by Lynn Kim Do


My sanity is perpetrated by my future. My sanity is denied by my present. My sanity is lying in my past. 
And there lies my past, sitting in 26 boxes covered in 10 layers of dust. Boxes I have to go through. Delicate issues wrapped in bubblewrap that I have yet to uncover and “deal” with. Hand-me-downs I have to donate. Pages and pages of notebooks and frames I have to set fire to. Sanity is the tape that holds these boxes together, neatly compartmentalized. Waiting for me to come back and settle the score. Sanity lies within the future. Within the life I decide to make, whatever that looks like, I’m still unsure. In the decisions that will affect the next course of actions, and then the next course of decisions, all leading to a future with “sanity” as the outcome or at least having apart of it. Presently, I don’t have the privilege to relish in sanity. There’s moments of sanity, sure. Of peace. Of feeling utterly grateful and blissed. But I see it as a luxury, a taste of what’s to come, and honestly, I don’t even want sanity right now. I don’t want full bliss or peace or contentment. I can’t function on bliss. I can only thrive in tension. Good tension. Bad tension. It is the stimulant I need to create. I’m hungry. I am too hungry to sit still. Too hungry to be patient. I am anxious because I have so much to do. And after that list is checked off, there’s another list waiting for me. So I move, work through my day, moment by moment, trying to make my future sane self proud. So that the sane future me could never say, “I didn’t work hard enough.” I will be enough.

Images by Pedro Angel Morales