Thank you for your support <3
"You look like you need it."
The PDF version is still available in my header~ :D
Please follow the link if you are interested :)
I just spent the last 5 hours playing the first 3 acts of Kentucky Route Zero, and seriously if you like games with amazing stories, kind of creepy surrealism, point and click adventures, text adventures, or computers, you’ll probably REALLY enjoy this game. It’s definitely a headphones-and-devote-an-evening-to-playing-no-distractions-dim-the-lights kind of game.
Saying anything about what happens would be rude of me.
The whole game feels like retelling a partially remembered, but riveting, dream where things could have been a nightmare but the horror is mostly nostalgic, like remembering a scary movie you saw as a kid but can’t recall the title or the premise, just shapes and sounds and a handful of disjointed scenes, but you’re remembering this during a dream that feels real and you can’t look at your hands and you’re floating a few feet from your body. Things make sense because that’s how things make sense in a dream. You do things as the come naturally and think “Of course it works this way, why would it work any other way” but if you had to explain why you can’t, not with words, it’s just a feeling. You can retell the events but not why they make you feel how you do, and you don’t even know how to describe how you feel. Finishing the third act was like waking from a nap where I hadn’t realized I fell asleep, but I had the most evocative dream. Strange and sleepy, murky, dark, beautiful. The game leaves me at a loss for the right kind of words, but the right words might not be real.
The colors, the visual style, the camera angles, the way the camera moves, the sound… oh the sound. There’s something comforting about the ambient sounds that remind me of falling asleep in the backseat of my parent’s car as a child. But also set me on edge, the way a crackling radio might burst into moments of clarity, the static giving way to an unexpected, unfamiliar voice. You jump and feel silly, then move on, forgetting. There’s a mystery to be solved, but you’re not sure what or why or how, you just keep going deeper as things become less and less clear but more and more interesting. Strange. Glimpses of things familiar, but strange. There’s bears on the third floor, but that’s not important.
This game hits me in all the right places.
I played the first three acts yesterday on a slightly hungover Sunday, and this really sums it up. Dreamlike in a way that should be unnerving (but instead… makes a weird sense?) and beautiful <3
If you like point and click adventure games, great art, and Welcome to Nightvale, you will love these games.
Pretty has just received all the US book orders! I will let you know when she starts shipping them out to you US customers :D
Just letting you Michi has received all the international orders! <3
Dear 嫲嫲 [Grandma],
It has been four years since you passed away.
I want to tell you that I have a nice job now
People say that I help them.
I even delivered a baby on the side of the highway.
I was on the news! Twice!
I wish you could have seen it.
You would have been so proud
and called all your friends
and called the whole family to tell them to
switch to Channel 5 at 7 o’clock
and recorded the second interview
and saved my newspaper clippings
(mom and dad and my sisters didn’t even watch it
They said, but we all saw you on TV the first time! We see you every day!)
but you would have been so proud.
I passed by our old house the other day
the rose bushes are gone now
and the giant tree in our front yard doesn’t seem so giant anymore
in fact, everything is smaller.
No one grows winter melon on the fence like Grandpa used to do
but I guess they don’t have to worry about old Mrs. Chung from down the street
coming by with a shopping bag, and stealing their melons
Mrs. Chung is probably gone, too.
Remember the time I grew a sunflower plant in kindergarten?
A tiny little green sprout pushing through a small square of Home Depot soil
in half a school lunch milk carton.
We planted it in the flower garden together
and all summer it grew and grew
until it was taller than me, taller than you, taller than mom and dad
until I could see it from my bedroom window on the second floor
the bright yellow blossom turning throughout the day to follow the sun.
When it wilted we cut off the flowers and roasted the seeds in the oven
I still can’t believe how big sunflowers are!
They don’t grow things at number 8 Old Standish anymore.
Andy finally got married this past summer, and Peter finally had a kid
We had a picture of you and Grandpa at the wedding.
I think sometimes the happiest events are the hardest.
Being in the doctor’s office with you the day they gave you your diagnosis
was one of the hardest days I can remember
I didn’t know the word for cancer in Cantonese.
I struggled to find the words for
the treatment options, and the estimated years
I cried so much, but you didn’t shed a tear.
You said, “I have lived a good life, and people age.
That’s how it goes.”
I have always admired your strength.
When you had a stroke, you walked yourself to the hospital
because you didn’t want anybody to worry.
You raised nine children during a time of famine
Often going hungry so that they could eat.
I remember the story of how a Japanese soldier
beat you with your own umbrella in the street
because it was raining and
he could not see you bow underneath it.
Yet you carried no bitterness in your heart.
When I was born I was so small,
You called me “米雪”
because I was as small as a grain of rice
and as pale as snow.
