a shell of my former self

i realize that conversing in chinese reduces me to a 2D monochrome sketch. thanks to my dismal expanse of chinese vocabulary, my personality has been reduced to explosive, whiny, and retarded. not exactly very flattering, if i may say so myself.

i am unable to adequately describe any experience to the detail they deserve. everything is either good or bad, food is either super nice or super icky. i cannot give it texture, and am unable to discuss its aroma beyond stinky or "smells good!"

most unfortunately, i am reduced to a babbling, stuttering mess whenever i am excited or nervous or angry, in which states of being i am most of the time. it is no wonder everyone thinks of me as that girl with the "big streak of nerve".

but this isnt me.

my personality has been lost in translation. it is fuzzy, raw at the edges, rubbed off at the corners. i am no longer a whole being, but a skeleton, devoid of flesh, deprived of skin and departed of hair.

is it no wonder that on quiet nights like these, loneliness stabs me deep where it hurts?