Having the traits of an empath is harsh sometimes. Right now, for example, I feel nervous and my heart’s pounding. I’m also kinda bummed. I think absorbing everything makes me more able to counsel my friends, and I’m deadly accurate when predicting human behavior, earning me the nickname among my girlfriends of “Psychic Cindy.” But that also means that negativity bouncing in the ether out there magnifies as it drives into me. As much as I fight the Asian drama gene daily to not turn into my mother and value my father’s pragmaticism and stoicism, I’ve been disappointed more and more frequently at how sensitive I have been recently. The Cancer side of me needs the insulation, but it’s a direct clash with what’s starting to feel like my life purpose.

In the recent past I’ve been unable to discern whether a feeling is produced by me or simply reflected on me.

And maybe I’ve never been original or creative.

No, that can’t be. So few people share my oddities.

I spent a solid 4 hours on the piano at my parents’ house today. If I could make the black and ivory an extension of my creative mind again, I may be able to create. And that’s a nice outlet.