Revisited a folkloric Chinese film from a few years past. Cheesy, overwrought plot and stilted acting aside, the character of the fox demon, strange as it may seem, struck a chord with me.

Sometimes, perhaps during one of my midnight promenades along the dyke, with none but the rhythmic lull of waves and monotonic crunch of gravel for company, I cannot help but ponder if my true self is that of some preternatural, otherworldly being. There is always the lingering sense that I could reach up to my forehead, peel back the layer of pleasantries and social etiquette to reveal the unfathomable creature beneath it all.

Surely, it must be a terribly lonely, self-perplexed, misunderstood creature, constantly peering out at the myriad of human routines and emotions, playing along nimbly but not comprehending a thing. Oh, how it yearns to be human, to be born with a fully functional heart, to reach out to a fellow human without the fear of rejection and reproach.

How it yearns, yearns for love. But, how could one desire without perception and comprehension of the notion itself?