After you were born I felt it was necessary to write. I needed to tell the story just as the period blood silently came outside from my body every month. Every night there were countless dreams I made. I hated your father. The feeling was so strong that I want to cut him deeply by knife every month. Therefore, I needed to go back to the hotel of my childhood again and again, to reconstructed my brain again and again, to patted the cat again and again, and then to put my nose into the cat’s hair, again and again. I was shocked by my power and brutality. I just quietly typing on the chair while I could still tasted the coffee on my lips. I kicked them out with hand, I burnt your father’s body to sands. And then, the sun came out and I stood by the veranda watching the plants. Now the ocean came and I became a flood of water. I squeezed out the hopelessness that I had known for so long and started to write down the rubbish.