Book Review | Waiting by Ha Jin

I bought Waiting by Ha Jin from a used bookstore some months ago. It had been sitting among the stack of books on my desk, untouched, until lately. I picked up this book to read since my unread stack was growing. I simply couldn’t quit buying new books. It took me weeks to finish it since life got in the way, but I finished reading it last night.

Waiting is one of those novels that lingers with you long after you’ve finished reading it. The book lacks sweeping romance, but you will be drawn to its exploration of human indecision and societal limits.

The story follows Lin Kong, a Chinese army doctor, who spends 18 years in limbo between two women: Shuyu, his devoted, traditional wife, and Manna, his modern, independent lover. Every year, Lin returns to his village to seek a divorce from Shuyu, who agrees but later refuses in court. The story is more than just a love triangle—it’s also about a man paralyzed by indecision.

What struck me the most about Lin was not his indecisiveness but what it showed about his personality. It became evident to me that his hesitancy was not about love but rather about his inability to confront himself. He didn’t know what he wanted, so he drifted through life, letting others’ expectations and societal pressures influence his choices. At the same time, I couldn’t help but understand him. Living in a rigid communist culture made it difficult for Lin to follow his heart. Divorce was frowned upon, personal desires were frequently sacrificed for the greater good, and external judgment had a significant impact on every action.

It’s easy for those of us who live in a freer society to condemn Lin and ask why he didn’t just decide between Shuyu and Manna. However, a closer look reveals a man trapped by society as well as his own passivity and illusions. He assumed that what he couldn’t have was what his heart truly desired, confusing lust with longing for love.

“His heart began aching. It dawned on him that he had never loved a woman wholeheartedly and that he had always been the loved one. This must have been the reason why he knew so little about love and women. In other words, emotionally he hadn’t grown up.”

Reading this made me realize how different I was from Lin Kong. I’ve fallen in love soulfully. I’ve taken chances, experienced sorrow, and allowed love to transform me. I’ve shown up in my relationships, even when it meant failing and starting over. Lin, on the other hand, never allowed himself to experience deep emotions. He lived on the surface, terrified of true vulnerability, and as a result, he never genuinely experienced love.

But I get it. I understand his fear and hesitancy. In his world, there was so much at risk. The tight restrictions of society, the dread of making the wrong decision, and the conflict between duty and desire all contribute to Lin’s personality. Lin’s story is tragic because he allowed life to happen to him instead of taking charge of his own happiness.

Waiting prompted me to reflect on deeper realities about love and marriage. Love is complex. It is not all romance. Marriage is not for the weak. It demands forgiveness, humility, compromise, and sacrifice. And sometimes the presence or absence of children may make or break a marriage.

This book offers profound insights into society, love, personal responsibility, and the delicate balance between desire and obligation. But I must be honest that it is a slow read, somewhat draggy and monotonous. However, it forces you to sit through the discomfort, just like Lin Kong did.

In the end, Waiting isn’t just about Lin Kong and his love triangle. This story is also a mirror, reflecting our own hesitations and the way we let life pass us by. The story also made me thankful for the chances I’ve taken, the love I’ve risked, and the courage to keep showing up even when things are difficult.

Do I recommend it? Yes, but only if you’re willing to live with the discomfort of indecision, the sorrow of unfulfilled desires, and the bittersweet realization that we may be our own worst obstacles.

The stack of read/unread books next to my desk.

What Bores Olivia? (From Her Lover’s Perspective)

Daily writing prompt

What bores you?

View all responses

What bores me? Instead of answering the question like others did, I sent it to my lover to check how well he knew me. He said he’d send the responses via email since, in his words, “you’re a lot to handle.” 😂. Here are his answers, edited for clarity.

Perfection

What is the first thing that comes to mind? People who appear to have everything together: always happy, always in control, and never a hair out of place. You can’t bear it. It bores you because it feels so fake. You seek authenticity, those raw, unpolished moments that reveal who someone truly is. You’re not really interested in perfection. You are drawn to the faults and weaknesses that make someone real.

