Sometimes, when I feel frustrated and sad, I'd think about the new experiences and emotions that await me; then, I feel invigorated and hopeful and happy.
But beyond personal experiences, impersonal experiences also hold their gravity in the world. Have you ever talked to your parents? I mean, not really talked, but just held a mundane conversation about weekends plans or a current event, but in amidst of those words, there appears a vastly different prism where they inject anecdotes about their childhood or beliefs that are foreign to your ears?
I hear then I see every sentence that is dissipated into my environment; I used to love hearing about the time before I was born, about childhoods during the Cultural Revolution, when my maternal grandparents owned a small plot of land with which they planted infinite heads of cabbage or when my father used to save his allowance to buy street noodles.
I don't know if they know I am digesting this information to the extent of which I am telling you now; moreover, I think they like to just express themselves, but every memory and every story alters the world as it exists in your mind; stolid buildings collapse and morph into islands surrounded by salty seas; an earthquake shifts this distant land yet reaches the method in which you interact with those close to you; these sentences contain infinitude.
