As COVID-19 ravages the world, everyone is waiting for a cure. The helpless are yearning for a remedy, and we all seem to be in the same boat. With the onset of lockdown measures, I halted all my work and activities. I severed the already fragile social connections and disrupted my comfortable, habitual, and familiar way of life. In a daze, I heard Churchill’s words echoing in my mind:

      “Never let a good crisis go to waste!”

     What does it mean to wait? 

     What does it mean to miss out? 

     What does it mean to be in lockdown? 

     In my confusion, I didn’t feel the need to figure it out. 

     To pass the  time,  I rummaged  through my  bookshelf,  dusted

off many books I had previously skimmed through, and dove back into them. Thus, I found an opportunity to settle many debts of knowledge that I had neglected. The bits of understanding I once had about common knowledge, history, and science now connected seamlessly with the internet, flowing unhindered. The exercise books that had gathered dust sprang back to life. A few ink pens that had yet to dry out were put to work, doodling and wandering endlessly...…

      I don’t know when the pandemic will end. All I know is that poetry is a kind of herbal catalyst for life; it encourages me to draw deep breaths, to move away from the mundane and into the realm of the extraordinary. I am unsure whether tomorrow will present me with Kafka's The Trial, Hai Zi's （海子）“Spring Blossoms,” or Gu Cheng's （顾城）ethereal and resolute verses. Have you ever heard Gu Cheng describe you and me?

        “You should be a dream, and I should be a breeze.”

      And here I am, at this moment, reading Frost’s poem:

 “The Road Not Taken.”

       Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

        I took the one less traveled by,

        And that has made all the difference.