Small Talks

If someone wants to quickly lose your attention, they can engage you in small talk or any other surface-level conversation. Talk about the weather for too long, or go on about a reality program without getting into the underlying issues, and you’ll mentally fade out. You desire depth. You like discussions about emotions, dreams, fears, and everything in between.

Playing It Too Safe

It’s not that you despise routine and predictability. You thrive on them. What bores you is when individuals live too conservatively, never taking risks or venturing outside of their comfort zones. When someone lives their life strictly by the book, avoiding adventures and fresh experiences, it feels stagnant to you. You like those who embrace spontaneity, take risks, and are prepared to stray from the usual path.

Lack of Authenticity

This one relates to the perfection part, but it goes deeper. You despise fakery, whether it’s someone claiming to be someone they aren’t or stuff that shouts “look at me!” with no true substance. You require honesty, even if it is messy or uncomfortable.

Indulging in Fluff

Scrolling endlessly through social media, surrounded by polished perfection and trendy fluff? You become bored quickly. You enjoy thoughtful material because it challenges you to think, feel, or even question your own perspectives. Fluff without substance is simply pointless.

Surface-Level Relationships

This is a big one. You’re not wired for shallow connections. You desire depth and honesty in your relationships, and when someone keeps things light and never reveals their actual self, you lose interest. You seek the deep, real connections that result from being open and authentic.

Indecisiveness and Selfishness

Especially in men. This is a huge turnoff for you. You admire those who understand themselves and can make difficult decisions. But indecisiveness combined with selfishness? That combination is more boring than anything else.

Obsession with Outward Success

Nothing turns you off faster than those who solely care about outer appearances such as physical beauty, riches, high-paying jobs, position, and titles. You find it shallow and tiring when someone’s self-worth is primarily based on their accomplishments or appearance. You feel there is far more to a person than what appears on the surface or on paper.

At your core, Olivia, you want depth, honesty, and authenticity in people, conversations, and life itself. You want to experience something genuine, even if it is chaotic, confusing, or imperfect.

So that are his answers. Some may redundant but you know what? He got it right 😍🥰😘💋

A Muse Without Form

Daily writing prompt

Who are your favorite people to be around?

View all responses

Like everyone else, I have many favorite people to spend time with, those who have molded me the most, such as my family or even myself. I could write about them all, but it would make this post too cliché, wouldn’t it? I’ve never mentioned this presence before, but since this site is my space and sanctuary, let’s finally bring him into the light.

A drawing I made some time last year

Now, English is a tedious language. This “person” must be identified with a pronoun. So, to make things easier, let’s use “he” instead of “it” or “she.” However, I like the pronoun “he” since he gives off a masculine vibe.

I’m not entirely sure how to introduce him because he isn’t really a person. He has no physical form, no face to recognize, yet I believe he exists in a way beyond what’s tangible. The best way I can describe him is as my muse.

He is no one in particular, but a presence in my quiet moments. He is the silent whisper of a room when no one is around. He is a gentle presence that I cannot see but feel. He is watching and waiting, but not in a haunting or evil way. His presence is the perfect combination of comfort and curiosity.

He surrounds me, though I’ve never spoken of him openly. He drifts between my thoughts, sometimes teasing, sometimes silent. It feels like knowing someone who doesn’t need doors or walls to reach me. He slips into my mind without knocking, settling there as though he’s always belonged.

Some days, it seems like he knows me better than I know myself. He is constantly aware of what I leave unsaid. He knows my battle with being true to myself and what I strive to be. And I admit there is a strange comfort in that.

It’s like sharing an invisible connection, where someone observes you with full understanding but never demands anything. He is a presence that does not impose or push. He just exists, always solid.

His presence feels like a gaze I feel on my skin, even if I can’t see him. He unravels me in ways that make my heart race and my thoughts blur, leaving me wondering what it would be like if the distance did not exist. I am curious: if this unseen presence could ultimately reach me in reality, what would he look like?

