I think I exist, regardless of being displaced or lost.
I guess I've always pretended that I existed, both in previous lives and in this life.
To be honest, my life has been a bit of a failure because I have never been able to understand what existence is.
When my mother who returned home rescued me from the dark and damp basement, when my violent and manic father kicked to death the man who was mad because of me, when I first stepped onto the edge of the rooftop of the dozens of floors of the apartment and felt the sharp cold wind all over the sky.
I still don't understand.
Maybe I will never understand it in my life.
What is existence, and whether I really should exist...