I brought edible weeds from my father’s vegetable field, and planted them in my planter. The soil is also from the field. I added some nutrients in the soil from my compost. The weeds and soil might be unhappy that they separated from the place where they are accustomed to. Sorry, if so. But, I am happy to see the soil and weeds from the field. If the soil was from a store, I would feel very different. I don’t get a same feeling as my father’s field. I enjoy watching them through all seasons. Weeds are very strong. They seem to die in winter but bud as soon as Spring comes. I can get excited about the budding forever. This planter is one of the few place that I can exist in this house. I can meet me.

Recently, I cut the skin of my thumb a little when I was slicing vegetables. Day by day, my thumb got better and finally my thumb was completely rebuilt. What I did?? I didn’t do anything. I only gave fastaid to stop bleeding, and put bandaid on till the pain goes away. I didn’t order my body to cure the cut. I didn’t feel anyting while my finger was reconstructing. Who am I? Where am I from? The world is filled with mystery.