Author's Note

Hello, I know you probably don't want to read about my boring life and you don't care but I have always believe writing helps the soul and I write to express my feelings, share my experiences and let myself be vulnerable completely like the poem above.
It's about giving yourself to life.
Here's my story, post by post!
FYI, to protect my family and others identities, I will use fake names, so when you see quotation marks, those are fake names.

Dedication

I dedicate my memoir to my mother who passed away 14 years ago.
My best friend who was the only one who understood me and loved me regardless of what I've done and accepted my geeky self. :)

Memoir of An Human Punching Bag

I want to give myself utterly
as this maple that burned and burned
for three days without stinting
and then in two more
dropped off every leaf;
as this lake that,
no matter what comes
to its green-blue depths,
both takes and returns it.
In the still heart,
that refuses nothing,
the world is twice-born-
two earths wheeling,
two heavens ,
two egrets reaching
down into subtraction;
even the fish
for an instant doubled,
before it is gone.
I want the fish.
I want the losing it all
when it rains and I want
the returning transparence.
I want the place
by the edge-flowers where
the shallow sand is deceptive,
where whatever
steps in must plunging.
I want the ones
who are swallowed.
I want the way
the water sees without eyes,
hears without ears,
shivers without will or fear
at the gentlest touch.
I ward the way it
accepts the cold moonlight
and lets it pass,
the way it lets
all of it pass
without judgment or comment.
There is a lake,
Lalla Ded Sang, no larger
than one seed of mustard,
that all things return to.
O heart, if will not,
cannot, give me the lake,
then give me the song.

Lake and Maple
By: Jane Hirshfield