Inspiration
I never imagined a day would come when I’d sit before a pile of ink-scented paper, brush in hand, and heart falling silent with every stroke. As a city child, I once thought calligraphy was outdated and dull.
Yet summers in my hometown with my grandfather taught me otherwise. I would beg him to show me “those black-and-white things,” and slowly, he let me trace my first uncertain strokes
Later, under my teacher’s professional guidance, I learned more about calligraphy, about its precise technique, and also rhythm and patience.
During school festivals, I would always participate in calligraphy-writing activity, helping our class to decorate our booths.
To understand the art more deeply, I even registered a few Chinese course, uncovering the layers of meaning behind each character. In every brushstroke, I found fragments of myself — and before I knew it, calligraphy had become the art that teaches me how to listen, to breathe, and to be.
