Impulses. Yifan had a handful of them. Maybe more. Impulse to wash his hands at least three times after he got home. Impulse to avoid any crack on the pavement. Impulse to turn on every lamp in his apartment before he went to sleep. Impulse to wake up at 4 a.m. everyday so he would have enough time to take two hours long shower and another hour for hair styling.

Yifan didn’t know when those urges started controlling him. No, not controlling. Yifan refused to think that the impulses controlling him. He felt like he had them since forever. He complied to them because he wanted to. After all, he felt wrong whenever he didn’t answer to his urges. There was always a twisted feeling in his stomach when he forgot to wear white shirt on Wednesday, or when he didn’t break his chopstick exactly in half.

He built his life around those impulses.