Today, I finished reading Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclair’s Youth by Hermann Hesse.

Have you ever read a book that was so extraordinary, so in accordance with your nature; that after you finished it, you were reluctant to start anything else, because you wanted to be still immersed in that sensation, to linger a little longer, to savour it a little bit more?

To me, Demian is such a book.

I am so fortunate – no, fortunate is too superficial a word – I am honoured, blessed, and privileged to have been a reader of this book, to have been bestowed this epiphany, this revelation.

For in Demian, there lies the answer to every question I had asked myself, everything that was born out of my subconscious – as if each word, each symbolism, each metaphor, was a presentation of what I had always wanted to express, to communicate with others, and to share with the world.

Hesse was me, a higher version of me, with far greater wisdom, talent, and eloquence. And while I was drawn into his world accounted in Demian, I metamorphosed, I became him living and breathing and thinking again.

Every person’s life is a journey toward himself, the attempt at a journey, the intimation of a path.

Thus Hesse, through his heartfelt creation, had steered me toward the right path. Now I see that there is no so-called “purpose” in life, no purpose in any struggling, striving, or pursuing; save one – to become one with yourself. So many people perhaps never did find themselves. They died, as pale reflections of the surface of humanity, while convincing themselves with the illusion that they had fulfilled what they were supposed to do.

I will not allow myself to be sunken so. Demian is my guide. He is my dearest friend, my sibling, my parent, my beloved, my destiny, myself.

I cannot recount how many times when I was reading this book, I had been utterly shaken by an insight, as if my heart had been struck by a lightning descending from the sky, and myself reduced to ashes and dust. Then from my own perishment I was born again. I have also lost count of the times when I dissolved into whatever was around me, dematerialized, every single substance afloat in the air, being absorbed into all, becoming one with all, and simultaneously encompassing all.

How can I describe all of this to you? My words are simply too pallid, too deprived, too crude.

What a sacred pleasure reading is! I am again being reminded how beautiful and profound it is to wander into someone else’s mind, and to hear the echo of your own utterances; to have your deepest feelings and emotions resonate with another’s.

And you see that you are not alone in this world. Someone else, and many many more, had walked the same path, had dreamt the same dreams, had tasted the same happiness and bitterness on their tongues, had intoxicated themselves with the same goblet of eternal beauty and infinite mystery; had been running towards the same destiny, extending their arms to reach for the same blazing star in the ever-expending cosmos…

We humans are all one. Within each one of us, there contains fragments of all other beings. We are all connected; we draw our inspirations, presentiments, and desires from the same collective subconscious. And we are one with the universe also – all that around us are projections of our internal world. Meanwhile, every human being is an embodiment of the universal essence.

I sincerely recommend Demian to everyone. It might be tremendously helpful in guiding you toward your own destiny. By reading this book I have transformed. I gained strength, courage, and inner peace.

I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I’m beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me.

Now I am prepared to embrace my destiny, and to become one with myself. This is a journey that will last a lifetime. This journey shall never end, and it shall extend beyond my death. And those born after me will keep travelling, keep seeking. Everyone is utterly alone in their pursuit of themselves; yet no one is truly alone. For what we seek are totally different, but in the meantime, the same thing.

We never walk alone. 


What One Could Learn from Migraines

This morning, I had a migraine attack.

A blinding aura that cruelly blocks my sight – the omen that always preceded the onset, was more dreadful than the actual pain itself. It deprived me of the ability to continuing my work, and ended what was supposed to be a productive morning.

I could feel my arteries convulsing, my neurons firing madly. The left upper part of my brain was being crushed, hammered, squeezed. Just when the excruciating pain was beginning to overtake me, I took my leave from my post, rode the commute then staggered back home, and collapsed into my bed.


Bayview Village in the morning, North York, ON

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5th Year in Canada: Serendipity & Saudade in the Golden Times of Fall

Fall claimed its arrival quite suddenly this year. Brisk wind arises, sending the chill breath of northern air, carrying a whiff of burnt leaves. Summer drew to an early end; nights lengthen, while days grow short. Sunlight melts into a mellower golden tone, and the sky seems to be bluer, stretching ever higher and thinner.

‘Tis a season of fresh new beginnings, of warm spices lingering on your tongue, of expecting reunions amidst the bleak and bitter cold. Pumpkin flavoured drinks and apple cinnamon pies, Jack-o’-Lantern and thrillers for show, houses and shops wearing black and orange, followed by green and red. Then ere you are ready for it, there it is again – the start of yet another year. “Time flies.” They say; cliche, yet how true! With the maturing of age, time seems to be slipping away even faster and faster.

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Berczy Park, Toronto, ON; Aug 29, 2017


For me, this Fall is for embracing the new. Not only does it mark the 5th year of my adventures in Canada, it has also brought me the start of a whole new career. Nearly 2 weeks ago, I was accepted into an organization with an amazing team that is genuinely supportive of each others’ growth. Now, I have the fortune to shape my aspirations – my passion, my dreams – into reality, which I almost gave up hope on.

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First Love

It all started with this little book I received from my mother. I must not have been more than 5 years old then. The book was nothing special, its contents were but samples of elementary-school students’ compositions with pictorial illustrations. Something many Chinese parents would buy for their little children who were just starting to learn how to read and write. Yet it was the first piece of literature I ever encountered; and it ensnared me. I remember going over those short essays and stories again and again, seeing what the authors saw, feeling what the authors felt. My imagination was kindled. Eventually I began to write on my own, in a little notebook, imitating and learning from what I had read. What was beyond my vision at that time, was that I had nailed my soul to the altar of something far powerful than I will ever be; and that I had pledged myself with a vow that cannot be broken or annulled.

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