If You Could See the Sun

by Ann Liang

Then I make a quick to-do list in my head. It’s what works best whenever I’m overwhelmed or frustrated. Short-term goals. Small hurdles. Things within my control.

I’m friendly with everybody...but I’m friends with nobody.

“You could start your own restaurant!” She beams. This is the highest praise for anyone’s cooking—unless, of course, you’re eating at a restaurant, in which case the highest praise is naturally to compare it to home-cooked meals.

he holds my gaze, as if trying to convey something meaningful without moving his hands or his lips. Clearly, this boy has overestimated my ability to read minds.

I’ve long acknowledged and accepted my limitations, and done my best to compensate for them with sheer willpower and hard work.

“when a large enough number of people collectively care enough about something—no matter how superficial or arbitrary or inherently worthless it is—it starts to carry value.

“Talent isn’t the same as genius,”

“Because,” I snap. “Because this isn’t a Marvel movie. It’s not about good versus evil—it’s just about survival. And even if it were,” I add, dragging a finger down the cold pane of glass, “I’d rather be the villain who lives to the end than the hero who winds up dead.”

I hate when people justify a clearly inhumane process and use it as some kind of model for success just because the results are to their liking—”

“Vaguely.” “Well, I remember it vividly.”