It started on a Saturday morning. Saturday mornings meant Chinese school for kids like me, and free babysitting for certain parents. My pencil found itself doodling some circles, instead of my prescribed squares, lines, and characters. At some point, I looked at a certain arrangement of concentric dots and circles and saw that they actually made a very passable pig.

Through subsequent Saturdays of refinement upon refinement, the pig found itself with a pair of wings.

My high school swim team had a tradition of scribbling on each other with Sharpie markers before races, and I realized I had my signature ready. That pig found a home on friends’ shoulders, backs, hands, and yearbooks. It became such a symbol for me, that I worked it into a college application (it worked).

Years and years later, I can’t quite leave that bit of my adolescent identity behind. I’m kind of happy about that. I still take time to wonder (and wander) about the world, the odd contradictions it holds, and the impossibilities that maybe aren’t so far off if you can take the time to dream them up and draw them out.

Crows fly in a straight shot. A to B. An accurate gauge of objective distance. Pigs might flounder a bit, take a moment appreciate that they can fly at all, and find the world a little more special because of it.

These posts are about where I’ve been. Thanks for stopping by!

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