinkingly free. Because I had flagellated the self, a self that had been more often than not grudgingly produced, fragmented, and recycled. No one should have come and blame me. Because all sins were already invented.
That is my first sin.