I got sick a lot and
everybody worried I was malnourished
because I fussed and would never eat.
You made dish after dish for me until I found something I liked
and to this day mom says it’s your fault that I “always want to have everything.”
You walked me to the library every day so I could learn to read
Because even though you struggled with English you wanted me to know it
I was reading at a fifth grade level
by the second grade.
I wish my Chinese was better. I could have told you so much
About my interests and thoughts and feelings
and how hard it was to be depressed during school
and how hard it was to fight with mom and dad
and how I wish I could have heard more of your stories
and how I should have spent more time with you
I didn’t know our time was going to be over so quickly.
But sometimes I think maybe it is a good thing you’re not around
You never have to have your heart broken
when I want to marry a woman instead of a man.
Your love for me will never be soured
the way that I am afraid mom and dad’s will be
the day that I finally say something.
I will never disappoint you or hurt you,
and you will always be so proud of me.
嫲嫲, I eat enough now.
(sometimes too much)
I don’t go to bed with wet hair anymore
(even though I never caught a cold from it)
The days are getting colder
but I always remember to bring a jacket,
and, yes, I am warm enough.
Also, there is someone I like.
She is beautiful and talented and kind to me
and we laugh a lot together
I think you would have liked her.
It may not work out, but
I am hopeful for the future.
Sometimes little grains of snow-rice
grow like sunflowers.
嫲嫲, please don’t worry about me
It’s not always easy
but I am happy.
I am reaching for the second story,
I am following the sun.
Because the first time I kissed a boy I was disgusted. It happened in the last minutes of recess, behind the swings, under the creaky bridge of the old wood structure that we always called a castle. I had been told that princesses always kiss boys. I didn’t know what I was doing, and neither did he. Our small tongues like slugs, slimy and awkward in each other’s mouths.
I thought, this is love, it has to be.
Because when I was too young, a man too old told me he loved me. I didn’t know what I was doing, but he did. He gave me things: movies to make me laugh, and all the ones about ghosts, a new set of paintbrushes, a beautiful marble stamp with my name carved inside. there was a back room full of videos and the wet smell of watercolors drying.
I was carved inside.
People ask me why I don’t paint anymore.
I was fifteen, and summer was just beginning. A slow breeze was lifting the curtains. I was spooning my best friend. The two of us cupped in the soft bowl of a papasan chair, nestled like fragrant fruit ripening, curled into each other. I was fascinated by the way her hair curled soft and golden, so close to me. Close enough to do anything. There was too much closeness. I kissed the freckles at the nape of her neck. She jumped up and screamed, demanding, What the hell was that. Thinking quickly I laughed- The look on your face!
She didn’t know what I was doing, and neither did I.
Because when I was fifteen, I thought I was in love with a girl across the country whom I had never met. My mother found my diary and read it: my fervent declarations of love, pages covered with a girl’s name, covered in hearts. My mother screamed, demanding, Tell me this is not true! I said, yes, you are right, it is not true.
She knew what I was doing, and so did I.
I thought, this is love,
protection and deceit,
it has to be.
Because my first real love had a love like a strangling fig. He took and took of me, until my well was dry. And then he took my dirt and my stone walls. I was carved inside.
He said, Everything is for you. I live for you. Breathe for you. Bleed for you. I would die without you. And I will, I will.
I wanted to know, is this love?
And he said, It has to be.
I knew what he was doing, but wished that I didn’t.
I thought, all I ever know of love is blood. It has to be.
Because the first time I met you I was scared you wouldn’t like me. You said I held your hand too tight. But inside of an elevator you kissed me quick, and you laughed at my stunned face and wide open eyes. I stood there for a second after the door opened, wanting it to close,
wondering what I could do to make you do that again.
Because I know the way you hold me.
Because we talk until dawn until my throat is sore from shared secrets and quiet laughter. I made myself sick one night staying up with you. I make myself sick sometimes, glutted on longing stuck in my throat. I want to kiss your eyes closed and watch them open to see how you look and how you look at me. I want you to stop me between floors and trap me in a confined space. I want the curve of my lips along your collarbones, I want it as my first thought in the moments before knowing.
Because in the quiet pre-dawn moments I even let myself want the things I cannot let myself say, the way if you say a wish it will not come true. I don’t know what I’m doing.
I think, I am so scared,
Because I am so scared.
why I am the way I am about you
Michi, you are not allowed to complain about writing bad poetry anymore. This is very very good poetry.
Michi I… I thought this was professional, published poetry until I recognised that bit where you held my hand tight..! My heart swelled as I read on! I feel lucky every day to be so close to someone so talented, so humble, so sweet, so friendly,
so pretty omnomnom