between the world and the self

He had the image of his relationship to Esen being a thin strip of metal that Ouyang was deliberately bending back and forth. Each time it bent, it hurt. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt after it finally snapped, but Ouyang couldn’t make himself believe it.

You’re forced to realize your identity was a choice, and then to choose another. But you know this next strategy will never have the same passion as the one you’d chosen as a child. Now you’re especially aware that it’s a choice. And you know it, too, will likely fade.

No surprise, then, that sometimes I dreamed of trying to pull a mask off my face, only to realize that the mask was my face.

Of course, I said, reaching for the bottle of scotch. Like me, it was half empty and half full.

The black world was expanding before me, and I could see now that that world was more than a photonegative of that of the people who believe they are white.

And I saw that what divided me from the world was not anything intrinsic to us but the actual injury done by people intent on naming us, intent on believing that what they have named us matters more than anything we could ever actually do.

He who gets behind in a race must forever remain behind or run faster than the man in front.

Reassembling those fragments into confirmation of a shared darkness: If it is true for you, it is true for someone else, and you are no longer alone.

There are people who trick you and deliver emptiness with a smile, while others rob you of your self-respect. You need to remember who you are.