1
The heaviness that the disc carries.
I tried to steer away,
But it keeps finding a way back to me. Maybe after all,
It was meant to be.
And I hope it could be the same for us.

​

2
Discs carry music,
Music albums,
Dictating my life.
Background music.
Little did I know
That the music I listen to at each age Is a reflection of
My emotions,
But through the words of others.

​

3
The stories in these DVDs The films that the discs carry They used to carry my dream. Acting,
How naive.
Now I play pretend
In my own room.
For a moment,
I am the main character.

​

4
The chromatic spectrum
So compact in the disc
Color bouncing off in every direction I could only wish that I did the same For people around me.
To bring color to the world.

​

5
I stare into the chromatic surface, I see myself but
Barely able to see my features.
A distortion,
What am I
But particles and matter?
I can’t even see myself.

​

6
Breaking in half,
As it snaps,
The sharp silence
I am reminded
Of the difficulty
Of breaking apart all things – All things
All relationships
Emotional attachment.

​

7
I see my face

In the shattered surface More distorted than it was And suddenly
I do not remember

Why I exist.

 

8
The colors of the spectrum
The chromatic colors
Of a compact disc
Colorful
Joyful
The colors of the rainbow
The reminder of the flag of my chosen family Gay.

​

9
A compact disc
A compact of memories A compact of stories
A compact of emotions A compact of dreams
A compact of colors
A compact of fears
A compact of trauma
A compact of influence.

​

10
How much can a disc endure?
How many scratches can it take? Until it cannot be read?
How much can pain can I endure? Before I fully shut myself off,
And that no one,
No one,
Will be able to understand me again?

 

THE MEMORIES, ENCAPSULATED INTO ONE COMPACT DISC. THE STORIES AND PAIN

 

​

A Memory

​

The nostalgia that these compact discs carry. I was born at an age where discs were already a thing.

In my childhood, there were fond memories of my mother bringing me across the border to Zhuhai, and my favorite activity was always to go to the backrooms of electronic stores to look at their collection of bootleg DVDs. I was always amazed at how quickly their collection would be updated with the newest releases, and all the colors of the movie poster prints up the wall, from the ceiling to the floor. The room was compact with discs. These discs carried my dreams of acting, and in the second grade, I told my mom that “One day, I’ll be getting one of those” while watching the academy awards, I mean, the Oscars. I spent my grade school days participating in primary musicals, only to move onto sports teams in middle school. Now, they carry the influence of who I can be, characters I can look up to, and stories that are so inspirational that people cry.

Netflix came along, and almost no people around me bought bootleg DVDs anymore. Why pay the price for ten discs when you can pay a monthly subscription to unlimited access to a whole online movie library?

By middle school, the bootleg DVD stores had shut down. I turned to music, and I started collecting albums for my collection. Compact discs are still very apparent to me. They carry emotions and feelings, stories, and more. The physicality of discs will always be more meaningful than mp3 files.

 

Shatter up, shatter up.
Shatter the memories,
The fond and the trauma.
The broken pieces,
Fragments of memories,
From the past, present, and future.