A heavy, black Binder,

Sitting idly in my backpack,

Scribbled with class notes and crammed drills,

Gurgling red and black ink,

Which drools onto the wooden floor.

 Waiting to be fed another homework sheet.

Ah, yes. Education:

A system meant for my salvation.

A system of passive interpretation.

A system of imperfect glorification.

The Binder serves as the master framework,

Like the golden-banded ring on Sun Wukong’s head,

Created to restrain the Monkey King’s power.

The Binder watches, like an eagle in the sky.

Stalking every move of mine, with a frown so wry.

One fell swoop is all it takes,

To topple my Ivory Tower.

Every time I see it,

It binds my dream of freedom.

Every time I see it,

It deprives me of creativity.

Every time I see it, 

It renders me in awe of its boundless power,

Every time I see it, 

I recall its limitless penalties.

Every time I see it,

I recollect my humble origin.

Every time I see it,

I reduce myself to nothingness.

Does it bind me with the alpha and omega?

Does it bind me as the Great Creator?

Does it bind me as the META*?

No.

Of course not.

With the liberating power of knowledge,

 It does not bind me anymore.

It taught me to break its binding clasps,

To embrace deliverance,

And to release my creativity.

It allowed me to be diff-E-rent*, 

Unbounded.

I need to enlist the Binder as,

my comrade and friend

To create masterpieces,

At the confluence of

arts, writing, and science. 

He contains my original ideas,

My creative designs,

My pioneering innovations,

My artistic insights,

And my imagination.

He has been by my side,

For almost a decade.

Frontpage half torn,

Leatherback half worn，

He supported me in my darkest times.

He helped me build and create,

He undeniably held my hand,

when my grades slipped.

He kindled my ambition

For stories that I contrive.

He let me wallow,

In the arts and crafts that I deeply love.

My binder who bonds with me for my being.