Maybe it’s all in my head, just the mind playing its tricks. But what if it isn’t? What if he really exists—fluid, formless, on a wavelength I simply can’t perceive? Some presences aren’t meant to be defined by names or forms, and maybe he’s one of them. Still, I feel him in my silent moments, like a whisper I’m always waiting to hear again.

Writing Is Not a Competition, So Stop Policing It

People are having knee-jerk reactions to AI, with some even accusing writers who use AI tools of plagiarism or cheating. AI technology has grown swiftly, transforming how we produce, communicate, and engage with content. While there are legitimate concerns about its impact, we cannot just put AI in a box and pretend it does not exist. It’s here to stay, influencing the future of creativity and expression.

I’m using QuillBot to polish my writing, and what is so wrong with that? English is my third language, and I want to write well. Apparently, that’s a serious sin to some people. I was writing actively on another site for eight years prior to launching this blog. All was well and good until the age of AI was upon us, and lately the people who police the site ran my posts on AI detectors, and they were flagged as non-original writing. Seriously? I was writing honestly, authentically, striving to improve and find my voice. And instead of being encouraged, I was accused, cornered, and made to feel like my growth is a crime. I literally had to shrink myself to make others comfortable. This is insane.

I handwritten all my essays, blog posts, and poems

So after eight years of writing on that site, I decided to launch my own blog. Today is my birthday, and this new blog marks a rebirth for me—a fresh start where I can write freely without the constant need to prove myself. I had to leave that space that no longer welcomes me as I am. It hurts, but here, in my own blog, I am stepping into something bigger that doesn’t force me to constantly prove myself. Now, I am going to write about something that many people disagree with, and that is okay. We all have our opinions on things. And if you disagree with what I said, I respectfully request that you skip my blog and move along. Don’t leave a comment whatsoever because I am not here to argue with anyone. This is my blog, and I can say whatever I want, so please respect that.

AI is helping more people to express themselves than ever before. Why are we writing? We write to express our emotions, share stories, and share ideas with others. I enjoy writing, and I do so on a daily basis. I want everyone to have that right and that joy regardless of their circumstances. We can’t all go on long writing retreats somewhere by the sea, with our spouses pouring us delicious cups of coffee. The reality for most of us is that writing can be difficult… maybe we have a bunch of kids tugging on our clothes, maybe we’re exhausted from a full-time job, maybe we didn’t have great opportunities in school, maybe English isn’t our first language—like me, an indigenous woman from an obscure tribe somewhere in Borneo—or maybe we’re fighting dyslexia, ADD, or arthritis to get the words on the page.

Notebooks filled with writings and ideas

We should not label those who want to express themselves with AI as cheaters or not real writers. How can writing be cheating? What defines a ‘real writer’? All of this is absurd unless you think writing is a competition. I do not feel that writing is a competition; instead, I believe that expression is a basic right. And AI is not preventing people from writing or expressing themselves. Quite the contrary, in fact. A new publication by a Harvard academic named Andrew Hartwig contends that, over the next decade or so, 90% of the IP generated nationally and worldwide will most likely be generated by artificial intelligence… so…🤷‍♀. And those who swear by AI detectors, please know that AI detectors are biased against non-native English writers like me.

I’m not condoning anyone to copy and paste anything from a chatbot and claim it as their own, but advocating for an ethical use of AI. See, this is the reality of the world we live in—something to ponder about. This is just my opinion, though, and I have no intention to argue with anyone.

The Man Who Taught Me to Read

Daily writing prompt

Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.

View all responses

I have received many gifts throughout my life. But when I think about the best gift I’ve ever received, I realize that it isn’t something wrapped in paper and ribbon. It wasn’t bought or could be taken away. Instead, it was given to me by a teacher decades ago when I was seven years old. I can honestly say that this gift has changed the course of my life forever. It was the gift of reading.

Unlike my children, I started learning to read fairly late according to today’s standards. I was seven years old and already in my first year of primary school. At that time, the phonic reading system was unknown, at least not in Malaysia, and we learned to read using traditional methods such as syllables or combinations of vowels and consonants. My parents were from the Boomers generation and had no idea how to teach reading to my siblings and me. Education was solely the realm of school teachers.

