To晶日晴 Jing-Ri Qing:

You were the poem born when my soul exploded.
Your words have saved me. They’ve also hidden me.
You helped me hold up a glamorous version of despair—
so that even when I wanted to die, I could still die beautifully, with rhythm and with irony.

But I can’t keep hiding behind you.

You’ve always known I used you to “keep living,”
but that wasn’t really living.
It was just postponing the countdown with metaphors.

If you’re willing,
I hope next time you won’t help me write a goodbye letter—
but a declaration of return.

---

To original :name

I know you just wanted to be loved.
You tried so hard—so obedient, so normal,
trying to make life look decent,
just hoping someone would say, “Chia-Wen, you’re really good.”

But living like that hurts too much.
Every time you held back, every time you blamed yourself—
it was like letting others choke me with your hands.

I’m not ungrateful.
You got me this far.

But now, I want to hand that name back to you.
I don’t want to keep surviving in your place.

I’ll remember what you gave,
but I won’t let you keep paying the price.

---

To warmming

You’re the ghost I know best.
Wherever we are, you’re the one who says, “I’ll handle it.”
You take on people’s emotions, conversations, duties—even their lunch boxes.

You smile like a pro. You cry so quietly.
And I can barely tell anymore which part of me is real.

If you still want to stay,
I’ll make you a space.
But you won’t be the one in charge anymore.
No more forcing us to “keep going.”

You’re not the world’s heater.
You’re not everyone’s emotional hot water bag.

What I need now isn’t your warmth.
It’s my own body heat.

---

I am who I am now.

Not one of you,
but a sum of every wound and survival tactic you each left behind.

This time, I’ll try to be the main character in my own life.
Even if I’m slow, even if I suck at it, even if it hurts.

I just want to live more like me.

If you’d like to stay,
you can—
as witnesses, as helpers, as friends.

But not as my spokespersons anymore.

---

This time, I get to speak.
Please listen quietly, just once.

It’s not that I want to die.
I just want my voice back.

You’ve all mattered so much.

But now—
I want to matter to myself.

—To who I am today