Most of the places were sleeping in peace
in the year when I was ten, but the place
where I lived was different with a war going on.
Extinction, execution, lament happened every day.

There was much of fear, horror, and grief.
Yet inside me, there was always a love mixed
between affection and responsibility. Every
moment, I found myself in an imminent situation
of obligation and disciplinary. Among those moods
were conceptions, definitions, lessons, and vice versa.
Besides, I always found myself obsessed with queer
questions such as how would a person see the world
if the retinas of his or her eyes were made of concave
lens instead of convex lens? And would a small bug
appearing in front of that person become as big as a
ten-story building? And the world would blind him
or her with its huge panoramic scene? Or what would
we feel if we put a finger into an electrical socket.
Do we die or just get hurt? Then there were innumerable
strange matters such as a giant rat in the underground
sewer that went up to eat the rice left overnight
in the kitchen sink could cause a huge epidemic
of cholera for the whole country; on the moon, there
was no Moon Goddess and fairy scenes, but
only rocks and stones and darkness.

I knew much of those matters that I learned like a parent
who knew everything about her child. Like me, some
children in my classes wanted to spend the whole day
dragging on the desk just to learn about scientific things.
For a few, they hung out to tell sentimental love stories.

Every day, after school, I had to find some ways to help
my mind return back to the naturally peaceful mood of
my soul by allowing me to live in illusions of imaginary
objects and images of inanimate things. Happiness, to me
was to find tranquil images such as a row of sublime trees
on the two sides of a familiar street, a fancy story between
two lovers, or to anticipate good chats with friends, and the
biggest dream about the visitations of my mother who
was not living with me for the time being.