Chen Yong Snow horses

He Said:

I had a book about the circus when I was a kid. It was one I read a lot. My favorite part was about the Hungarian horsemen. The illustration was of these long haired colorfully dressed men in reckless,
dangerous positions on galloping horses. I thought they were the coolest, and if I was to run away and join the circus, that’s the crowd for me. I worried though that I wasn’t macho or brave enough for them. I worried about falling off a horse and breaking something. I worried about missing my mom. It was a relief to know that I would never have to find out for sure, but every now and then, I’d see a picture that reminds me of the horsemen, and I get wistful.

She Said:

In order to survive, it is a truth universally acknowledged that we must evolve. Transform, change, compromise, grow. Call it what you will. I call it bullshit. After bending and shape shifting and moulding into a version of myself that is considered to be acceptable, I just can’t be bothered anymore. To break myself in. To play by the rules. And I won’t change, play nice or go quietly. I intend on making a lot of noise. You’ll have to drag me, kicking and screaming. And if I’m going down, you’re coming with me.