Everyday, I stare at this mountain. I observe the changing weather conditions, the turning seasons, the passing lives. I consider all the ways to tell its story, my story, the story of the people living in its surrounds.
“What could be simpler to understand than the act of people writing about what they know best, their own lives? But this apparently simple act is anything but simple, for the writer becomes, in the act of writing, both the observing subject and the object of investigation, remembrance, and contemplation.”
Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson, Reading Autobiography: A Guide for Interpreting Life Narratives
To tell the truth, I’m not even sure I want to write something labelled “memoir”. I can hear people huff, “Oh, not another I survived my privileged life as an expat in Taiwan story.” I can’t even decide whose story it is I most want to share. This writing process seems to be bringing forth more questions than it is answering. -KB