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One thing is transparent: Even if I am not able to write anything in the next ten years, I refuse to give it up because I know from the bottom of heart: I am in love with writing. No women ever give me pleasure like the first time I laid my eyes on Mysteries. After every intense session with Hamsun, Miller, Hesse, or Dostoevsky, I cannot control my intoxication, I feel so alive, and I take a long walk in order to cool down my excitement. It is a wonderful time that I have passionately read their books to be instructed and educated; I have studied them assiduously even line by line in order to figure out the magic of their writing; I have searched in them so that I can understand the meaning of life. I want to write like them, which is constantly in my mind. Even if I am not able to write like them, I know that I have something to say to the world. I have borne beautiful music inside me. Even if it takes me more ten years to express myself and even if nobody cares about my work, I must express myself. I do not care for anything anymore. If people say that I am bizarre because I hate my own country, I will just shrug my shoulders as if I defiantly said, “So what?” I am uncivilized and do not belong to any organizations. I belong to myself and work for myself: Solo performance is my virtue! I treasure my individuality to the heavens. I know that this is the right thing to pursue and know that I am right because my heart tells me so. I refuse to be finished until I sing my own song. I still have not had the slightest idea how to escape from my helpless tribulations, but let me sing my own song one more time: the last desperate effort!”

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