As I lit the incense stick, I asked Buddha to guide me in riding the tides of emotions by observing and acknowledging them instead of letting them define who I was. In my family, we saw Buddha as a guide for spiritual strength, but some Buddhists believed his supranormal, almost god-like powers could grant more tangible prayers. There had been cases in the scripture where beings other than Buddha—even ordinary humans—obtained some supranormal powers thanks to spiritual training and deep meditation.

I highly doubted He'd pass me some supernatural powers without Instructions Included. But the semblance of some logical explanation reassured me.

After discovering my ability, I spent weeks studying it, trying to articulate its rules and laws. Back then, I couldn't control it well. Most of the time I turned invisible without noticing, or used it in a moment of fear to escape painful stimuli. But now that I've more or less mastered it, it was mostly straightforward. Everything I held and wore turned invisible with me, and it didn't consume my energy or focus. If anything, it recharged my stamina.

Then there were the exceptions. And the dangers. But it wasn't like I used it for shoplifting or drastic stuff like that. Besides, as much as I was accused of not paying attention to certain things, people were heedless of their own surroundings. No one would notice if my reflection showed up in water or mirrors despite my actual self being invisible.

I've moved on from the past though. I didn't want to disappear anymore. If it took another year or two or even three to stand on a stage where I was seen by everyone who mattered to me, I'd hold onto my dream.

Proving that I was a capable friend though? If networking wasn't so integral to the music industry, I would've given up long ago.

—

MONTY: Hey, I'm sorry about that. If you really don't want a music manager then I'll stop bugging you about it.

MONTY: Can you at least explain to Raj what happened? They like to act chill but I could tell they were hurt.

Oh, right! I sent a quick thank-you to him—not for letting me meet Rajethiran so unexpectedly, but because I wouldn't have known how they felt otherwise.

My thumbs typed out of sync with the nerve impulses that fired in my brain. I punished the backspace key.

What happened if I explained it to them and they didn't believe me?

But what happened if I let Rajethiran go, and alongside the chance to meet this music manager?

Only after I hit send did I realize I had an entire paragraph typed out.

RAJETHRIAN: So you had a meltdown because I was overwhelming you? I mean I'm glad you texted me. To be honest I probably would've stayed frustrated. But I don't understand. All I did was get excited. I wanted to help you. That's not a reason to be angry. And I didn't say anything offensive.

I carefully drafted a response.

TAI: I appreciate you helping me but I mean it when I could not process what you were saying because you were talking so fast. If I couldn't catch up and understand you I would've hurt you more when you realized that. It made me feel bad because I knew you were happy. Also, my expression usually doesn't match what I'm feeling inside. That's just how I am. And you didn't say anything offensive. If you could talk slower, I can understand what you're saying and then we could have a proper conversation. I was worried you'd think I'm not interested in knowing you as a person. I get tired easily from talking.

RAJETHIRAN: Oh I didn't see it that way

RAJETHIRAN: That's a huge relief. Thanks for telling me! I'm sorry I didn't notice you were uncomfortable. I'll try to do better

RAJETHIRAN: But basically what I was talking about, you can find it on Phiona's website.

RAJETHIRAN: Let me know when you want to talk to her. I'm always up for chatting :)

TAI: You haven't told her anything about me right?

RAJETHIRAN: To Phiona? Why could I? I don't know anything about you

They continued to type, but I pocketed my phone and massaged my forehead. They were insistent on delivering their point. I couldn't tell if they were angry or not anymore. (Apparently, even smiley emojis could be passive aggressive in certain contexts. Which contexts? I had no idea.) But it turned out I wasn't the only person who texted long messages. Maybe, down the road, this could work out.

After obtaining information about Rajethiran's music manager friend, I did my research. You could say I was stalking Phiona's Instagram profile, but I needed to familiarize myself with what could potentially happen at our potential meeting. Potentially.

Phiona Maharaj-Hussein worked with small-name and successful artists. I had spent hours scrolling through her professional social media, looking at how she promoted musicians and the sense of direction her online presence had. She played every instrument under the sun. Unlike my own Instagram, where I filled my feed with snippets of my songs, hers had a magical number of likes. That could be thanks to past connections with a company--Hidden Stars. Recent posts suggested that she had cut ties though. She didn't post much of her personal life, but that was okay—knowing a person had nothing to do with how well you'd get along with them.

