From the throated song-voice of an African griot — soft strikes on a talking balafon — to the ancient Chinese characters etched into a tortoise shell, to the Incan chasqui plucking quipu, each string more colorful than the last — storytelling is found in every culture, in one way or another. This knot: The enemies are coming. This stream of smoke: The king has died. This blinking cursor on a Google Doc: 
 

Growing up bilingual, I developed a deep fondness for writing and the art of language. Letters sauntered on the page and seemed to come to life. The fact that there are words in some languages that can’t be translated to other languages, experiences in some cultures that can’t be found in other cultures, is what led me to write “The Middle Man.” 
 

Besides the hours and hours of writing, I spent countless recesses and lunchtimes gorging on the works of others. From Catherine in Rules to Olivia Pullman in Wonder to Missy Cooper in Young Sheldon, the media is the first time I have ever felt seen and represented for who I am, for the role I take on as a glass child, an older sister, a caretaker, and a daughter. Media, in its various forms, is what inspires me to make others feel seen — to take the people who are overlooked and write them into existence. 
 

And so I did, through poems, memoirs, creative non-fiction, essays, articles, short stories, and even sweet nothings. But I have to admit, poetry will always be my most treasured medium. After poring through the poems of my sixth-grade English teacher, Ms. Alexis Sears, I came to understand why the strongest passions and greatest loves are often discovered during childhood. She was the one who taught me how to write an acceptable concrete poem, and to this day, she continues to remind me how great writers are inspired by other great writers, and that all writing is borrowed yet new at the same time.

Thus, I continue to draw inspiration from everything around me and from the art of all those who have come before me. Novels: Anything from Nicola Yoon’s Everything, Everything to John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men to George Orwell’s 1984 to Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. Articles: The New York Times’ columns, The Guardian’s investigative news, and the San Mateo Daily’s food story map. Poems: Kinsale Drake’s "Baby Carrots," Richard Siken’s "Scheherazade," Franny Choi’s "Strawberry Moon," and Ada Limón’s "What I Didn’t Know Before." Of course, we can’t forget about Franz Kafka: “Dear Milena, I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: ‘Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.’ Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time, or have to reckon with time. But what if we don't have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.”
 

Kafka’s Letters to Milena taught me what it means to love as a writer and be loved by a writer. How to articulate an experience in such a beautiful and eloquent manner, with so much wholeness, that even the greatest adversities turn into sustenance. As in the words of Franny Choi, to me, writing is made for the “least lovable, the too-full, the easy-bruised,” shouting “I choose you, and you, and you, and you.”