Now, I’m thinking who I am.
I’m a poet lost in translation.
My starting point is a poem. An ancient Chinese poem from 1000 years ago which is almost impossible to translate into another language. It creates thousands of images in my head, a kaleidoscope.
But how? How can I let it be known?
How can I break the boundary between languages, then show you the secrets?
I’m a storyteller lost in invisible things.
Sound, emotion, memory, dream, and imagination.
Maybe? Maybe the truth is hidden inside the ambiguity?
I’m a magician lost in between imagination and reality.
Casting a spell, I put a little magic into a piece of paper, to keep my voice in these Endless books.
They are my answers, my translation of the poem.
Oh wait, they are not the translation anymore, they are my analysis of my experience reading the poem now…