One message to Phiona or Rajethiran would bring all the help I needed and maybe snap me out of this creative funk. But was that me talking, or Monty? I knew myself better than anyone. And right now I didn't need more emotional whiplash. Besides, if I became Phiona's client and miraculously didn't mess up, I'd have to factor that into my budget.

Instagram was addicting though, so I used my time to catch up with everyone's lives. Monty's account was sprinkled with progress on his visual novel game, academic awards, some event he went to, a Hackathon he won with other people...and on and on the list went. The only posts that weren't related to his achievements were pictures of an album by the OBGMs--his favourite rock band--and his most recent post: pictures of him and Joachim eating out at an ice cream restaurant.

This surprised me, since I thought they were keeping their relationship secret. Then again I knew that his friends knew that Monty and Joachim were dating. So what did he mean by secret? His account was private, so it might be his parents. Understandable. I hadn't told my parents yet that I was dating Nora.

I swiped to her account. Her posts were sporadic, like she posted whatever was in her vicinity when she remembered. Ever since her parents' divorce though, she'd been more consistent. Most of it was cooking recipes. One was a drawing of her interpretation of Durian, a song by Cutsleeve* that I recommended to her. I grinned. We didn't communicate well with words, but just looking at the drawing of her sitting among yellow foliage told me everything I needed to know. The bold colours and thin pencil outlines reminded me of my impression of her when we first met: decisive, but thoughtful. Like she had the future measured out before her, down to the last minute.

It was why I was uncertain how to approach the topic of her family. Any mention of that, and she became a different person. We existed at opposite sides of a canyon; we knew what the other one was going through, but it seemed impossible to reach across. I wished I knew how to help her, and I wished that other people knew how to help me.

My stomach growled, but when I opened the fridge, it was empty. Time for shopping.

—

Toronto's Chinatown had a few decent Vietnamese grocery stands where I could speak comfortably with the vendors. Emerging from one of the shops, I walked back to my car and unloaded the fruits and vegetables. Chinatown was a money-saver for not only Asian staple foods like shrimp, but also crunchy, fresh produce. Looking up, I brushed falling snow out of my eyes and read the vertical storefront signs that stuck out of the buildings like a rainbow of bookmarks.

Doing errands on my own ate up a huge chunk of time, though. There were lots of stimuli that pulled my attention in ten different directions--grocery music, conversations, squeaky shopping carts, and the smell of fish. Even with my noise-cancelling headphones, it was still a lot. I frequently lost my train of thought and had to backtrack, double-checking and triple-checking if I had forgotten anything.

I might not be able to do things perfectly on my own, but each shopping visit left me feeling accomplished. It was the small victories in life that counted, though they were harder to count these days.

Should I reach out to Phiona?

The obvious answer was no. My social fumble with Rajethiran was proof of that. I couldn't stand jumping into the nebulous pool of socializing, because it was so rare that things didn't end in a disaster.

I missed my home in Mississauga. (Not that it was far from here...but I couldn't go back just yet.) Heck, I missed university. For all the headaches it gave me, it mapped out my tomorrow and next week and next month. I took out my phone and debated texting my parents for help. The black screen reflected my face, and the snowflakes that melted upon contact blurred my silhouette, so I could really imagine it as anyone from my family. My siblings and I all inherited the same heart-shaped face, medium tanned complexion, black hair that turned chestnut in the sunlight, and a tendency to rebel against our parents' visions for our future. The difference was that I didn't have a successful job.

My own negativity scared me. Where was the Tai from two years ago, who had announced his plans to pursue a career in music? Who focused on the present rather than the chasm growing between me and my future? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the past--before moving from San Francisco to Canada, before adulting--wasn't so different from the present. I still felt invisible, caught between proving my ability to myself and proving it to others.

I watched as a small crowd gathered around the man sitting on a plastic chair on the sidewalk, switching his fingers between the frets of his guqin. The sound was muffled, but the deliberate way he picked the strings, the zeal you see when musicians shake their heads with the highs and lows of the music--that was what I loved about music. You didn't need to understand what people said to understand what they felt inside.

A music manager would understand that. And Phiona looked like the perfect musician to learn from. The thought of possibly expanding my composition skills and even music genres made it impossible to stand still.

Monty had a point--I needed to do something to help myself--but it seemed impossible when the very definition of success clashed against my own capabilities.