Tuesday, July 23, 2002
In a Chinese shop I bought a Japanese paper parasol which I wear in my hair. So delicately made, with colored paper and fragile bamboo structure. It tore. I repaired it with tape.
When Samuel Goldberg took us to Chinatown for dinner I went into a shop to ask for parasols. The woman who received me was very agitated: "No, of course I don't carry those. They are Japanese. You bought them in a Chinese shop? Well, that may be, but they're Japanese just the same. Tear it up and throw it away."
I looked at the parasol in my hand, innocent and delicate, made in a moment of peace, outside of love and hatred, made by some skilled workman like a flower. I could not bring myself to throw it away. I folded it quietly, protectively. I folded up delicacy, peace, skill, humble work, I folded tender gardens, the fragile structure of human dreams. I folded the dream of peace, the frail paper shelter of peace.--Anaïs Nin, 1943
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