— if our paths cross —
A few quiet places where I can be found.
A small collection of essays about the Chinese language — and the things it asks us to slow down for. Each one centers on a single character, a single phrase, a single way of seeing the world that does not quite fit into English.
There is a story, often repeated in East Asia, about the Japanese novelist Natsume Sōseki. A student translated "I love you" into Japanese directly — and he shook his head.
There is a moment, between two people who know each other well, when something is communicated without anything being said. In English, you'd need a whole sentence. In Chinese, two characters: 意会.
English uses one verb — have — to gather almost any moment under one roof. Chinese keeps a small constellation of verbs around tea: 喝, 泡, 沏, 煮, 品. Five ways of approaching the same leaves.
In Chinese, weather is rarely just weather. To say it is raining is to say 下雨 — literally, falling rain. The rain doesn't simply happen. It descends, with intention.
