Hey there! I hope your day is going as well as mine. Welcome to my little corner of the internet — the part where we skip the formal stuff and I just get to be me. Stick around.

Yongqing Guo

I Don’t Love Pink. Pink Loves Me

“My friends call me for advice. Then they do the opposite. Then they call me again. So… please stop telling me you guys got back together.”

Current Title

Unofficial President and Founding Member of the Board of Directors for my romantically chaotic friends.

The position was not applied for. It was assigned. Resignation has been submitted. Repeatedly. Denied every time.

Most Important Section

Meet Pawie. She is a Husky. She is the main character. I am just her roommate.

I fell in love with her the moment I saw her in a pet shop window — one look and it was over for me. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was thinking I was in charge.

Pawie operates on three modes. The zoomies — no warning, no reason, no explanation. The commentary — she has an opinion about everything and will look you dead in the eyes and howl her grievances like she is filing a formal complaint. And the judgy stare — silent, unblinking, deeply personal. You will not know what you did wrong. You will never know. That is the point.

She is completely unhinged. She is my whole heart. And she would like you to know that this about me page is also, technically, about her.

I opened and closed this document seven times before I began writing this paragraph. To be honest, I don’t know what’s special about me — what differentiates me, what makes me, me.

I used to think I shouldn’t use my mental illness as something that makes me special. But looking at the blank page, I know nobody can ever say they know me without knowing this.

In China, mental illness is not recognized as an actual illness. There are taboos around talking about it. It is considered shameful. It diminishes one’s right to simply be human.

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I felt intense distress when objects were not arranged precisely, as if the slightest disorder threatened to undo me. I tried to fix them just to feel a fragile grip on a reality that barely felt real.

I stayed in bed for days, unable to feel anything except a heavy, shapeless pain. I remember lying there for hours, motionless, yet somehow still exhausted — as if even existing required more strength than I had.

There was often an unbearable ache in my chest, a pain so physical it frightened me. Later, I learned it had a name: somatization.

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This is me — a large part of me — and a part I wanted to hide for years.

I am still working through it, slowly and imperfectly. Along the way, I have begun helping my friends through their own struggles, and I hope one day to help even more people carry theirs.

I am trying to hug this tender yet apathetic world. What does it matter if I move through it clumsily?

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