Perhaps like Ocean Vuong, my field is letters: poetry, stories, and essays. This is what I am drawn into. How words could be carefully concocted, designed to heal. And there is so much healing to be done, so much. Even within me. And I doubt whether critical philosophy could ever address these problems.
If letters is my field, then mindfulness and pause are my todos. The words will come; the right words always do. But one needs to be patient; to wait. Our greatest mistakes come from hurry. In slowness, certainty arrives, moderation, kindness. And this does not only happen on the blank page. It happens in the bedroom when I talk with my partner. It happens at the line on the store when a stranger enters the line. It happens among friends when a single wrong word could uncover thousands of past hurts. If I am going to dedicate myself into a life of letters, then this is my commitment: That my words should always heal, as much as I could, the wounds of others, the wounds of this world, and will never be violent but show what is possible in the human heart.