Americans. They can buy into their own witchcraft so quickly, but make it foreign and it’s silly. I nod and explain. At the very least, it's a good philosophical ritual to perform, sometimes. If you don’t trust the divination part, the results still get you thinking. In my case, the Dao says I am approaching zenith, with all its glory and triumph, and need to think abandonment, cause decline comes next. I glance around and it doesn’t seem like zenith or triumph. Except for George. He makes me happy, despite having to live in his bizarre schedule. He’s worth it. (...)
Claudia’s Relationships
The Wooden Man
In my mind, it’s always present. One flash inside the other, never past, never future, forever happening. Right “now,” I am twelve. A sound: water nearby. The scent of leaves, bamboo, China. Among the woods, a broad, clear circle on the floor invites me in. The sacred ground where we train. Although this time, there's more. He watches us. Two arms point out; a third, a foot lower, aims at me; a single leg bends forward, like a cat stance. I return the look, in respect. The wooden man, icon of … Continue reading The Wooden Man
I don’t teach men
I gaze and say nothing. I’m way more verbose inside of my mind. His eyes meet mine and suddenly he flinches. (...)
The Hermaphrodite
I walk in. House smells like orchids. Beyond that, a mess. Lights on, the mirror, clothes off: ripped t-shirt, big red stain; sports bra. Sweatpants are a size bigger because I like it that way. Better for kicking, if you tie it tight. George thinks I am sexy. I'm not so sure. I like the ink … Continue reading The Hermaphrodite
The me that ain’t
I know the speed (and angle) of every punch I threw in my entire life. Didn’t, back then. But now I do. I can tell the energy built through all chi-gong routines, and what you spend in each bagua palm change. With accuracy of seventeen decimals, because after that it’s mostly irrelevant. I have data … Continue reading The me that ain’t
Pretty Boy
I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area because of Bruce Lee. As a young girl isolated in mainland China, I fantasized with the vibrant fighting community he inspired, to this day ready to confront laws and canons, set to prove new combat ideas in the real world. So I applied do Berkeley. Physics. This … Continue reading Pretty Boy
Yinyin’s silk hands
She spat no grunt, despite being the third time she got hit on the face since they entered that room. Digging her chin to the chest, she pressed the pupils against the eyebrows. He gasped. Yinyin Yang, her name, was an attempt to undo the curse of the family name. “Double softness of chi, to … Continue reading Yinyin’s silk hands
The Tigress
She was called Yinyin, to soften the chi of the family name, Yang. Same reason she picked Claudia, from clouds, as her westerner alias. But her master knew better. He only addressed her as Mǔ Lǎohǔ, the Tigress. -- Join this literary experiment and watch a character taking shape as I prepare for my next book. The story of a girl's life as a cage fighter at night (who only fights men), tai chi instructor during the day (who doesn't teach men). Follow the page so you can be updated on new posts with the fragments of her memories and please leave comments too. About Claudia, the writing, about fighting or female heroes. That's why this page was born. To hear from you.
