For we must all learn to howl.

The smell of joss sticks always makes me think of too much. When I was younger, the smell was uncomfortable - it was smoky and burned my eyes, and I didn't like it because I felt like I was choking, like the tendrils of smoke were coiling around my throat and slowly but surely squeezing the life out of me. It didn't help that I had a fear of going to the temple when I was younger either - the bright-painted deities sitting on the shelves of the temple scared me, like they were watching my every movement and didn't welcome me because I didn't know what to do in front of them - and I soon learned to loathe and fear the smell of incense. Things tend to change as you grow older, though, and when I finally learnt to accept my Chinese heritage and culture I learned to get used to the smell of the smoke - it wasn't as though you could avoid it when you visited the temple, after all. Over time, I actually learned to like the smell of the smoke, and I used to think ...

It's true that this is a cliche picture (he laughed at me when I took the picture), but I felt it was appropriate. This is my view when I'm too tired, when the days and late nights and sickness have worn me down - this is when I'm too tired to keep up with him and choose instead to lag behind him, letting him pull me along with every step he takes.  This is the view I admire, the boy he is right now, the man he hopes he can and will be.  He's someone not everyone approves of - this is also true. But he's always here for me, and he's always so supportive, and he truly cares. I know of no one else who worries about me the way he does, or listens to me the way he does, or loves me the way he does. We may be young, but we know what we know, and I know that he makes me feel incredibly lucky sometimes, and he makes me wonder what on earth he ever saw in me that he thought was so special. It's sappy, but it's all true. Happy 7thsary, baby.