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Overture: Looking back from the future If time has weight, then my past is so heavy that it can bend any strong back. If memory had a voice, then my world would oscillate between the two extremes of screaming and silence all day long. I have returned to those places in my mind countless times: the dark alley after school, the locked classroom filled with chalk dust and fear, the staircase that seemed to have no end when it rolled down. I once thought that was the entire background color of my life-purple with bruises, black with blood scabs, and gray soaked with tears until it turned white. I tried my best to crawl out of the mud, thinking I could run into the light. I exchanged my dignity with my sweat, and earned my place with my stubbornness. I naively thought that I had finally built myself a shell that could shelter me from the wind and rain. Until I walked into another "home". The wind and rain there carry the hypocrisy of humanity and the fangs of desire. It tests my body with flames, gnaws at my reputation with rumors, and attempts to shatter the foundation of my being as a human being with the most despicable touches. I am not writing this to ask you to cry for me. I dug out all the bloody flesh from my heart and spread it out in the sun to see clearly how the fires tried to burn me to ashes time and time again. And what I want to tell you is that I was not burned to ashes. I am a seed abandoned in the cracks of stones, trampled on, and burned. In the darkness, I rely on that point to A letter of challenge to my future self. Look, I'm still breathing.