Some stories are hard to know how to begin telling. They start in a rush and end in a mess. The meaning of life certainly isn't to keep repeating the same mistakes over and over. I'm sensitive, and painful memories leave a mark on me forever. I truly don't want to keep returning to that kind of misery. Perhaps writing this down is a way to apologize for my past ignorance and recklessness, and to make clear that I am not guilty. It also serves as a warning: if everyone claims that no one is guilty, what kind of chaos would the world become? Some people's evil comes from ignorance and wild conjecture. They go around in circles, trapped in their own little world, and end up with a fate so pitiful, yet still take their personal punishment to the extreme. Or perhaps you're in a circle where everyone curries favor with the powerful, and you can't find a sense of belonging. Your sense of security is as fragile as standing alone on a grassland where the gods have died. Can you truly understand that kind of sorrow? I admit that there is more goodness than filth in the world, but let us be sure of this: within one person's field of vision, this humiliation truly existed in her life, vivid and unmistakable. Every time she remembers the past, it feels as though a heavy blow has struck her heart like a bronze bell.
