heart-to-hearts #1

So basically, I hopped online onto Tae Keller’s substack to see that she has a lovely collection of monthly newsletters/heart to hearts called ‘the drafts folder’. And… well, I just loved reading through all those. Because those were very true heart to hearts, and they seemed…. real, if that makes any sense. It showed the tough times but it also gave me a lot of hope. And somewhere along the way, I just thought ‘that’s what I want to do!’

Except the thought of doing something like was to be honest, pretty scary. And so a part of my mind mainly just went, “I can’t do that! How on earth can I write any true, heart-to-hearts like that??”

Well, I suppose we won’t know until we try, I guess. I love how Tae Keller’s substack is called ‘the drafts folder’. Because she once said that sometimes it’s better to just put it out there instead of just writing and rewriting and waiting for perfection that’ll never come.

I don’t know if this will be posted or not. But I can at least hope that through writing this, I can maybe get a better sense of what’s going on in the world and in life right now and maybe get a better sense of who I am through it.

Best,

Isabelle

~ ~ ~

i’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out what i’m going to write for this. as i’ve said, i’ve never done anything quite like this before – and it’s scary. like, really scary. but sometimes, for me at least, you just need to put pen to paper and get your hand moving. sometimes, you just need to start telling a story to figure out what story you’re about to tell.

this is kind of what writing this is like for me, i suppose.

and i realized. there is a story i want to tell. a story that has been wrapped up inside of me so tightly for months now, i can’t figure out how to unwrap it. how to uncork that tight little glass bottle i’ve put it in and set it free.

the answer might be super simple. i’m a writer. so write.

but this is just one of the very few things i truly can’t figure out how to capture in a novel. maybe because it’s so wide and complex, it can’t be captured. i’ve tried, trust me. but this is the kind of thing that well… it’s much greater than just a single story. much greater than just a single novel. and to try and put it in there, with all these other elements, just… isn’t so.

there have been lots of novels exploring this. i’m amazed at how these writers manage to put something so personal, so deep and true, so wide and big, capture it, and put it into their novels like some magical masterminds.

and that thing is cultural identity.

sounds simple. doesn’t it? except it isn’t. at first glance, it seems so simple. something that’s just… a part of you. something that’s easy to capture and put into a novel, like so many others have done. but upon closer inspection… it isn’t. because for me, sometimes it’s just hard to say things like, ‘i’m Chinese’ or whatever.

i mean… i look Chinese. my ancestors were (most likely, i presume) Chinese.

and yet, it’s hard for me to really see myself as really Chinese. and this is the part where i really get stuck. because i was raised as a Western kid. English is my first language, and my Chinese is mediocre at best. i know hardly anything about Chinese culture, and what little i think i do know about China has been filtered through the lens of Western media.

and that has left me feeling lost. it’s left me lost in figuring out who i am, i guess. am i Chinese? American? or what?

what am i, if not Chinese or American?

after all, being born Chinese… doesn’t that mean i should know everything about Chinese culture? doesn’t that mean i should feel some sort of connection to it? even though i don’t? even though i feel so much more connected to Western fairytales like ‘the twelve dancing princesses’ than alleged (alleged because the internet is a wild place) Chinese fairytales like Chang’e and Hou Yi?

that’s what i’ve been feeling lost in.

and maybe that’s the wrong question i’ve been asking. maybe i’ve been digging myself into the wrong hole. maybe i’ve been going about this the wrong way.

i’ve read all these books. i’ve read all these deep and amazing stories. they take the brave, deep dive into race and culture.

and as i’ve read those, i suppose a part of me began to wonder. after all, these writers are writing about their own identity – something that feels so big and wide. something that could span an entire universe. race and culture seems to be a big part of that. i suppose i just thought that race and culture was what made a person.

i never stopped to wonder. what really makes a person? is it race? is it culture? is it their past? is it their dreams?

and as Tae Keller said, it’s a question without an answer. or rather, it’s a question with endless answers.

but i think that maybe, just maybe, i might have found part of the answer for me. i say part of because really, this has endless answers. because what makes a person is something that can span entire universes.

stories.

or at least, in my eyes.

because through all this, as i read books with Chinese protagonists, i never really thought about the fact that maybe there’s more to a person than just race and/or culture.

but through a lot of books and stories told by other people – mostly Tae Keller’s novels – and through writing this heart-to-heart, i’ve begun to both wonder and realize. what really makes a person?

there is no one answer to this. but for me at least, the answer is stories. i didn’t realize this, though it may have hovered in the back of my head for a bit, but for me, stories are what make me, me. everything i’ve been through. all my memories. my dreams (not just the ones you have while sleeping). the stories i’ve told. everything i believe in.

in short, the story of my life – something that i don’t think can ever really be captured. it spans a great deal of countless other, smaller stories, endless memories, enough to fill a whole universe. so maybe it’s less about capturing, more about setting free.

a part of me, while writing this, does agree with it. except the other part of me, aka 95% of me, can’t figure out for the life of me, what this really means. what’s the different, between capturing a story and setting it free? again, easy and simple at first glance. but so hard and complex once you really dig deeper.

so how do you and what does it really mean to set a story free?

~ ~ ~

Again… I have no idea if this will ever be published. Never before on my blog have I ever really posted anything like this. And I know this part of me is going to be very different than the fun, bubbly part of me that you know. But this is a part of me nonetheless. The bigger part. The part that is far more scarier for people to really share. The part that I myself am scared to share. Yes, I’ve shown this part of myself before – in my books, mostly.

But somehow, that’s easier than this. After all, to show this part of yourself in a fantasy novel, you can disguise it. You can hide it, under layers of plotlines and characters and evil sorceresses seeking to destroy the world. You can hide it and have it come through that way. And to be honest, if I were to write a novel like Tae Keller’s – the kind of novel that holds real, universal truth in it – I don’t know if I’d ever be able to do that.

Or if I’d be brave enough.

And I can’t really for the life of me figure how to show things like this in a novel. But a part of me wants to learn. So I guess I better start with this then.

Scary as it is.

And to be honest, I half considered posting this on Substack instead of on my blog. Why? I guess it’s because a lot of you guys here already know me. Or at least, know the fun, bubbly, overdramatic version of me. I suppose a part of me is rather scared of what you guys will think.

But I suppose I have to try, right? I’ll probably post a heart-to-heart once every two months. Or, you know, whenever I have an existential crisis. Odd, isn’t it, to see a tween posting something like this? But what can I say? I’m an odd person. If you don’t like it, you have my full permission to leave and go read something else. 🙂

Best,

Isabelle Knight

Or as some of my friends call me, Isa.

P.S. As to why I didn’t just post on Substack, you must be 16 to post anything on there, so of course I’m not gonna post on there.