Just before dawn breaks, before light blooms, the scent the breeze carries — for that alone I want to live one day more. Born with the rare fortune of sitting down anytime, notebook and pen in hand, ready to write — this is why I love being alive. My own words feel peaceful as sudden rain in fierce heat!
I want so much to live just to sew a green chain onto my little sister's white dress. Writing letters, piling them up to surprise my beloved one day — this is why staying alive feels so delicious to me. November fourth, thinking what to do for his birthday — even now it seems worth living until that date arrives. Drawing beloved lines from poetry books, letting my soul taste heaven — this is how I spend this life, making it mine.
Wearing an olive coat-sari and red high heels, stepping clumsily onto the stage to recite the poem "Teja" — this has become my life's singular purpose. Taking mother to see Paris — this is why I force myself to stay alive like this.
The struggles of village life, want and hardship, where love still peeks through trembling like water gathered on taro leaves — to write such a story, this pointless "I" has been alive since birth, even now.
Yes, for all these small feelings I remain alive! How strange! Who doesn't find living hard! Yet people live on because something beloved pulls them back.