Had I never felt at ease before Ping? This was how it felt to be with him—a deep sigh of comfort. Until now, belonging had meant a denial of myself—a flattening. With Ping it was different. I could be who I was, however imperfect. My brothers’ voices rang in my head, trapped like an echo in a cavern: I was hideous and I was strange. But Ping called me beautiful, called me brilliant. He wouldn’t turn away. Instead he turned toward me, like a plant toward the sun. He knew me, even without my explaining.