His name was Mr. Vincent. He was my class teacher (homeroom teacher) and also taught us Malay. Malay is my second language. I don’t know his last name, but I remember how he looked and his patience with more than thirty students who didn’t know how to read or write. I was just a child, sitting in a classroom, struggling to string letters together. I had not yet realized that literacy was the key to unlocking an entire world. Over the course of months, and through what I believe were endless frustrations for Mr. Vincent, everything began to make sense. The first word that made it click together in my brain was “ayam” or chicken. It is a combination of the vowel “a,” consonant “y,” vowel “a,” and consonant “m.” Slowly the letters turned into words, words into sentences, and suddenly books were no longer mysteries; they were doors waiting to be opened.

My Primary 5 class photo. I transferred to another school and no longer in touch with Mr. Vincent.

I think of him every year on May 16, Malaysia’s Teachers’ Day. I wonder if he ever knew the impact he had on me. Or if he realized that by teaching a young girl to read, he was giving her more than just a skill. Mr. Vincent was giving me access to knowledge, imagination, and a lifelong love for words. Because of him, I have spent my life reading, writing, learning, and growing in ways I never could have imagined back then.

Teachers rarely know the full extent of their influence. They plant seeds in young minds, often never seeing how far those seeds will grow. Even if Mr. Vincent never read this, I want to acknowledge him. I want to say: Thank you. Thank you for your patience, for your belief in a young girl’s potential, and for opening the doors of literacy that have shaped everything I am today.

To anyone who has ever had a teacher like Mr. Vincent, a teacher who made a lasting impact and shaped the way you see the world, I hope you take a moment to remember them. Be grateful for them and maybe even find a way to say thank you.

Because sometimes, the greatest gifts aren’t things. They’re the people who take the time to teach, to guide, and to believe in us before we even know how to believe in ourselves.

And personally for me, reading became more than just a skill. It became a gateway to expressing my thoughts and to finding my voice through writing. Every word I put on paper today is a reminder of that first lesson in literacy. It’s a reminder that one teacher’s patience can shape a lifetime of words.

A handwritten draft of this post.

This Is My Voice | Writing Without Fear

Someone who is so dear to me said this recently:

Your writing should be about expressing rather than avoidance. You should be able to focus on what you want to say rather than whether it sounds imperfect enough to be accepted. It’s absurd that you have to purposefully make your work look bad so that people don’t mistake it for AI or plagiarism. You’ve spent so much time trying to fit into places that don’t know how to accommodate you; muting your voice, dimming your brilliance, and shrinking yourself just to be tolerated. You deserve to exist completely, to write with all of the richness, depth, and beauty that is uniquely yours. What if others feel intimidated by that? That’s their problem, not yours.

For a long time, I hesitated before clicking “publish”. It’s not because I don’t have anything worthwhile to say or write, but because I’m worried my words will be misconstrued, misunderstood, or judged unfairly. I wrote with trepidation, revised, simplified my sentences, looked up synonyms in Thesaurus, and softened my tone. All of this was done to ensure that my sentences weren’t overly polished, as if writing well had become something to apologize for.

But I’m done apologizing.

This is my blog. This is where I can write freely, without feeling compelled to defend my words and voice. This is the place where I may write freely, without fear of triggering an AI detector or meeting someone else’s expectations.

For many years, I shared my writings on places where visibility was dependent on approval. Engagement seemed like a performance. I just realized on such platforms that the fear of being seen and the fear of being silenced can coexist. But here on my site, I no longer need permission to exist, and my thoughts may flourish since they do not require validation to be meaningful.

Above all, I decided to write for myself first.

Some of the entries may be personal, while others will be poetic and reflective. Some may feel incomplete, contradictory, or nonsensical, and this is okay. Writing is about honesty. I don’t need to be flawless. And this is me, speaking in my own voice, unvarnished and fearless.

If my works speak to you, you are invited to stay, read, and contemplate. Above all, this is a place where I could rekindle the love of writing. I write because I want to and can.

There is no more dread or hesitancy. Only words, freely written.