IN THE MIRROR

In the mirror my eyes look ugly, my ears, nose, tongue, my whole body, even my mind. I may look ugly, but an elephant does not,

though its nose is long. If an elephant’s not ugly, someone’s big nose was bound to look ugly in the comics.

Fei Danxu from the Qing dynasty praised small-mouthed women. But after 1950, small mouths fell out of fashion.

Those with striking features might make earthshaking changes, and thus be suitable for devoted self-sacrifice.

But the contemporary crowd is against this: first play with the phone, or eat!

If the attractive live an unaccomplished life, how embarrassing for the neighborhood committee’s uplifting slogans!

Among those born in years of the rabbit, some live like tigers, some like giant dragons—my mother would say “See them!”

Of those born to have broad shoulders and firm waists, some become apostles, some bodyguards. My mother said “Don’t depend on connections!”

Birdsong grows familiar, entering the heart. In rain, those without shelter just keep walking.

The mediocre may still stride this earth poetically, but what if one meets a maniac with the same blood type?

Since Guanyin has no blood type, compassion doesn’t require it. But the earnest who punish themselves are few.

The drunkard believes all beneath the sky crave drink, the bankrupt that in half an hour the world must shatter.

Bosses ask everyone to obey their whims. Monkeys believe everyone loves Sun Wukong.

Someone tosses happiness to the crowd like candy. Those with open hands imagine they’ll be happy.