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 1. Card Fencing. 2 pax + A deck of cards split between the number of players. Concept: Cross swords, hitting the wrist and let the card fall. The one that lands face up wins the round, and you place it in the discard pile. If both land face up, the one with the higher number wins. The first player to finish his deck wins. Multiple players: goes from eldest to youngest (arrange by seating if needed). begin each round by choosing your opponent of choice with your chosen card in hand. The chosen opponent can opt to forfeit the round and take your card, or accept the round and begin sparring. 2. Red light green light in the spam of a song. But with the lights on and off. Objective: get to a melee weapon across the room and hit your opponents with it. All the while freezing when the lights are on. The most hits wins. 3. Existential Circle: go in the middle, share something that isn't obvious to observation. Anyone who has the same characteristic joins you in the middle.   ...

The Teahouse’s siheyuan vibrated to the hum of cicada wings. But the cicadas could be louder, I thought—as a persistent jet of sentences streamed foul and piss-like into my ears.  The mid-sized middle-aged man at the counter barely moved his thin lips, but the words rang loud enough. “Young lady, this is parent-hood. This is how dads do it—trying to stay insane.”  I half-heartedly grunted in agreement, and continued sorting the new shipment of Qi Men Hung, Pu-Erh, and Oolong. The man had choiced Oolong—the black dragon. I set the kettle to boil and readied the tea set.   Following my movements, he edged closer, cleared his throat, and earnestly went on. “Yalah, insanity. Living up to the pressure of all the expectations out there. Children now so sensitive summore, how to not ruin a childhood?"  What a man, I thought. I hope his children are okay. "By being insane enough to love you more than I love myself. Kisiao! Break the parent or break the child.” He finger...

   Faith Foo. To say it correctly you have to soak up the softness of your tongue. You hear the sound, now think of its meaning. It means what it is, Faith. It meant dad wanted a daughter. It means a childlike belief given, almost force-fed to children from their elders. It has no eastern origin, but it reflects its Chinese counterpart in this case.  When Elders call my name Faith, they call my three words in full— I become Hu Xin Zhi the alter ego which is introduced first by default with the wild notes of long-forgotten clans. Scratched in indelible ink with no frame for the woman, they are only of my father's father's father's father's father's father's father, the ancestor Hu.   Then Xin, which in Chinese signifies trust. Or faith. It could also mean a letter, a man speaking—which I see as meticulously written and sent with no returning address and after months in the 21st century, with no returning response.   Zhi has no particular meaning, but in...

When the self comes into play, we can only focus on what matters most to us: what is most grounded within the self...is the self. How it is entangled in the world of matter, how it interacts with pain and emotions, where we want to feel most pleasant. That is the self that speaks.  For existentialist writers like Sartre, the loss of God means that each individual must create their own values, with only their conscience to guide them. Murdoch thinks this is a false picture, both psychologically and metaphysically. Her view is that we can retain much of the conceptual structure that makes the concept of God intelligible by replacing the Judaeo-Christian idea of a person, God, with the concept of the Good. According to most monotheistic religions, namely christianity, we are mitigating the self, or view the self as inherenly flawed, a broken version of perfection, which is God, a being abound with love. It neutralises or reframes the position of the self in a larger frame of perceived...

Night-time madness, intoxication strikes —in the form of a loose leaf, a bug in her eye.   Motorcygirl has a lot to think about spread eagle, loose grains of gravel in her elbows. a car went rushing past,  then slowing down and reversing pumping  palpitations, oozing faster from her open vein  least of her worries now she is expecting the worst when  the stranger that kneels in front of her  has the voice of a man.  Don't move. I'll help ya'.

 The sea is not happy so I'm not happy But the sea is happy.  It's serene, Because it has so many things inside So many Friends But pollution makes it unhappy So we have to make it clear This piece of sky over our land is ecstatic  No, it isn't. It's raging. It has nothing within, it only has itself formed from the excess of what the land gives. It is bitterly jealous of the richness and depth of what the land is.

 Tragedy is in an enslavement to alcohol and friendship, a moment of clarity can often emerge in the cold plunge to grief. A next step leads to actually stand on two feet, to blunder and receive the blows of spirituality and potential journeys.  I looked for a gift and wrote a chapter on auspicious gifts. The power in those words was the gift. She then took the words wrapped in yellow paper and sent it to her aunt to get blessed. The blessed package was inconspicuous, but it became a memory bank that flung the potency of words into spells.