TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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Tonight I spied a photo of an Asian family, mostly women of various ages and a middle-aged man, sitting and standing around a table set with dishes of this or that, all broad smiles. Funny, I greeted it with a tear. I had (or so I thought) glimpsed a strange little paradise through a tiny hole in a great wall, an impassable boundary between me and a past that had never happened.