I was in Shanghai when something unexpected happened.
Just a day before everything shifted, I downloaded a paper by Jeltje Gordon-Lennox. I remember being immediately drawn to it — the way it spoke about ritual not as something fixed, but as something that continues to evolve within contemporary life.
Shortly after, I was offered the opportunity to write a chapter for her new book.
There was almost no time to pause. I began writing immediately — before the surgery, in between preparations, holding onto the text as something steady. It gave shape to those days, a direction I could return to.
After the surgery, I came back to it again.
But the writing had changed — or maybe I had. It became slower, more embodied, more attentive. Each sentence required effort, but also carried a different kind of presence. I wasn’t only writing about ritual anymore — I was living through a process that helped me understand it differently.
On our last day in Shanghai, I sent her the first draft.
Today, I sent the second one.
After her feedback — the way she carefully explained how she sees my chapter within the book — something opened for me. I am learning a lot through this process, and I feel genuinely grateful to be part of it.
Looking back, it feels precise: the paper, the invitation, the writing — all unfolding at the threshold of a physical transformation.
What stayed with me is this: sometimes work arrives at the exact moment when you need a structure to hold onto. And in that moment, writing is not just writing.
It becomes a way of continuing.
Hi~(*￣▽￣*)