It all started in language class, when I was asked to write an essay on "The Joy of Doing One's Duty". I handed in an empty notebook. This was not because I had nothing to write, but because I wanted to write too much. The correctional center decided to punish me by rewriting the essay. This time, I fished my memory and wrote for a moment, writing for a hundred and five days in one sitting. Emotions drove me to write real names, real addresses and soulful memories. My essays got longer and longer, and there was more and more to write. The director asked me to explain why I was willing to give up the group, the spring sunshine and the library, and must keep the essay going. I just shrugged my shoulders.
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