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Triggered by a long rain;
this semblance still exists
that I cannot keep,
but the process distills me,
known only by those distilled.

Triggered by a wild rain;
at the apex of my restless sleep,
on my finest hour where I’m supposed to be.
At another crossroad...
where am I supposed to be?

Triggered by an urgent rain;
a message in my heartbeat quivers
for a warm rice wine 
and my soul’s true keeper.
Here,
those silent nights we shared
the only thing I have.

If you don’t know me by now...
when will you know me?

:::

This is the poem of my soul. It’s been with me through thick and thin. It has grown with me, accompanied me along the turbulent shuffling of life.

If I were to leave one last trace of myself on this Earth, this poem would be it. 

:::

The first stanza speaks about the ever changing of life. I am Jin, from many places, lived many lives. Long before I had words to describe my curiously, I was already enquiring into Secret Things. Long before any pursuit of artistry became possible for me, I was already out there asking, seeking, wandering, playing. Long before I knew anything about playing cards, my position was already determined in the perpetual shuffling of life. Through it all I haven’t changed, I’m still me, yet when I look upon myself, I honestly cannot recognise who I am looking at. Who am I really? I am not the only one asking  this question, for there are those like i with the very same sentiments. Only those who’ve walked and experienced the same thing as me along this path of life can know what I speak of.

The second stanza are my constant thoughts during my time on this Earth. Every moment is my finest hour, yet why when the sky turns dark, why do I feel so blue? Why am I so restless? Just why must I have to traverse those roads and places whilst others don’t have to? Am I awake, or am I asleep? What’s my purpose on this Earth? Why am I even here? Where am I supposed to be? I ask these questions during my years on and off the road, on that lonesome sleeper train traversing across Ukraine at night; amongst the crowd at Djemma Al-Fna in Marrakech seated with people from all walks of life, where I am with the people but not of the people; in all my years visiting my own people on my family’s land in Hong Kong, where at once I feel elated to be home, yet I know Hong Kong can never be my home; in the various wilds where I find myself lost and not a soul around, with just a sleeping bag and the clothes in my back, hungry, afraid and itching to take a bath; on those long stretches of roads where nobody knows my name or speaks my tongue(s), nor cares to; and whenever I return to England where the divide is always so great.

The third stanza laments, especially in regards to all the lovers I’ve had in my life, all the wonderful women, our time always so short, so many words we couldn’t say, and too many moments of dishonesty. If only I were courageous enough to admit I need help, that I don’t know how to express myself. I often wonder if I had just stuck with you and just put my nomadic spirit aside for once, maybe I could be somebody proper. For you, for me. I lament also all those friendships and brotherhoods and camaraderies that ended in ruins. How did it end up like this? If only i could take it back. 

It’s at once bitter and sweet my friends, yet for me, it’s my medicine.

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