11.13.2004
I started reading Iris Chang's The Chinese in America: A Narrative History before going to bed on Tuesday November 9th.
The following morning, I arose to this headline:
Bestselling history writer Iris Chang found dead
I was shocked, saddened, grieved. At the tender age of 36, Chang seemingly succumbed to her depression and took her life with a single gunshot. Such talent; such drive and determination to compile the tales of many in beautiful, easy, conversational prose. Lost.
She leaves behind her husband, their two-year-old son, her parents, and her brother.
The following morning, I arose to this headline:
Bestselling history writer Iris Chang found dead
I was shocked, saddened, grieved. At the tender age of 36, Chang seemingly succumbed to her depression and took her life with a single gunshot. Such talent; such drive and determination to compile the tales of many in beautiful, easy, conversational prose. Lost.
She leaves behind her husband, their two-year-old son, her parents, and her brother.
11.11.2004
Lest we forget.
Appropriately enough, I was playing "Disarm" when 11:11 a.m. rolled around. During my minute of respectful silence, I meditated on Billy Corgan's lyrics, listened to the swell of strings and tolling of bells, and declared it a most mood-appropriate song:
Disarm you with a smile
And leave you like they left me here
To wither in denial
The bitterness of one who's left alone
Ooh, the years burn
Ooh, the years burn, burn, burn
I used to be a little boy
So old in my shoes
And what I choose is my voice
What's a boy supposed to do?
The killer in me is the killer in you
My love
I send this smile over to you.
- from Disarm, The Smashing Pumpkins
Appropriately enough, I was playing "Disarm" when 11:11 a.m. rolled around. During my minute of respectful silence, I meditated on Billy Corgan's lyrics, listened to the swell of strings and tolling of bells, and declared it a most mood-appropriate song:
Disarm you with a smile
And leave you like they left me here
To wither in denial
The bitterness of one who's left alone
Ooh, the years burn
Ooh, the years burn, burn, burn
I used to be a little boy
So old in my shoes
And what I choose is my voice
What's a boy supposed to do?
The killer in me is the killer in you
My love
I send this smile over to you.
- from Disarm, The Smashing Pumpkins
