Can I, just for a moment, stop performing the woman I’ve become—and be the girl I used to be, the one who believed clouds tasted like cotton candy?
“Này Hạt Mềm, hôm nay là một ngày nắng rất đẹp.” “Này Hạt Mềm, có một con mèo vừa đi ngang qua đây. Nó nhìn thấy anh và thè lưỡi liếm mép như thế này này…” “Này Hạt Mềm, nói cho anh nghe, mây có ngon như kẹo bông không?” Này Hạt Mềm, này Hạt Mềm, này em... The little seed lies beneath a cool, gentle shell, still breathing. It inhales the scent of earth. It feels the soft stroke of rain. And quietly, bravely, it begins to look at the world in its own way. The seed sprouts. Hạt Mềm — Soft Seed — is the name I gave myself after hearing someone mention the princess with the soft seed and three apples . I had grown up on tales of knights and princesses, but never once heard of her. And just like that, I fell in love with a name, as if it had been waiting for me all along. As if I had always been meant to find it. Within a shell soft like mung bean skin — probably the same pale color too — I tuck away delicate things: a line from a book, a song I can't stop playing, a painting I ...
