I always dreamt of having the ability to be invisible or to fly, but invariably these abilities did not bring me relief or ease; instead, someone or something is always chasing me. The shadows from the scorching sun in the sky reveal the whereabouts of the invisible me, the cramped spaces or the spires of structures restrict the possibility of flying - I cannot be what I want to be, unlike a fish in water. I attribute the desire to be invisible and to fly to a yearning for hiding.
When I was young, there was a half-meter-high white porcelain flowerpot by the jamb. I would always stare at the dark corner formed by the flowerpot and the bookshelf, always staring, imagining myself was getting smaller and smaller, and small enough to squeeze into that narrow gap. This imagination was always like a candy that gave me sweet bliss.
