How dark my past was. When I was in my teens, I saw girls who looked pretty and thought they were just flaunting themselves, as if they were already ruined. When I saw the salesgirls at the real estate office, I thought they were selling pens; I was just broke. If I had money, I would have taken advantage of them. When I saw a girl driving a nice car, I thought she must be someone’s mistress, sleeping with a man over fifty every day. When I saw someone from a wealthy family, I wished their parents would just drop dead right there. Riding my electric bike, every time I reached a traffic light, it would turn red, even the traffic lights looked down on me, opposed me, toyed with me. When it rained and thundered, it felt like the thunder was aimed at me; I was just this unlucky seed. My leaders, one worse than the other, were all petty people. The good words they said were all lies. One day, I might just get rid of them. On the streets, the roar of luxury car engines mocked me mercilessly, reminding me that I was poor, a child born out of poverty. What can I do about it? Should I just let others mock me forever? Or should I mock myself? I must put in the effort, right?