"Aaaaahhh! Hey, hey!"
I hear shouting and what I describe as 'growling,' as well as some yelling and hear screams. I don't know why. Is this to be expected? Is this normalcy here? I cannot comprehend the range of emotions that people here must be experiencing. What must be the mood, tone, and attitude, if this detention center were the subject matter of a story.
Today I overheard people complaining that the doorknob in the bathroom broke off and now there's no way to open the "pull" door from inside, and that the people waiting next in line outside need to push the door open for the occupants inside, once they finish and call out for release. Where am I? Waiting in line for a bathroom? I didn't grow up with so many family members which would have had me accustomed to waiting for the bathroom. I suppose I come from a privileged background. I'm not ungrateful that my mother sister and I had to share a bed until I was ten years old, in our studio-apartment in Hong Kong that didn't have running hot water in the faucets in the public housing buildings in which we lived.
I still haven't used the toilet here. One week now.
Once more, all I can think is that I'm grateful I'm not behind high fences, with only a bucket for my toilet-use while guards beat us. Amazing...my comparison is that of being glad I'm not being physically hit. Emotional torment? I'm sure that is suffered greater in more severe confinement. Is this training for further restriction in my life? I enjoyed too many freedoms to be caged. My mind, especially. Now I can appreciate how and why some political prisoners abroad have resorted to writing in miniature script in the margins of books they were permitted to have while imprisoned, which they glued together with mixtures of rice-water. I thought those were just stories to express extreme circumstances.
My Master's Degree did not prepare me for this.
My NYCTF interview did not ready me for this.
My school-placement job interview did not brace me for this.
My childhood, however, did introduce me to similar experiences of displeasure and angst, but I never dreamed that all my hard work and effort would lead me here one day. I wonder where else I'll wind up, notwithstanding my ambitions and energies exerted.
I suppose some of our dreams don't come true.
I suppose some of what comes true, we don't ever dream...or dream in nightmare and hope doesn't come true. And so if we dream for that nightmare to not take place and it does, then it's still a dream that doesn't come true.
I wonder if anybody dreams to wind up in jail, and then are glad they got what they wanted? Certainly nobody is glad to wind up in jail, even if they suspected that they might end up there. No, I don't think so. Nobody wold resign themselves to such a dream.
I hear shouting and what I describe as 'growling,' as well as some yelling and hear screams. I don't know why. Is this to be expected? Is this normalcy here? I cannot comprehend the range of emotions that people here must be experiencing. What must be the mood, tone, and attitude, if this detention center were the subject matter of a story.
Today I overheard people complaining that the doorknob in the bathroom broke off and now there's no way to open the "pull" door from inside, and that the people waiting next in line outside need to push the door open for the occupants inside, once they finish and call out for release. Where am I? Waiting in line for a bathroom? I didn't grow up with so many family members which would have had me accustomed to waiting for the bathroom. I suppose I come from a privileged background. I'm not ungrateful that my mother sister and I had to share a bed until I was ten years old, in our studio-apartment in Hong Kong that didn't have running hot water in the faucets in the public housing buildings in which we lived.
I still haven't used the toilet here. One week now.
Once more, all I can think is that I'm grateful I'm not behind high fences, with only a bucket for my toilet-use while guards beat us. Amazing...my comparison is that of being glad I'm not being physically hit. Emotional torment? I'm sure that is suffered greater in more severe confinement. Is this training for further restriction in my life? I enjoyed too many freedoms to be caged. My mind, especially. Now I can appreciate how and why some political prisoners abroad have resorted to writing in miniature script in the margins of books they were permitted to have while imprisoned, which they glued together with mixtures of rice-water. I thought those were just stories to express extreme circumstances.
My Master's Degree did not prepare me for this.
My NYCTF interview did not ready me for this.
My school-placement job interview did not brace me for this.
My childhood, however, did introduce me to similar experiences of displeasure and angst, but I never dreamed that all my hard work and effort would lead me here one day. I wonder where else I'll wind up, notwithstanding my ambitions and energies exerted.
I suppose some of our dreams don't come true.
I suppose some of what comes true, we don't ever dream...or dream in nightmare and hope doesn't come true. And so if we dream for that nightmare to not take place and it does, then it's still a dream that doesn't come true.
I wonder if anybody dreams to wind up in jail, and then are glad they got what they wanted? Certainly nobody is glad to wind up in jail, even if they suspected that they might end up there. No, I don't think so. Nobody wold resign themselves to such a dream.
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