Amy's Memoir

Tears

A childhood where tears were not a weakness, but the first language I used to ask for love.

So This Is Snow

The day my brother saw snow for the first time, I realized I had quietly stopped seeing the world with wonder.

DouZhi

A bowl of sour Douzhi that I never learned to talk with my grandparents, yet somehow became the taste of my grandparents’ devotion.

Growing up🙋🏻‍♀️

When the Hands Let Go

The morning my father finally let go of the bicycle, and I learned that balance begins with absence.

On the Ice

The day I broke my arm but refused to cry, and discovered that courage sometimes looks like quiet persistence.

Lulu

A black cat I pretended to dislike for years, until I understood that love can hide inside complaints.

XiaoBai (little white)

A dog who had once been abandoned, yet chose to trust again—and in waiting for me, taught me what loyalty truly means.

After Leaving Home🏡

5:30 p.m.

Through routine video calls across time zones, I realize that what I miss most isn’t advice or reassurance, but the effortless, unfinished conversations that once filled the space between my family and me.

Not Yet Mine

A midnight application form forces me to confront the uncomfortable truth that my real fear isn’t choosing the wrong major.

I Will Not Step Back

A fierce declaration against my own habit of retreat, this piece confronts my fear of looking ordinary and commits to staying.